The Unlucky Ones, page 10
“Let go.” I gritted. Fighting against his tug, I ripped my arm free.
“Oooooh, feisty. I like it.”
I groaned and turned to walk away.
“Whoa-whoa… Where do you think you’re going?” The guy leaned out of his chair, his arm wrapping around my waist, yanking me back. “Get your sexy ass back here. Aren’t you going to take our drink order?”
“No.” I wiggled against his hold, my rage stinging down my arms and legs. “You guys have had enough.”
“Excuse me?” Dark Hair’s smile dropped, anger twitching the side of his mouth as he got up, standing an inch or two above me. “Listen, sweetheart. We’re the customers. You’re the waitress. You take our order.”
“No! I said I think you’ve had enough.” Rage burned from my eyes into his.
“No?” He pressed himself into me, rubbing against my hip, making my skin crawl. “I like you.”
“Let go of me. The feeling’s not mutual.” I shoved at his chest and he stumbled back. In a blink his expression went from slightly irritated to full-blown fury. His body hunched over, barreling for me.
Fear stabbed my lungs. Without thought, my arm swung, my fist smashing into his cheekbone, pain exploding up my arm in a rush. He stumbled back, his hand going to his face, rage blistering his eyes.
Suddenly hands were on my hips, shoving me to the side, and Lincoln’s form bounded past me, ramming into the college guy and shoving him over his chair onto his back. Lincoln sprang on him, clutching the fabric around his throat, his teeth bared.
“You will get the fuck out of my bar before I call the cops.” He drew the boy’s face close to his own, his grip so tight, the guy’s face turned deep red as he gasped for air. “If I ever see you in here again or even in the vicinity, I will not hesitate to beat the shit out of you.” Lincoln’s shoulders stretched out, and his face twisted in a feral expression, his muscles twitching. “You speak to any woman like that again, or touch them without consent, and you will find yourself a eunuch. If you ever get within five miles of her?” Lincoln tilted his head toward me, his body heaving with wrath. “Even look in her direction, I will hunt you down and kill you. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve killed for a lot less.”
He dropped the boy, whose head clanked on the floor. The guy grabbed his throat, gasping for air.
“GET. OUT. NOW!” Lincoln roared, making everyone, including me, jump. The group hurriedly grabbed their friend and scurried out of the bar, fear and resentment clouding their expressions.
Music still played, but the crowd around was silent, watching in awe and probably a little fear.
I felt the same, holding my throbbing hand to my chest. I couldn’t seem to move, my eyes fastened to the back of Lincoln, not sure what to do. His power and rage were nothing I’d seen before. It was on my behalf.
Hands on his hips, his head down, Lincoln took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Then abruptly, he swung to me.
“Lincoln, I’m sor—”
“Come on.” He softly touched my lower back, herding me toward his office. His shoulders were tight and hunched as he moved us through, every step a thump, which matched the beat of my heart. He strode into the room, flicking on the light, motioning for me to sit down.
Nervously, I followed his unspoken command.
He shut the door, muffling the loud music and crowded bar, and in that instant, I felt we were in a different world. Alone.
He rubbed roughly at his head, then perched himself on the edge of his desk in front of me.
“I’m so sorry. Those guys—”
“Stop.”
My mouth shut. I couldn’t think how to finish the sentence, but he leaped in, “Why are you apologizing?” He peered down at me, his forehead creased.
“Because I caused a fight in your bar. I punched a customer.”
“He deserved it. You’ve got a mean right hook, by the way. But next time go straight for the balls. Quicker and less painful for you.”
“You’re okay with it?” I blinked at him in surprise.
“He was a slimy asshole who wanted something you weren’t willing to give. Don’t ever be sorry for standing up for yourself. Sometimes you might be the only person who will.”
I stared at him, sensing a deeper meaning to his statement.
He exhaled, pushing off the desk. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“What about my tables?”
“What about them?”
“I need to get back to work. It’s crazy tonight.”
