Page 11 of Shadows of Obsession
God, I needed this- just feeling like a regular twenty-five-year-old with her life together. Good job, nice place, maybe even a shot at normal.
Don't get ahead of yourself, warns that ever-present voice of paranoia.
"Another round?" I push back from the table, desperate to outrun my thoughts. I'm feeling good tonight - actually good - and I'm not ready to let my demons drag me down.
"Claro quesí," Roxy mumbles, already lost in her phone. Probably her assistant having another crisis.
I roll my eyes at her phone addiction and head for the bar. While the bartender works his magic, I take in the place - rustic Mexican vibes everywhere. Agave field murals, sequined sombreros scattered across the walls, terra cotta vases in each corner. I close my eyes, letting the music wash over me, when a deep voice cuts through everything.
"Too much tequila?"
It takes me a few seconds to realize he's talking to me, so I turn slowly.
"Sorry?" I ask timidly.
The moment our eyes meet, I instinctively shrink into myself. He's massive - a human mountain with an unkempt beard and eyes so dark they seem to swallow light.
“Looking a little wobbly there, bonita,” he drawls.
He hasn't done anything - not yet - but something in his tone makes my skin crawl. I glance desperately at the bartender, willing him to move faster, but it's peak Friday night and he's already working at lightning speed.
“Just enjoying the music,” I mutter, turning back to the bar, praying he'll take the hint. Ever since Aidan, any male attention feels like needles under my skin.
My message doesn't seem to register in his probably alcohol-soaked brain because I feel him entering my personal space, having no place to sit beside me.
“Music's better with a dance partner,” he purrs, words smooth as oil and just as slick. My stomach churns. I know I can't hide from men forever, can't expect to never be flirted with, but something about his presence sets off every alarm in my body. My shoulders bunch up to my ears; my hands start to shake.
Breathe, Luna. Roxy's right there.The place is packed. But I know better than most - crowds don't mean safety. Nobody wants to play hero for a stranger, not when it might ruin their Friday night.
The bartender finally slides over our margaritas with a smile. I grab them and bolt, not bothering with niceties. Roxy's still glued to her phone when I reach our table, but before I can even set the drinks down, a hand clamps around my wrist like a vise.
“Didn't your mama teach you manners?” the mountain growls, fury rolling off him in waves.
I'm frozen, his grip crushing my wrist. The air turns thick, my chest constricting.Oh God, not here.Please don't let me have a panic attack in front of all these people.
BREATHE, Luna!
But I can't move. Can't think. It's like my soul's checked out, leaving my body to deal with this mess alone.
Roxy launches herself from her chair, shoving him hard, but she might as well try to move a brick wall. Pain shoots through my arm, but I'm trapped in my own head, flashing back to that night months ago when pain and fear paralyzed me just like this.
Then suddenly he's yanked away from me, and I hear the solid thud of a fist connecting with his jaw.
"Learn to take a hint when a woman's not interested, pal."
That voice - smooth as aged whiskey and just as potent - pulls my attention upward.
The man who stepped in lands another hit, and the crack of ribs echoes through the restaurant. But I'm mesmerized, can't look away from my rescuer. He's dressed in a black suit that screams charity galas and champagne toasts. Those eyes though - storm-cloud gray and intense - hold me captive for what feels like forever.
When I finally take in his whole face, the shock hits like a punch to the gut. Because Roman Borisov, my soon-to-be boss, was the absolute last person I needed playing hero tonight.
Chapter 8
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Roman
Niko's going on about some construction company bleeding us dry with material costs, but I can't focus. My attention's locked on the woman a few tables over, working her way through tacos and margaritas.
