Chapter Twenty-Two
The Monster Within
A week after I sign the updated contract with Mastyx, I step out onto the street around the corner from a bar. It’s a few towns away from my own, but not too far where I couldn’t quickly make it back. I strut toward the entrance, the chill in the air biting into my bare legs.
My core trembles slightly as I slide my ass onto a cold metal barstool and patiently wait for a worthless soul to cross my path.
When I gaze around the room, I catch a few eyes staring at me, but none of them are good-looking. If I’m going to do this, possibly fuck someone before I kill or at least attempt to kill them, I want them to at least be easy on the eyes.
I wiggle my nose and take a shallow breath, the stuffy air around me reeking of old beer and stale cigarettes.
The young, blonde bartender eyes me from the end of the bar and strolls over, stopping in front of me with raised eyebrows. “What can I get you?”
I gawk at him, blinking several times, words escaping me. His voice doesn’t match his appearance. Outwardly, he’s barely twenty-one, but he speaks with a deep baritone voice, making him sound like an old soul lives inside of him.
“Ma’am?”
I shake my head. “I’ll try the blackberry mojito.”
He nods and walks away from me without asking for my ID, which surprises me. Perhaps it’s my attire. I picked a long-sleeved, emerald-green dress that falls just above my knees.
A square black napkin rests in front of me, and the bartender sets my drink down carefully so he doesn’t spill it.
It’s full to the rim, so I curl my lips over the edge and take a few sips from the top.
Once it’s low enough, I pick it up and gulp most of it down before stabbing the blackberry in the bottom with a plastic toothpick shaped like a sword and plunging it into my mouth.
A pink Cosmopolitan replaces the blackberry mojito I just finished drinking. “Wait, I didn’t order this,” I say to the bartender as he turns his back.
He smiles over his shoulder at me, revealing crooked front teeth, and nods to the other end of the bar. “He did.”
A man with dark hair and a small build smiles at me before giving me a subtle nod. An uneasy tremor rises in my abdomen, my nerves rearing their ugly head. I smile back at him before picking up the pink liquid in front of me and saluting him.
Just be calm, I say to myself as I return my attention to the bar top. I run my pointer finger across the wet circle on my drink napkin before crumpling it into my shaking palm.
How can I expect to be calm, really, when this man is going to die, and it’s going to be my fault? I didn’t expect to want to do this so soon, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, Mastyx be damned.
The man stands from his seat at the end of the bar and walks over to me, his chin high, cocky confidence radiating off of him. “Hello,” he says, setting his bottle of beer beside my drink. “Can I buy you a shot?”
I flutter my lashes at him. He’s not sexy at all, not really, but he’s not a fat slob either. I’d say he falls into the cute-but-plain category. He needs a haircut and a clean shave, and could stand to gain a few pounds, but he seems harmless enough, with his quiet, smooth voice.
“Sure,” I say, taking a small sip of the pink drink still sitting nearly full in front of me.
He flags the bartender over with an overly hairy arm, the tail end of a snake tattoo peeking out from beneath his short-sleeved t-shirt. “Get us a couple of those apple pie shots.”
“Oh, that sounds good.” I push up my sleeves on both sides and lean my elbow on the bar, resting the side of my head against my hand. “So, what’s your name?”
“What’s yours, sweetheart?”
A lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow, and I look away from him so he can’t see the fear rising in my eyes. It’s the way he said sweetheart, that sends my mind right back down memory lane. The biker bar incident is still toying with my sanity, as I’m still unable to remember every detail.
I swallow hard, take a deep breath, sending my fear back into the pit in my stomach, and turn to him, “Tessa.”
“Pretty.” He extends his hand sideways to me, his eyes drifting to my cleavage. “Brent.”
What a perverted asshole.
I take his calloused and rough hand to shake it, and he lifts mine to his face, kissing it softly. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his thin lips lingering on my skin. He runs his nose across my wrist, my arm jerking toward him as his nostrils trace up my forearm. “What is that? It smells so good.”
Jesus, this guy’s handsy.
“Marc Jacobs,” I smirk, trying not to let him see me squirm.
“I love it. It’s very alluring.” His eyes meet mine, and a devious smile spreads across his face.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat before I tug my arm from his grasp.
The shots slide in front of us across the wooden bar top, and we pick them up, clank them, and gulp them down.
“Want to sit in a booth?” he asks, taking a swig from his bottle of Guinness.