He stared at me so intensely I stirred in my seat. “You might have broken your hand, and you’re worried about your tables?”
“Yeah. Julie needs me out there. She can’t handle them all.”
He waggled his head in disbelief. “Fuck them, Devon. You are staying right there.” He pointed at the chair. “They will survive without you, I promise.”
“But—”
“They will survive.” He leaned over, getting an inch away from my face. “Don’t. Move. Got it?”
My throat constricted around itself, and I nodded, looking down at my throbbing red-and-purple knuckles.
He slipped out the door, leaving me with a pounding heart and the urge to vomit. Though, that might have been from the pain in my hand.
Less than two minutes later, he stalked through the door again, a bag of ice in one hand, a Coke in the other. “Put this on your hand, and drink this. Sugar helps with shock.” He popped the tab of the Coke, handing it to me.
“Shock?” I took a gulp and exchanged it for the bag of ice, cringing as I placed it on my knuckles.
“You might not think it was a big deal, but when your body goes into fight-or-flight mode, defending itself, adrenaline flows through your system. When it comes down, you may crash. Sugar helps counter that.”
“Sounds as though you’ve had experience in this.”
“More than you know,” he muttered, leaning back over his desk, opening a drawer, and grabbing two items out of it. The white one rattled with pills. “Ibuprofen.” He lifted the other bottle. “And whiskey. Two of my favorite painkillers.”
I didn’t realize I was studying him until he cocked his head.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re not being an asshole.” I continued to scrutinize him. “I’m not sure how to handle it.”
His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile tugging one side of his mouth, squeezing my heart and reconfirming the feeling I was sinking in quicksand.
“Take these.” He handed me a couple of pills and the whiskey. I tossed both back, the alcohol hitting the back of my throat in a smoky burn, trailing into my stomach. Whiskey had never been my first choice, but this skated smoothly down, warming my chest and cutting some of the pain almost instantly.
Taking another swig, I handed it back to him. He put it up to his lips and took a drink. The idea our lips had touched the same bottle moved the heat from my stomach down between my thighs. I could not look at him. I forced my eyes around the room. There was not one single picture or decoration to give any insight to him.
He set down the container and wiggled closer. “May I?” He motioned to my hand.
My mouth refused to open, but he took my non-response as a yes, his warm fingers wrapping around my knuckles. His touch was careful, but it still sent waves of electricity through me. Did he not feel it? Was I alone in this?
“It seems okay. For one, you’re not screaming when I press on it. For another, it doesn’t feel broken. Just bruised.” His head was pointed down, but his gaze flicked up to mine. He was so close; air evaporated in my lungs, and I froze.
Desire. Yearning. My pulse thumped between his fingers.
For a second, his eyes flicked down to my mouth, the action drawing attention to his eyes.
“You wear contacts.”
Lincoln jerked back, his expression shifting to a wall of stone in a blink.
“Yeah.” He stood up, tossing the whiskey bottle back into his desk. “Nearsighted.”
“Oh.” It was no big deal, lots of people wore contacts, but his abruptness took me off guard.
“Go home. Take some more painkillers before you go to bed and keep ice on it.” His fingers tapped at the paperwork on his desk, his voice detached and aloof. “I’ve got work to do.”
I licked my bottom lip, rising from the chair, feeling confused, embarrassed, and rejected in some strange way.
“Okay.” I headed for the door, stopping when my good hand was on it. “Thank you, Lincoln.”
His only response was a grunt.
Stepping back into the loud, crowded bar was as jarring as being awakened by a fire alarm in the middle of a really good dream.
“Devon!” My sister’s voice rang down the hall, reaching me. “Where have you been?” She ran down, taking in my hand. “Are you okay? I was so worried. I heard from that bartender, Miguel, another hottie by the way, you had been in some bar brawl. What the hell happened?”
It had felt like the entire bar had seen or heard us, but obviously it only felt that way. It was too loud and busy, the other half clueless to the drama. For once I was grateful for a crowd.
