Satin Hate

Chapter 1

KIRA

It's three in the morning, and the drunks are getting handsy.

Mostly, I don't succeed.

Tonight's worse than usual for some reason.

There's a table in the back with three wasted assholes who look like they came straight here from closing down the seediest dance club imaginable.

They're dripping in chest hair, swagger, and cheap vodka.

Every time I go over, all three stare at my chest, and the worst of the group keeps trying to smack my ass.

I'm quick, though. I can dodge his drunk advances. But they're loud and really starting to get on my nerves.

“You sure you don't want help?” Pam asks, frowning as the drunk asshole leader bangs on the table and calls for me. Kitchen wench isn't exactly flattering. He's a big bald asshole with a crooked, dickish smirk.

“It's fine. If they cross the line, I'll ask Harry to kick them out.”

Pam wrinkles her nose and looks back at our enormous Hawaiian cook. His hairnet's too small, and he's got earbuds in. “Assuming he even hears you yelling for your life. Hey! Asshole!” She snaps her fingers at him, and he doesn't even react. “See, look at that.”

“Seriously, it'll be alright. I'm praying they're drunk enough to leave a huge tip by accident.”

“Don't get your hopes up, darling. It's South Philly in the middle of the night. People with money usually have more sense than to be around here.”

She's got a point. We're not exactly in a bad neighborhood, but we're on the wrong side of Broad for the actual rich folks. The real money's on the east side of Passyunk with all the fancy gastropubs and gentrified boutiques.

Still, the diner's close to the apartment building where I share a crappy little place with my younger sister, Gemma.

Who should be blissfully asleep right now because she's got class in the morning.

As I walk over to the drunk idiots, ignoring their chants of kitchen wench, kitchen wench, I remind myself for the millionth time that I'm doing all this for her.

Gem's the one with talent. She's the one with a future.

While I'm just good for slinging hash browns and crappy eggs.

“What can I do for you boys?” I ask, keeping a decent distance away from the table so the grabby dickhead can't get at me.

“Need more coffee,” their leader says. He's got no hair, thick eyebrows, and a beard black enough to be made from shoe polish. “And your phone number.”

“Coffee's coming up. Number's definitely not.” I stalk off to grab the pot as the guy's friends howl. When I come back, his expression is noticeably more intense.

“You think we're hanging around this place for the food?” he asks and knocks a basket of fries onto the floor. They're soggy and not very good, but still. That's a waste of food. “I don't give a fuck about the coffee, babe. I want your number.”

I refill his mug and ignore him. “Anyone need anything else?”

The guy on the corner grins at me. “Blowjob, maybe?”

“Fuck off,” the bald asshole says, elbowing him hard. “She's mine.”

I stand back from the table, clutching the coffee pot hard and struggling with the intrusive urge to dump it over the bald guy’s head. I wonder what his skull would look like with second-degree burns. I purposefully keep the coffee very, very hot.

“Boys, I am not in the mood for this crap. Clean up these fries, pay your bill, and please get the fuck outta here. You got it?”

Normally, the strong, no-BS routine works.

But these three seem too wasted to notice or maybe they just don’t care.

“Don’t be a tease. I’ll take you somewhere nice. No kidding around.”

“No thanks. I’d rather choke.” I turn and start back to the counter.

“Damn, bro, you gonna let that bitch talk to you that way?” one of the bald guy’s friends says in a low murmur.

I get a few paces and catch Pam’s surprised look from across the room. There’s a moment of panic on her face and that’s all the warning I get before a hand grabs my arm from behind.

I whip around, slightly off balance. The guy pulls me hard and I’m not ready for it. The coffee pot comes around and splashes across his chest, which really isn’t my intention. For all my rage at idiots like these guys, I truly don’t need the hassle of getting rung up on assault charges.

For a split second, the bald asshole stares at me with wide eyes, his black shirt with a sparkly skull drenched in scalding hot coffee.

Then he howls in pain.

“You fucking kitchen bitch!” He yanks my arm again, this time tossing me sideways.

I’m not a big girl and even though I can handle myself just fine, the bald asshole is easily twice my size.

The coffee pot goes flying, smashes on the floor, and spills all over the place, glass glittering on the floor.

