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CREE
Get your ass to work, or I’ll come over there and drag your ass in here.
Yeah, I turned my phone off after that one. Gods bless the genius who invented the power button. While Cree is right, I can’t keep avoiding them, and I really do need to get back to work, I don’t need to let him know he’s right.
Showered and dressed in ripped jeans and an old band shirt that’s been cropped in the middle, I stand at my front door. Keys in one hand and a bottle containing a cocktail of pills in the other.
You should take some now, be preemptive. You know what you’re going to deal with when you arrive. The little voice inside my head is right, better to arrive on a happy high then get there and have to wait for them to kick in after dealing with grabby hands squeezing my ass and men bumping into me just to grind their dicks against me. A memory of Alastair hovering over me flashes through my mind for just a second, and I throw a cocktail of pills down my throat, chasing it with a triple shot of vodka from the bottle on the table next to the door.
Stuffing the bottle of remaining pills in my pocket, I shuffle out of my apartment, lock the door, and turn to face the darkening night. Ready or not … here we go.
Chapter 8
RILEY
The corner booth is oddly full this evening. Instead of its usual lone occupant, the grumpy and stern-faced wolf, tonight, Reed is joined by Cree, Axel, and two other men I don’t recognize. All of them with one thing in common, their eyes follow my every move. Creepy much?
I float around the bar, delivering orders and cleaning tables. Every time I catch one of their gazes on me, I make a show of rolling my eyes, making sure they grasp the message of my full irritations. While Cree didn’t hold true to his threat of standing by my side every second of the evening, his constant surveillance is unsettling.
Cree gestures for me, and I reach into my apron, pulling out my notepad and pen, paste the most innocent smile on my face I can muster, and walk over to their table. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?”
“Six glasses and a bottle of Scotch,” Cree says, his eyes meeting mine. His brows furrow, his eyes glow a golden hue as he studies me.
Well, shit, busted. I know what he’s seeing. Enlarged pupils, maybe a little bloodshot. I also don’t give a fuck. My body. My life. My choice.
“Make it five glasses,” he growls.
Oops.
The night drags on, every minute seemingly longer than the last. Tonight's crowd is a rowdy one, the level of testosterone is off the charts. Between the constant fighting and being repeatedly groped by grabby, slimy hands, I am ready for this night to fucking end.
The guys never leave their table; though more than a few times I had to gesture for them remain in their seats when one of the patrons got more than a little friendly with me. Their continued stares are having an effect on me, one that I really don’t want to analyze. Every nerve ending in my body is alive and fully aware with the feel of their eyes on me. Tingles crawl up and down my spine, and a heat has taken up a permanent residency between my thighs. As shifters, I know they’re fully aware of the effect they are having on my body.
Even though my back is to the corner booth, I don’t need to see to know one of them is approaching me, I can feel it, an invisible yet physical force pressing in on me with each step they take. The weight of it threatens to take me to the floor. My breathing comes in shallow pants as I try and fail to find my center. Fuck, I need to get out of here.
“Switch, I’m taking the trash out,” I grumble to our bouncer. Switch is an ex-military sniper. He’s been working here longer than I’ve been alive, I’m sure. He's a good guy, always making sure females here are looked after. He also knows when I need my space and when not to fuck with me.
I head towards the back door as I hear him holler, “See ya in a few.”I know he’s checking the time, if I’m not back in three minutes, he’ll come looking for me.
I push through the heavy metal door, exiting into the back alley that runs behind the bar. As the door clicks closed behind me, I’m shoved into the brick wall beside me. The trash bag falling free of my hand as I reach out to catch myself. Jagged edges cut into my arm and thigh as I brace myself from bouncing off.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim, balling my fists, preparing to turn and strike.
Meaty hands grip my shoulders, turning me completely so my front is shoved against the wall, bits of rough brick digging into my chest. A knee is forced between my legs, lifting me so I stand on my toes. One hand wraps around my throat, the other slides down my side, meeting the waistband of my jeans.
I press my hands against the wall, my nails digging into the mortar as I push away.
His hands on me tighten, and his hot breath ghosts along my cheek. The stale stench of alcohol fills my nostrils, threatening to choke me. “You walk around all night, teasing us in these tight jeans that hug your hips and this low-cut tee that barely covers your tits. You’re just begging for someone to fuck you good and hard.” His hand around my throat tightens, and I struggle to breathe, my lungs burning with each moment he denies my need for air.
I pound my palm against the wall. Still, he doesn’t let up. Bringing my hand to his, I tap at his fingers frantically. His grip loosens, and I suck in a deep breath, regretting it a second later as I’m thrown into a coughing fit.
With his hand resting at the base of my throat, he pulls me flush against him and takes a step forward so I’m pinned between him and the unyielding wall. I throw my head back at the same time I push against the side of the building with my hands, praying to whomever is listening that I catch his nose. Failing, my act of defiance only serves to piss him off. He releases my throat, fists my hair in both hands, and slams my head into the wall.
One—stars explode behind my eyes.
Two—pain radiates from the corner of my eye, down my cheek, and rings in my ear.
Three—a groan from deep in my throat works its way up, dying on my lips as the haziness coating my mind takes hold.