So how did Lincoln know I was in trouble? He had been the farthest away. I shook my head, not ready for any more riddles I wouldn’t be able to solve.
“Let’s go home. I’ll tell you everything there.”
“Yeah, okay.” She nodded, following me out to my car. It actually sounded perfect to curl up on the couch with my sister, watch movies, and not think about anything.
Especially my extremely hot and confusing boss.
Chapter Twelve
I tossed and turned most of the night, so the next morning my blurry eyes stared at the coffee maker willing it to go faster. My mind was exhausted, but something kept revisiting the night before, trying to figure out an equation that had no answer. Rolling it around and around, trying to find missing evidence of something. I was like my father, unable to let go of something until I figured it out, to the point of obsession.
While my head kept replaying the scene, my hormones kept reliving the moment with Lincoln, stirring almost painful restlessness through me. My aching hand only added to the vibrancy of the memory. The way he could threaten the guy but touch me so gently. He was extremely guarded and on the edge of violence, but he had this other side. The guy who fixed my car and shared his whiskey with me. The one who joked. Worried about my welfare. Smiled.
Damn. His grin almost had me falling out of my chair. It wasn’t fair a tiny tug of his lips made the ground heave from under me.
It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense. Amelia was right; he wasn’t my type. I had never been drawn to the muscular alpha male. Sweet, funny, down-to-earth Cory had always been my type. So why was I so drawn to Lincoln?
“Hey, Devy. How are you feeling this morning?” Amelia dragged herself up beside me, ogling the coffee maker. Her hair was messy, eyes half-lidded.
“Okay,” I lied, wiggling my hand, sucking through my teeth. It hurt worse this morning than last night, the bones voicing their opinions of the impact.
“Oh my god, I had the best sex dream.” Mel grabbed a cup from the cupboard, yanked the coffee pot out, putting her cup straight underneath the drip.
Or you could do it Amelia’s way and not wait.
“Really?” I exhaled.
“I didn’t want to wake up, but now it’s got me all hot and bothered. Definitely time to get laid.”
“You go, girl,” I said flatly, watching her cup fill.
“I will. You know me, once I set my mind on something, I will get him. Shit, he’s probably amazing in bed. Like blackout kind of orgasm.”
My head jerked to her, nerves twisted in my stomach, knowing I didn’t want to ask but couldn’t stop myself. “Who?”
“Lincoln. Duh.” She grabbed her full cup, shoving the pot back under and taking a long sip. “He’s so frickin’ hot.”
As if hands dug into my chest strangling my lungs, frost formed around my bones.
“What?”
“You know, your boss?” She lifted an eyebrow at me. “He has the sexiest voice. Like, I was instantly wet.”
“You talked to him?”
“Yeah.” A carnal smile curved her mouth as she took another drink. “We chatted for a while.” She stressed the part as if it meant a lot more than she was letting on.
“Oh?” I tried to swallow over the lump in my throat. “What about?”
“This and that.” A secretive beam lit up her eyes.
Oxygen barely grazed my lungs. “I thought Miguel would be more your type.”
“Miguel?” She stuck out her tongue and shook her head. “He’s cute, but Lincoln is ten times better. Miguel is a boy compared to Lincoln.”
“Do you think he likes you?” I grabbed the ready coffee and poured the rest into my cup.
“Definitely.” Her mouth spread into a full grin.
Searing heat poured over the ice in my veins. Amelia was an expert in men. There wasn’t one guy she wanted whom she hadn’t been able to get. She was gorgeous, fun, flirty, and direct.
“H-how do you know?”
“Jeez, Dev, what are we in, grammar school? I can tell when a man is interested.” She rolled her eyes, walking over to the sink, depositing her empty cup. “It won’t be weird, right? Dating your boss?”
My mouth parted to answer—scream—yes.
