by Austin, RB
Thank you, Creator. Thank you.
Then he fully took in the Follower standing in front of him. His breath caught in his throat. She was . . .
A mess.
Circles shadowed her eyes, so dark they were almost purple, as if she hadn’t slept in months. She was too skinny like she wasn’t eating either. Her cheeks had an unhealthy flush. Strands of hair stuck to her face as if she’d been sweating. The rest of her hair was thrown back in a sloppy ponytail.
The black jeans hugging her long legs had seen better days. Her three-quarter sleeved shirt was a size too tight, clinging to her breasts in a way that, well, made him want to pant. His eyes lowered to the black gloves that disappeared underneath her shirtsleeves. When his gaze traveled back to her face he saw the hard look in her expression. One he recognized from over the centuries. Life was an upward battle and most days she was losing.
Yes, individually, she was a mess, but as a whole?
Not. At. All.
He wanted to touch her. Buy her a meal. Talk to her. Learn how her words coincided with her emotions.
“Hello?”
A rush went through him at her tone. So many layered emotions in that one word.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you coming in or just going to stand in the doorway all night?”
“Sorry.” He started forward.
She waved a hand to the almost full lounge. “There’s an open table in the back or seats available at the bar.”
Before he could utter a word, she walked away.
Air suddenly vanished from his chest. Loss.
Frowning, he rubbed his sternum, staring after the nheqeba. What did she grieve?
She disappeared behind a swinging door and he turned to the room, expecting an onslaught of emotions. Nothing happened. Perhaps the barrier was faulty, had holes. He’d take it. A trickle was better than a gusher.
His gaze traveled to the door that was still swinging, probably led to a kitchen.
Even if it turned into a gusher, he’d stay. At least for a little while.
Lucas chose the table in the back, ordering a drink and some food when his waitress appeared. Disappointment flashed when he realized it wasn’t the nheqeba’s section.
Over the next hour the female’s gaze flicked in his direction as if she could sense his interest. Did she reciprocate it? Or did she think he was a stalkerish creep? At that thought, he tried not to get caught staring.
She was good at her job. The customers liked her. The zakaars more so. One in particular.
A roar sounded in his ears. His gaze swiveled the room, searching for the Follower who was about to erupt. He’d move the nheqeba out of harm’s way.
The searched proved futile. Most of the guests were drunk or on their way to it. None of the workers seemed angry or upset. Maybe it was only a flash of irritation inflamed by alcohol.
Lucas waved over his waitress. “Another scotch, please.” He’d stay a little while longer. To make sure nothing happened. It was his duty to protect, after all.
He sipped his drink, gaze travelling to the zakaar in a side booth. The male’s stares at the female practically rivaled his own. He was tall, broad shouldered, wearing a suit—off the rack—and an I’m the shit attitude. His entourage apparently believed it because they laughed at everything he said. Not even half of the drivel flying out of his mouth was crack a smile funny.
The nheqeba blocked his view of the table. She was delivering drinks to the zakaar. A roar blasted in his ears again, but Lucas was too busy listening to the male’s lewd suggestions to figure out who it was coming from. As she walked away, the zakaar grabbed her by the waist and yanked her to his knee.
The nheqeba stilled. Fear flashed across her face before she laughed—a forced awful chuckle. She wriggled out of his arms, and once on her feet moved well out of reach.
“Did you need something, honey?”
Startled, Lucas glanced down at the waitress. Only then did he realize he’d moved, and was now standing, halfway across the bar, hands clenched. Followers at the surrounding tables gawked. Lucas pivoted, walked back to his seat, watching the nheqeba out of the corner of his eye.
Was she okay? Her expression said yes, but the tightness around her eyes and stiff shoulders said something else. She fiddled with her sleeves, tugged them down one at a time before pulling on the hem of her shirt.
“Another scotch? Or something more to eat?”
The waitress had followed him back to his table. He moved his gaze to her and was presented with a black-laced cleavage shot. Oh, and she had a belly button ring.
“How about dessert? It’s on a special menu. Only offered to certain guests.”
He blinked, glanced at her fully, finally interpreting her expression. One he’d seen countless times over the centuries. A look most welcomed on ceremony nights.
Lucas forced a smile. The waitress with short, dyed, black hair, and too much eyeliner inhaled sharply, pupils dilating.
“Just another scotch, please.” He widened his smile to take the sting out of his rejection.
She blinked slowly before shaking her head. “Coming right up.”
The nheqeba’s tray was full when she walked from the bar. Extremely full. But she handled it with ease as if the tray were an extension of her arm, a relaxed expression as if the weight didn’t bother her. Nevertheless, Lucas had to stop himself from taking it from her grasp.
She passed out drinks, smiled, and talked with customers. Lucas watched the zakaar watching the nheqeba. There was a predatory gleam in the male’s eyes. He knew that look. Wore it when hunting Fallen. Lust was in that gaze, too.
Lucas’s hand tightened around his drink. Minuscule sounds of cracking glass reached his ears, and he had to force himself to relax.
