Hunger for You (Shadow Shifters: Damaged Hearts) (2 page)

“Okay. Well, then can I get you something else?” she persisted.

He was still kissing her.

“No,” I said more emphatically. “I’ve already had nachos and beer.”

“Well, if you’re finished, you can’t just sit here and stare at people all night, you know.” I could hear the irritation in her voice but didn’t really give a damn.

“Either you order something else or you’ll have to leave.”

I didn’t want anything else. All I wanted was for him to get his fuckin’ hands off of her.

“Fine,” I told the blonde, still not bothering to look at her. “Get me another beer.”

She sucked her teeth and mumbled something else and then thankfully she was gone.

My girl finally pulled away from him, which was another reason to give thanks. He said something, I couldn’t tell what because his back was to me, but she immediately declined, saying she had to close tonight. Being such a solitary person since leaving the circle of my two older brothers and sister, I’d become really adept at reading lips. Just because I didn’t like talking to people didn’t mean I didn’t want to know what they might be saying about me.

He must not have believed her or didn’t care because she insisted it was true, said she wasn’t getting off until the bar closed at three and that she would be too tired to come to his
place afterward. Very good decision. The guy didn’t think so. She was coming around the bar and out onto the floor when he reached for her again, this time wrapping his arm all the way around her small waist and pulling her back up against him. My shoulders tingled at the sight, my teeth clenching. When he used one hand to tilt her neck and then kissed its length, I wanted to peel that bastard’s hands and lips off her. Her sweet scent was shifting, melting into another aroma that I detested and I’d already stood, ready to move, ready to act. But her manager stepped in front of her and had words with the guy.

“Fuck off, old man,” he said to the manager, but he had let her go and she’d quickly moved away.

Without hesitation, I walked over to where she stood on the other side of the room flipping through her receipts. Fear engulfed her as her fingers shook and she ended up dropping several to the floor. The scent was thick and threatening to choke me, or push the cat inside, until I ended up choking that bastard guy she liked instead. Determined to keep her close, to keep her safe, I bent down to pick them up at the same time that she did and our hands collided over one particular receipt.

She looked up instantly, jerking her hand back as if my touch had somehow burned her. I tried not to be offended even if a part of me knew she’d done the right thing. She shouldn’t be near me, shouldn’t touch me because I wasn’t what she thought. I
couldn’t dismiss feeling some sort of electric fission when we’d touched. It was followed by a flow of heat that moved straight to my groin, pooling into a pleasurable erection, so I couldn’t bring myself to complain. Needless to say I was a little more reluctant to pull away, but figured it was the right thing to do.

I handed her the receipt as she continued to stare quizzically at me.

“Thank you,” she managed finally and stood up.

She was moving so fast, about to walk away, but I wanted her to stay. I knew it was wrong but I wanted it anyway. I wanted her regardless.

I touched a hand to her shoulder. It was a soft touch, in no way as rough as the way that asshole had grabbed her and yet she’d turned around fast as if she planned to punch me in the face.

“What are you doing?” she asked me.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” I replied honestly, and a little too quickly.

“I’m fine,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”

Right. Keep my hands to myself while jerk-off over there can maul you in public. Those words I kept to myself even though I figured she really needed to hear them.

“You’re right,” I said tightly instead. “I should keep my hands to myself.” I was digging in my pocket as I spoke and when I found the money in my wallet, I pulled out some bills and thrust them in her direction. “This should cover my check,” I told her before moving, being absolutely certain not to touch her in any way and headed for the front door.

I stopped right there, my hand hovering over the handle and inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly. There was something here—in addition to her previously sweet scent and now the tangy stench of her fear—something more than the liquor and cigarette smoke. It was something that was not quite right. I turned, looking over my shoulder and saw that the bastard had made his way over to her once again, rubbing his hand over her ass as she tried to clear off the next table.

I felt like an idiot because it was right there in my face as if to say I was probably the dumbass for attempting to intervene in what was obviously an acceptable relationship between the two. She wasn’t
my
girl just because I liked looking at her or because she invaded my dreams every night, my thoughts every waking moment.