I hit a freestanding table and almost knock over a chair, steadying myself as I go down to my knees hard enough to rattle my teeth.

“Harry!” Pam screams, rushing to the kitchen window. “Harry, help! You useless fuck! Hey, take your earbuds out, you big stupid egg fucker!”

I drag myself to my feet, gripping a chair like a weapon. Everyone’s staring at us. There are maybe six other people here, one more group, and a couple random stragglers in Pam’s section. Nobody moves or says a word.

For a beat, the bald asshole looks like he’s not sure what to do. He’s wet, hurting, drunk, and very angry. But he must also be aware that he just attacked a waitress in public. Up to this point, he could conceivably argue that he was only reacting to getting scalding liquid splashed on him.

But that fades the second he steps up to me, whips his hand back, and cracks his palm straight across my face.

My chin snaps sideways. The noise of his hand on my skin is shocking and sharp. The pain comes next. It’s intense, a flood of warmth and stinging. I don’t move, touching myself in pure surprise and fear.

I haven’t been hit like that in a very long time, and for a brief moment, I can hear my mother’s sneering hate. An old memory dredged up, a mirror to this pain.

You’re the fucking useless one, you little worthless bitch, can’t even earn a paycheck yet.

Blood trickles from my nose down between my fingers.

The bald asshole advances closer. He rears his hand back, readying himself for another blow. “Stupid slut, you never should have—”

But someone grabs him from behind. Bald asshole twists, already in a fighting mood, his boulder-sized fists flailing out wildly at the newcomer.

The man ducks, twists, and the bald asshole is suddenly on the floor. I catch a glimpse of a tall man, dark suit, sandy brown hair, maybe handsome but it’s really hard to tell as he kicks the bald asshole right in the teeth as hard as he can.

Blood splashes from the bald asshole’s face. He groans, curling up, as the newcomer kicks again, hitting the bald asshole hard in the ribs. By now, the asshole’s friends are coming, both scrambling from the booth.

The newcomer dances back. He’s tall and athletic.

His shoes shine with droplets of the bald asshole’s blood.

A gold watch glitters on his wrist as one of the friends lunges at him awkwardly, off balance and clearly too wasted for this.

The newcomer easily knees him right in the throat and throws him sideways, tossing the friend onto the floor.

The last attacker punches wildly, hands flashing but poorly aimed, and the newcomer easily weaves sideways, smashes a fist into the last attacker’s stomach, grabs him by the back of the head, and slams his face straight into a table. More blood, more crunching bone.

And it’s over. Three bleeding, groaning men lie at his feet. Harry finally appears, lumbering from behind the counter armed with a rolling pin. He stares in awe as the newcomer fixes his cuffs and nudges the bald asshole with his toe.

“You can either call the cops,” he says, nose wrinkled in disgust, “or I can have them dragged out of here in a few minutes. Your choice.”

That sits all wrong. Another flashback to my father’s wedding and all the men in their black suits and serious faces and the constant low-level threat of violence hanging around them like a fog. This newcomer feels so much like them.

“Call the cops,” I snap at Harry.

The newcomer seems almost disappointed, but only shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him either way.

“Right, I’m on it.” Harry hurries off. “Quit fucking staring, people. This isn’t some goddamn show.”

“God, Kira, your nose.” Pam hurries over with napkins.

I take them. “I’m fine. Honestly.” I shove the napkins against my face to stem the bleeding.

“That fucker hit you. I honestly can’t believe it.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have antagonized him.”

The newcomer pulls out a chair and sits. He watches the three downed men with a strange casual air about him, like he does this all the time. “You ask me, no woman ever asks to be hit by a stranger. No matter what she says or does.”

“Didn’t ask you, though.” I blow my nose.

More blood. Great, just great. I’m going to have to explain this to Gem, and she’s going to feel even more guilty.

She already begs me to quit this job and threatens to drop out so she can help around the house more, but I swear on my life, I’ll kill her if she ever does it.

I haven’t ground myself down to a fine powder since she was fourteen just to watch her throw it all away thanks to these bastards.

The newcomer seems amused by that. “You’re Kira. My name’s Stellan. You’re welcome, by the way.”

