I falter mid-step, slightly rattled that he’s here.
What the hell is he still doing here?
I thought he would drop me off, leave, and maybe grunt out some warning about behaving myself. But he’s still here, like he’s not planning on going anywhere until he drags me back home himself.
I force myself to tear my gaze away from Carter, and drag my focus back to the work in front of me—running drinks, clearing tables, trying to keep up with the non-stop flow of rowdy customers.
It’s exhausting.
For one shocking moment, I don’t mind lifting a finger and doing something.
This keeps me occupied. It provides my hands with something to do and gives my mind another focus. It prevents me from spiraling, from slipping back into thoughts of my father. It stops me from hearing his voice in my head, the way it cuts through me like a blade and tears old wounds wide open as if they never had a chance to heal.
I bury myself in the distraction—lose myself in it, until he happens.
The sleazy bastard sitting at the bar.
He’s older, maybe in his fifties, wearing a stained trucker hat that looks like it hasn’t seen a wash in a decade and a smug grin that makes my skin crawl. His gut strains against his stained t-shirt that’s two sizes too small, and his bloodshot eyes have been crawling all over me since my shift started.
I’d hoped that if I ignored him long enough, he’d get the hint and move on.
Apparently not.
Clearly, in whatever rotted part of his brain that counts as logic, me pretending he doesn’t exist is some invitation.
“Hey there, baby girl,” he slurs, his voice thick with cheap whiskey.
Before I can react, his hand shoots out, thick fingers clamp around my wrist, squeezing tight and causing pain.
I jerk back instinctively, a flash of panic radiates in my chest as the glass in my other hand begins to wobble dangerously.
My stomach twists, and nausea rises fast.
“Let go of me you fucking perv,” I snap, my voice shaking with rage.
God, he reeks of alcohol and piss.
“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” he slurs, his hot breath heavy with the pungent smell of alcohol, the words sticking to my skin like filth. “Just wanted to talk to the pretty new girl workin’ the bar.”
His beady eyes drop to my tits, his tongue darts out to lick his cracked lips, and bile rises hard in my throat. His fingers clamp down harder around my wrist. I jerk my arm, trying to shake free, but the bastard holds on tighter, his eyes darkening with something ugly.
Before I can twist away, his free hand gropes at my thigh, trying to pull me toward him, his stubby fingers digging into my jeans.
Panic spikes. I push against him, struggling to get away, but no one seems to notice, or worse, they do and they don’t care. Reed’s slammed up front, too swamped to see.
“Just wonderin’ what your pretty little mouth tastes like,” he sneers, his hot breath inches from my face.
Ew, I’m gonna be sick.
My stomach heaves. I’m seconds from puking right on his disgusting boots.
There’s a sudden shift in the air—BOOM.
The scrape of a chair drags hard across the floor, the heavy thud of boots hammering toward us.
In the next breath, his hand is ripped off me so fast I stumble backward. I blink, barely processing what’s happening before I realize Carter is there, standing between me and the creep. His massive frame towers over the puny man.
His face is a mask of pure, furious rage. Jaw clenched so tightly, I swear I can see the muscles tensing underneath his beard. His dark eyes burn with something lethal, something primal, as he glares down at the man like he’s already dead. His fists are clenched at his sides, veins bulging from the force he’s using to hold himself back.