“Okay.” I grab my clutch off the bar top and stand, realizing at once that I’m nearly half a head taller than him.
He doesn’t seem to notice as he nods to a booth in the corner and slides in first. I scoot in next to him, my left knee purposely bumping his right.
His hand raises to the bartender, holding up two fingers, mouthing two more shots.
“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask him as I slide my phone out of my clutch.
“I’m in sales.”
Sales.
The way he says it, without elaborating, has my mind coming to one and only conclusion.
Drug dealer.
Still, I play along, luring him into telling me more. “Do you sell anything good?”
His arm stretches over my back, landing slyly across my shoulders. “I can get you anything you want, beautiful.” He raises the shot glass the bartender sets on the table and dumps it down his throat. I pick up mine but don’t drink it.
“How about you?” he asks, setting the shot glass down on the table.
“I make art out of dead animals.” I set my shot down, touch my phone screen and turn it toward him, showing him the finished ram’s head skull piece.
His eyes widen. “You made that. Wow.” He squints at the screen. “And you sold it for six hundred dollars?” His eyes light up with a greedy glint of amusement.
“What?” I peer down at my phone and realize it does, in fact, say sold. “Huh, it must have sold after I left the house. Nice.”
“So, you’re good with your hands?” he asks, taking another swig of his beer.
I rest my hand on his thigh, sliding it down to his knee and back up again. “I can be.”
He shifts back in his seat, his eyes following my hand as it rubs his leg before I take it away and pick up my shot glass. Everything inside me screams to leave, and I feel like I’m losing my nerve.
A waitress stops at our table, picking up his empty glass on her way by. Brent’s eyes linger on her exposed cleavage before turning his attention to her ass, then back to me.
Fucking pig.
I toss the liquid courage, tasting like grandma’s homemade apple pie, down my throat and wipe my wet lips. “Want to get out of here?” I blurt.
The tension between us rises, and my stomach turns rigid as he leans toward me and whispers, “Where do you want to go?”
A smile curls on my lips. “Follow me.” I slide from the booth, grab my phone and clutch and strut toward the exit at the back of the bar.
I shove the door open, and a chilly breeze tosses my hair across my cheek. I swipe it away, before looking left and right, quickly realizing I’m in the alley beside the parking lot. The door behind me closes with a bang, making me jump.
After several seconds, the door swings wide open, and Brent emerges, carrying a black hooded jacket. “Sorry, I didn’t want to leave this behind,” he says, holding it up between us. He shakes it out and places it around my shoulders, easing the goosebumps on my arms.
Fuck, maybe he’s not an asshole after all. I can’t do this.
His hand touches the side of my face before he curls a wayward lock of my hair around my ear, sending chills down the back of my neck.
I shrug, shying away from his intimate touch as his fingers graze over my ear and wrap around the back of my head.
He steps closer, lifts his chin higher so his lips meet mine, and plants a soft kiss on them before plunging his tongue into my mouth, swirling it around my palate rapidly, taking the intimate moment from 0-60 in the blink of an eye.
I pull away and glance at the alley around us, checking for cameras or other people. There’s no one. We are alone in a dark alley that smells like week-old garbage and mold.
“What’s the matter? Are you afraid someone will see us?” He steps away from me, finds a piece of splintered wood from an old pallet and wedges it beneath the bar door, securing it closed. “There. Now, come here.” He crooks his finger at me, his eyes darkening a bit.
The way he’s looking at me, like a lion seconds away from pouncing on its prey, makes my heart pound. “This was a mistake.” I turn away from him, my insides shaking violently. “I’m not ready.” I walk swiftly away from him, my heels echoing down the alley.
“Ready for what?” He jogs to catch up to me, grabs me by the bicep, and spins me around to face him. “What are you, a virgin?”
His eyes scan mine, waiting for me to answer.
I came here because I have a job to do, but I feel like he might not be the right mark.
“To let him have your soul,” I say without thinking.
Holy fuck, Tessa, what is wrong with you? Don’t tell him the truth.
His face twists, and without warning, he grabs me by the shoulders and slams my back into the brick wall, my head striking it hard, knocking my clutch from my grasp. “Who? Who fucking sent you, some rival gang or something?”
Stars dance before my eyes, and my knees buckle slightly, but I don’t fall.
He lifts me higher on the wall and shakes me hard. “Fucking answer me.” His spit sprays across my face as he seethes outwardly. “Who the fuck are you?” His hand wraps around my throat. “Fucking answer me.”