I clench my jaw. I don’t even know why he pisses me off. The guy did step in and save me from these bastards. I force myself to relax a little. “Thank you. Honestly. I appreciate what you did.”

The sly smile he gives me sends a shiver right into my core. “Any time.” His skin’s tan, and he’s got the square jaw of an eighties action hero. There’s something strangely clean-cut but also deeply menacing about him.

“Let me get you more napkins,” Pam says, fussing over me. “Oh, shit, I can’t believe this just happened.” She hurries off, muttering to herself. I like her a lot, but she’s not great in a crisis. Solid coworker, though.

Stellan leans back in his chair and lightly nudges one of the guys at his feet. The man rolls onto his back with a groan. “I don’t plan on sticking around for the cops to show up.” He’s staring at me, still smirking like this is fun.

“Got an outstanding warrant or something?”

“Something like that.” His eyes sparkle with a joke I don’t totally get. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been coming here for the past week, and you haven’t noticed me a single night.”

My eyebrows raise at that. “Was I supposed to?”

“Not necessarily. Just strange, is all.”

“Are you used to being noticed?”

“Only when I want to be.”

“Well, look, I appreciate what you did to these three fuckers, but that’s about as far as my gratitude goes.” I give him a hard stare and hope my meaning is completely clear.

He seems unfazed, though. It’s kind of annoying.

“I’ll be back in a few nights. I have work to deal with until then. But give me your number so I can take you out to dinner.”

I dab at my nose. Fortunately, the bleeding’s mostly stopped. I take a breath to calm myself. My hands are still shaking. “Look, honestly, this was nice of you, stepping in and all. I know I’m being short and rude. It’s just, I don’t have time for dinner.”

“You don’t eat?”

“No.”

“Not ever?”

“I photosynthesize.”

“You do what?”

“Like a plant.”

He laughs at that and pushes himself to his feet.

“Alright, flower. Tell you what.” Stellan takes a step toward me.

I don’t move. There’s nothing threatening in him, even if he radiates a strange, masculine intensity.

He’s smiling and restrained, and I don’t get the same unhinged monster vibe that I got from the bald asshole.

But there’s something frightening lurking under that easygoing facade. His clothes are too expensive, and his haircut seems too perfect for a diner like this. He makes zero sense.

“If you change your mind, you let me know.”

“I won’t. But thank you.”

Stellan only gives me another lingering look. His smile fades slightly, and he looks like he wants to say something. But instead, he shakes his head and walks off, hands shoved in his pockets, casual as anything.

Pam comes hurrying back. Harry follows, armed with another rolling pin.

“Where’s he going?” Pam asks, dabbing at my face with a damp towel.

“I don’t know.” I take the towel from her. “I’m seriously fine. I’m not kidding. I bleed all the time. And it’s already done.”

“God, hon, you should go home. Forget the cops. I’ll deal with it.”

“No.” I stand up too quickly. “I mean, I appreciate it, but I need the hours.”

“You got hit, girl. You got blood on your clothes too.”

“I’ll change. Someone’s got to clean up the glass. Just don’t make me go home.” The idea of losing out on tonight’s money is like an electric bolt straight to my chest. A dozen different bills float through my head, plus all the college application expenses Gem’s been putting on the credit card.

Harry and Pam exchange a look. The big man just shrugs. “Let her stay if she wants.”

Pam sighs, exasperated. “Fine. Okay. Just, take a few minutes and clean yourself up. And leave if you want! God, I swear, this fucking place…”

I give her a quick hug and disappear into the back. I duck into the bathroom, flipping on the light, locking the door behind me.

I look tired. My hair’s a mess. My face is smeared with blood. I wash it off the best I can and try to make myself presentable. I have extra clothes in a little locker I can put on.

But, shit. I prod at the bags under my eyes. I poke at my swollen nose. Twenty-three going on fifty. This is what happens when I work six days a week and pick up the graveyard shift another three.

All these sleepless nights are going to be worth it one day. Even getting hit in the face is going to pay off.

When my genius little sister’s in college living the life she deserves.

I’ll look back on this and smile.

Right now, though, I have a mess to clean up and more eggs to sling.