It was obvious that she belonged to him. He had permission to touch her, to kiss her, to want her. I did not.

With a frown so potent my temples ached I yanked open the door and walked out into the brisk fall air. To hell with her if
the jerk-off was who she wanted touching her. I didn’t give a damn anyway. I really didn’t.

I’m a victim of abuse, some sexual, a little physical, but mostly psychological. I accept that. Years after the offenses, I can even admit they happened without breaking down completely. Sure I may shed a tear or two here and there at the painful memories, but I am not a
victim
.

By that I mean that for the three years, since I walked out of my mother’s house in Suitland, Maryland, on the morning of July 4, I have been an independent, self-sufficient female. I don’t need a boyfriend, but I don’t shy away from the opposite sex either, regardless of the horrible things I was forced to see sexually. I’ve never been to any type of counseling, unless you include the detailed diary I’d kept since the first night he’d entered my bedroom. Whenever things became too quiet in my mother’s house I reread pages in that diary to remind myself how
sick the man my mother had married really was and to never let down my guard around him, no matter what.

I never reported the abuse because I knew my mother was also culpable, and despite how disappointed I was in her for not kicking that lowlife perverted bastard out of her house after he knocked her out the first time, I didn’t want to see her in jail. Books were my friend, the library my safe haven, and they had been since I was five years old. So when it all started, I read books about it happening to others. I knew what rights I had and I knew exactly what would happen if I told someone. Some days I didn’t care, some days I just wanted him dead or, at the very least, gone from my sight forever. There were two specific times that I almost called the police. I told myself there wouldn’t be a third time. But my eighteenth birthday came first and I left.

He’s probably still beating and raping my mother. She doesn’t want to be saved, so I stopped thinking about saving her long ago.

All these thoughts flooded into my mind the moment Dex grabbed my wrist. My body had shivered all over, my vision going blurry in those next few seconds. Bile rose in my throat and I thought for sure I would lose it right there in the middle of the bar, in front of all those people. And then the part of me
that I’d hidden so well would surely be revealed. I would be devastated.

Swallowing deeply, taking deep breaths had helped. I hadn’t vomited, nor had I fainted or broken out into hysterical screams. I’d stood perfectly still, breathing, while his fingers were so tight I knew there would be a bruise tomorrow. As a matter of fact, I
hated
that there would be a bruise tomorrow.

I’d been seeing him for about five weeks now. He’d come into the bar late one night and looked like a brooding hero, like Heathcliff from
Wuthering Heights
. His thick eyebrows almost gave him a unibrow; the sharp features of his face gave him an edgy kind of attractiveness that for whatever reason I was drawn to. Our first date had been a little awkward. We saw a movie—a vampire flick—and then had drinks at another bar where two of his friends joined us. I’d been nervous for the first couple of moments but then Dex acted all possessive of me and I felt safe. Tonight, I didn’t feel safe at all.

Until the other guy’s hand touched mine.

Okay, maybe I was romanticizing things. I had a habit of doing that, seeing heroes everywhere I looked, ones that matched the heroes I read about in all the romance novels I downloaded on my e-reader. I was thirteen when I read my first adult romance book and I’d been hooked since then. Sure there were more age-appropriate books, now more than ever actually, but I
knew what I’d fallen in love with, I knew what made my heart beat fast, my smile spread, and what kept hope alive for me. It was the romance.

See, I was doing it again, romanticizing the idea of some guy that came into the bar every night drinking beers like they could drown away whatever bad things that had taken place in his life. I mean, I assumed bad things had happened because he had the biggest, saddest, dark brown eyes I’d ever seen. He usually ate like he was starving, except tonight he didn’t and before Dex had come in I’d been wondering why.

I wondered about him a lot, more than I guess I should have since technically I was going out with Dex. But there was something sort of lonely about him, something that pulled me to him every time he entered the bar.