The zakaar spoke. The whole table laughed, glanced at the nheqeba. She was serving a table near their booth. The nheqeba finished unloading her tray, said a few words, and headed down the aisle.
The slap across her bottom rang across the room.
Lucas froze. When the zakaar’s table burst into laughter, a low growl escaped from him. The nheqeba stilled, her back to the males, before continuing to the next table, her smile bright as she collected empty glasses and listened to refill orders.
A soft gasp broke into his thoughts. Lucas met his waitress’s startled gaze. “Your eyes,” she said on a breath.
Fuck. He dropped his head, blinked, and glanced up, frowning. “What about them?”
The waitress’s forehead wrinkled. “Never mind. Must’ve been the lights.” She set his drink on the table. “You’ll let me know if there’s anything you need?” Her finger trailed down his arm.
“Of course.” He flashed a smile before his gaze found the nheqeba again. She was watching him. He straightened, wishing the waitress hadn’t touched him. Did the nheqeba think he liked her co-worker? The waitress said something else and left. Lucas held the nheqeba’s stare until someone called her and she turned away.
She worked harder than any other in the place. When she wasn’t refilling drinks at her own table, she ran to the kitchen with orders, wiped tables, even those not in her section, and helped the bartender pour drinks when it was slammed. His nheqeba didn’t like to sit still too long.
His gaze ran over her gloves. She hadn’t taken them off once. When a customer knocked into her and liquid splashed across her shirt and gloves, she used a wet cloth from behind the bar to wipe off the spill. Why was she wearing them? No other worker in the bar wore gloves. Did she have a deformity?
She hadn’t looked at him again. He wanted to motion her over. Tell her he was interested.
That wouldn’t be wise, though. It wasn’t like he could take her out on a date.
Lucas paused, glass halfway to his lips.
Did he actually want to date her?
Yes.
But he couldn’t. It was forbidden. Unless she was his bahshrett. His heart leapt, then his shoulders sagged. She wasn’t. He’d felt her emotions at the door, her grief when she walked away.
This would have to be enough. It would definitely make his stay in Philadelphia bearable. He tipped the glass and drained the sweet, smoky drink.
“Another one?” his waitress purred.
“Yes, please.” The nheqeba was at the zakaar’s table again.
Annoyance flashed. Startled, Lucas glanced at his waitress. She didn’t seem pissed, but he hadn’t misread the emotion flowing through him.
“Would you like some peanuts, or anything else?”
“Not necessary. Just the scotch.” He smiled, forcing his gaze to stay on the waitress until she turned away.
The nheqeba was still with the zakaar. If the male laid a hand on her again Lucas wouldn’t be able to control his reaction. The bartender had glanced in that direction more than once over the last few hours, concern etched on her face, but she hadn’t interfered.
Lucas hadn’t realized he was even considering it until the zakaar got up to leave. When his entourage followed, Lucas threw enough bills on the table to pay for his tab with a little extra to soften his rejection toward the waitress.
Outside he waited until the others had departed to make his move.
He closed the distance quickly. Placed his hand on the back of the zakaar’s neck above the collar of his jacket. Pushed the urge to sleep through his system.
“What the hel—” The male dropped like a stone. Lucas heaved the zakaar over his shoulder and walked across to the street to an area hidden from plain view. He laid him, not too gently, on the ground.
Lucas stood over the male, watching his large chest rise and fall. It wasn’t hunger for the Follower’s blood that rose inside him. He unbuttoned the male’s coat and shirt. The zakaar’s chest was covered with thick dark hair.
One knee on either side of the male, he placed his hands on the zakaar’s chest, and closed his eyes.
Chapter 21
“He’s back.” Tina whispered with a smile.
Kate resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If the man hadn’t responded to any of the waitress’s come-ons so far he just wasn’t interested. Though she’d give Tina props for tenacity.
She flashed Tina a smile over her shoulder before placing a gin and tonic with a twist of lemon—not lime because the last time the lady had lime she’d spent the whole night puking—on her tray.
Seriously, why did her customers think she was interested in any of that crap? Besides, was it really the lime, and not the shots of gin, that led to vomiting?
“He must like you,” Kate said, knowing it was what Tina wanted to hear and a complete lie. Rich Guy showed little interest in the waitress. Kate reluctantly gave him kudos for that. Most men couldn’t resist Tina when she offered them free, no strings sex.
“You think?” Tina asked, showing the first bit of insecurity.
“If he doesn’t, he’s not worth your time.” Kate concentrated on piling her tray with drinks while still keeping it balanced. She normally didn’t get cozy with the people she worked with, but Tina had made it impossible. Since day one the waitress had been sharing her life with Kate. The most intimate details. Most of which Kate wished she could unhear. She didn’t want to know about the girl’s yeast infections. Just no.
The fact Kate had never shared one solid piece of information about her own life didn’t seem to bother Tina. The girl must want a sounding board. Pathetic as it was, Kate didn’t mind. It was nice to pretend she had a friend.
“He keeps sitting in my section, so he must have feelings for me. At first, I thought he liked you. Couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.”