“Oh shit, I’m running late,” she said. “I need to get ready for work. Lucia’s keeping Mia until I get off work.”
By the time we got home last night, Lucia said Mia was sound asleep and to leave her because she was watching her the next day anyway. Lucia was probably one of the best things that came with moving into this run-down building. She was kind, loving, patient, and always willing to watch Mia, as if she were in need of a grandchild as much as Mia was in need of a grandma figure. They spent a lot of time playing games, coloring, and making cookies. A few times I wanted to ask if she would babysit me.
“Maybe Lucia will continue to watch Mia for a few more hours so I can stop by the bar again tonight.” Amelia tipped her shoulder playfully, sauntering back down the hall to her room.
No.
No. No. No.
It was the only thing rolling through my head while my guts screwed up into a ball. Amelia and I had such different taste in men, there had never been a worry we’d be attracted to the same one.
Until now.
I was drawn to Lincoln, but I didn’t know how I felt past that. All I could think was not him. Anybody but him.
But if he liked her too, I had no right to be upset. The thought of watching them kiss or seeing them together darkened my already temperamental mood.
Perhaps I read him all wrong last night, and he didn’t experience the sparks flaming between us or want to kiss me. Maybe he was just being a nice guy and aiding a hurt employee. That was it. Amelia usually had awful taste in men, but her instincts about them being interested in her were typically on point.
With Cory, Finn, and every awful one-night stand, I had proved I had no radar.
“I’m out!” Amelia poked her head in, dressed in cute, snug, torn jeans, brown booties, and an off-the-shoulder blouse. “You’re seeing Mom today?”
I nodded.
“Okay. There’s a good chance you’ll see me tonight. Have a good day.” She waved and whirled out the door like a tornado, clueless to the reason I still stood in the same place feeling as if I were going to vomit.
It was another bad day visiting Mom, which was becoming the norm. For one brief moment she remembered my name, but then something else would capture her attention. She looked back at me as if I were a stranger who sat down next to her.
There were days I could handle it better than others, turning off my heartache and trying to be there for her.
Today was not one of those days.
My mood was sour before I got there. Exhaustion and the constant throbbing in my hand kept my temper on the edge. Seeing my mom left me full of sadness and anger.
Strangely, it gave me determination to talk to Lincoln. Confront him. Even if I embarrassed myself, I wanted to know what was going on. Why he was so hot and cold with me, and I needed to know if he was interested in my sister. If they dated, it could make things a bit awkward for me, especially if they broke up.
Nat’s head popped up when I burst through the door. She watched me stomp into the bar, her eyebrows curving in curiosity.
“Is Lincoln here.” It was more a statement than a question, my resolve set. “I need to talk to him.” I turned for the office.
“Devon, no. Not right now.” Nat shook her head, her gaze darting to the back room. “It’s not a good time.”
“Why?”
“He’s with someone…”
“What?” A knife stabbed straight into my torso, stealing my breath. He was with someone? Was he dating someone? Was she in there? Were they having sex? What was wrong with me?
Nat apprehensively gazed down the hall, then walked over to me, keeping her attention fully on the office door.
“James is back,” she said quietly, nodding to the back.
James. His brother. Not a girl. The relief that washed over me triggered electricity down my arms. Oh shit. I shouldn’t care if he was with another girl.
“James looked totally drugged out.” She clicked her tongue. “Let’s say it was not a warm welcome between brothers.”
At the click of the door, I swung around. A blond man with glassy blue eyes stepped out of Lincoln’s office, wearing ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. He was a few inches shorter than Lincoln and thinner, but they had the same jaw and facial structure. James appeared older. His skin was leathery in places, as if he spent too much time in the sun, his lips dry and split. His hair was shaggy, his scuff uneven, as if he couldn’t care less what he looked like. You could tell if he showered and took care of himself he would have been incredibly handsome. Looks ran strong in their family.
“Well, well, well…” James staggered toward me, his eyes wandering up and down my figure. “You’re new.”