Then the mystery guy had appeared right in front of me, our fingers brushing as we both attempted to pick up the same receipt. I pulled away because it felt like I’d touched a live electrical wire. To be quite honest, it sort of felt like a door had been opened inside of me. Things had begun to happen inside instantly—my boobs tingled, nipples puckering, my thighs shook, wanting to clench right there to stall the slow throbbing that had begun between my legs.

For his part—the guy that held more of my attention than I thought was necessary—he didn’t seem as bothered by the touch as
I did. Sure, he’d looked at me strangely, but he always did that. Guilt came next, like a stinging slap against the back of my head. I was dating Dex. This other guy shouldn’t turn me on, or intrigue me, or both.

He’d left the bar about an hour ago and yet I was still standing here thinking about him when I should be counting up my last receipts.

“Your guy Dex was looking all kinds of delicious tonight, girl,” Hanna said once she’d slipped onto the bar stool, crossed one leg, and pulled her four-inch heeled ankle boot off. She was rubbing her foot as she continued to talk. “Who was his friend? I swear he comes in here with the sexiest guys but none of them talk much. I must have rubbed my tits against his back four or five times and he never even blinked my way. Jerk.”

Hanna was twenty-three and had been working in bars since she was sixteen. She was the one who’d given me the heads-up about the wonderful accommodations I now lived in and given Roy, the manager here, a superior—albeit fake as hell—reference for me to get this job. I felt like I owed her one, but really, I would have been friends with her even if she hadn’t done those things, because Hanna was nice, beneath her tough exterior and heavily made-up face. She was also loyal and I needed a little bit of that in my life.

“This was a new guy. I’ve never seen him before,” I told her while I finished adding the last of my receipts.

“Do they work for him or something? Where do they come from? They look all dark and exotic.” Hanna smiled as she thought about it.

I shook my head, wrapping a rubber band around all my receipts to keep them all neat and straight, then clapping them onto the bar. Roy was a stickler for neatness around here.

“I’ve never said more than hi and bye to any of them. They show up, Dex talks to them, and then they go.”

I learned a long time ago not to ask questions I really didn’t want the answers to. It’s not that I had anything against Dex’s friends, I just didn’t like them. Not the way I liked Dex. But what did I know? I was still trying to figure out why I didn’t get the same physical reactions from Dex as I did from the mysterious stranger with the sad eyes.

“Ooooh, mysterious,” Hanna said. “So what does Dex do? Is he some kind of drug dealer? Because if so you need to cut his ass loose. The last thing you need is to get caught up in some kind of raid. My sister, Jenna, got caught with drugs in her house because her boyfriend was hiding shit in her vent. She got a PBJ and five years’ probation, has to go downtown and piss in a cup every Monday morning by court order. It sucks!”

I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with Hanna’s conclusions. “No, I’m definitely not trying to have any run-ins with the law. He said his uncle runs some type of business down in Alexandria and he’s working there with him.”

“Oh, okay, that sounds cool,” Hanna said, taking off the other boot and letting it fall to the floor. “You do good in tips tonight?”

“Enough to pay my cable bill,” I reported with a smile.

“You go, girl.” Hanna gave me a high five and we went around turning the chairs up onto the tables talking about the next time we were off and splurging on a spa day.

I moved around the bar, clearing a couple of tables, putting some glasses on the bar to be put into the dishwasher, trying to ignore the sensations still sifting through my body. It was as if he’d just touched me five minutes ago. My boobs still ached, between my legs throbbing. I was a mess. I had a boyfriend and was thinking about letting another guy touch me, kiss me, damn I wanted … I didn’t even know his name.

Half an hour later Hanna and I both had our jackets on, purses on one shoulder, car keys in hand as we walked out the front door. Roy was still inside so he’d lock up after he recounted our receipts. Hanna had come in an hour after me today, said she had some kind of appointment before work, so the parking lot had been almost full when she arrived. She’d had to
park around the side of the building. I had parked right out front. After we said our good nights and shared a hug, she went around the corner. I hurried to my car, planning to get inside and drive around the corner so I could see that Hanna had gotten into her car safely. The dark figure leaning against my car stopped me.