“What?” Kate whirled so fast to face the waitress, the vomit lady’s drink splashed on her tray.
Tina nodded. “But he hasn’t talked to you, right? Like, at all?”
Kate’s gaze traveled across the bar to the man sitting in the back table. He was wearing another look-at-me-I’m-super-rich outfit. His creased pants probably cost more than two Saturdays of tips and the sweater looked softer than any pillow she’d laid her head on.
His drink of choice, scotch. Some nights he drank practically the whole bottle. It was one of the more expensive drinks at the bar. He just reeked of money.
She hated people like that.
Suddenly he turned and their gazes met. Kate glanced away, picking up a wet cloth to wipe her tray before setting another drink on it. Tina started talking, going into a minute-by-minute spiel of every conversation they’d have. She nodded her head and made sounds of approval in the appropriate places.
The first time Rich Guy walked into the bar, he’d seemed lost or upset. She’d remembered those feelings all too well. Then his gaze fell to her chest and stayed like he had Superman’s x-ray vision. At that moment he morphed into every male customer she’d ever had, a complete and utter waste of time asshole.
She’d been happy her section had been full. Johnny and his hands had been more than enough to deal with. Who she hadn’t seen in weeks actually. Not that she was complaining. Johnny’s advances had grown worse night after night. Even if the jerk left big tips, it wasn’t worth the panic that one night he’d finally touch skin. The way his hands roamed, it was inevitable.
Her gaze traveled back to Tina’s man. She frowned. He wasn’t really the waitress’s man. Tina only wished Rich Guy was hers.
Kate hid a smirk then felt immediate shame. It wasn’t like she wanted to go home with R.G. She should wish Tina well.
“What do you think?”
“Huh?”
The waitress rolled her eyes. “Should I ask him out?”
She frowned. “Haven’t you already done that?”
“No.”
Kate raised an eyebrow.
Tina’s cheeks flushed. “I never asked him to go on a date-date.”
“Oh, well, sure. Why not?” Why did it feel like she swallowed a stone? It couldn’t be jealousy.
Sometimes Kate imagined what it would be like to be with a man. To touch without fear of repercussions.
But not R.G. No bar waitress could ever be good enough for him. He sure was nice to look at, though.
Kate couldn’t believe Tina also noticed him staring. At first she assumed it was her gloves. It happened everywhere. People were curious.
Then she studied his expression and, it was clear, his interest had nothing to do with her pleathers. His gaze on her, even when she wasn’t looking, made her warm. Like she was back in St. Petersburg standing outside at noon. She had sweated through more T-shirts when he was in the bar than at any other time. He never said anything to her, though. Always sat in Tina’s section.
Maybe she was wrong. Reading into things. More wishful thinking.
Probably was just the gloves.
“Yeah. That’s what I think,” Tina said. “Why not go for it? What else do I have to lose?”
“Absolutely.” Her stomach clenched. Enough. It wasn’t like she could date him. “Good luck,” she forced herself to say before heading out on the floor with a full tray balanced on the palm of her hand.
Chapter 22
Kate opened the side door of the church. The one she’d rigged with a strong piece of tape to stay unlocked. Once the door shut behind her, she paused, waited a full minute before making her way toward the back of the church. She’d stayed at the shelter one night before coming back to this place.
The shelter had brought back too many memories. No matter how nice the check-in lady was the walls reeked of desperation, hopelessness, despair, and urine. Her eyes hadn’t been closed for longer than a minute when a man tried to share her
cot.
She’d froze. Pure panic racing through her before she remembered she wasn’t a kid anymore. After a couple well-placed punches the man hadn’t bothered her again, but going back to sleep wasn’t happening. The heavy falling snow had stopped her escape, so she’d spent the rest of the night hiding in a women’s stall.
The following day, after her shift, she’d made her way back to the church. Worry filled her. The men she’d heard talking last time would come back and find her. But when the days slipped by and nothing happened, she’d started to relax.
Cross-legged on the carpeted floor, she stripped off her jacket and sweatshirt, pulled the treat from the bag. Tonight she’d finally earned enough money for a ticket to Chicago. Kate planned to finish working the weekend. She didn’t want to leave Bev in the lurch, plus tips were higher on Fridays and Saturdays. Then she’d give her sob story to Bev and hours later be on a bus to Stacy.
Her future was within reach. She smiled.
After she found Stacy her life could truly begin. She’d put the past behind her. They’d move to Mexico, with Eddie’s help.
Kate had met Eddie when she was ten years old.
Whenever possible, she’d sit across from the downtown opera house in Chicago and watch the glamorous men and women emerge from their rich, shiny, big limos. The women wore fancy dresses with gloves similar to Kate’s, high-heeled shoes, and their hair all done up. They were everything Kate wasn’t and never would be. But it hadn’t stopped her from watching every weekend.
Eddie would show after the opera was over. The women would go home with missing bracelets or clutches. The men with no wallets. It hadn’t bothered her. Those people had more than enough money to spare. Then one night she saw a policeman walking through the crowd.
