Cold Hearted Bastard (Underworld Kings)

I could smell the booze pouring off him before I even got to his table but tried to put on a professional smile, even if I knew it no doubt looked forced and wouldn’t help with this asshole’s tipping. Because he never did.

He glared at me, and I pulled my pad and pen out of my apron. “What can I get for you?”

For a second he just stared at me with bloodshot, glossy eyes and a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead, causing his hair to be damp at his hairline. He also smelled like he hadn’t washed in a while and had only consumed alcohol for the last twenty-four hours.

“Burger and fries. Beer. And make sure it’s cold.” He spit out the last word, and I didn’t respond, just nodded and turned to leave.

He reached out and snatched hold of my wrist, his grip unyielding. Instantly my defenses went up even more, and my body tightened.

“Make sure my beer is fucking cold.” His words were slurred and sloppy, just like his appearance.

“Let go of me,” I said low, feigning strength I didn’t feel like I really had. Surprisingly he did without a complaint. I wanted to rub my wrist but didn’t want to let him know it bothered me as much as it did. “I’ll bring over your stuff shortly. But next time, keep your hands to yourself.” I left quickly, not giving him a chance to respond.

After I put in the order, I stood behind the wall, the only privacy I’d get during my shift. Assholes like him didn’t bother me so much, not when I’d lived in Vegas and dealt with pricks on the daily. But they still got under my skin at times, now more than ever, and I felt more vulnerable than I had in a long time.

I rested my head on the wall, staring straight ahead at the shelving that held a few supplies. I heard the back door open, and I glanced to the side to see Laura coming through, her tattered island satchel hanging off her shoulder. Her long, dark-blonde ponytail was a little askew as if she’d been running, and when I glanced at the time, I realized she probably had been since she was a few minutes late.

Laura, like me, mainly worked the night shift, but she’d been picking up more hours to save up for classes at the community college. If I had friends, she’d probably be the closest one I’d put that label on.

She glanced up and noticed me, a genuine smile moving over her face. “Sorry I’m late.”

I shrugged. What did I care? Things weren’t busy right now, and aside from the drunk asshole, there hadn’t been much “excitement.”

She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it up beside her satchel on the hook that was nailed to the grease-stained wall. She grabbed a “clean” apron, put it on, then stopped in front of me. “The night is that bad already, huh?”

I laughed and shook my head. “Not really. Just the regular drunk asshole.”

She screwed up her nose. “Which one? We get so many of them nightly.”

So true.

She gave me another smile before exhaling and looked out to the front, her nose wrinkling again. “I have to work a double today. I can’t complain, because the tips will probably be good, but Lina… I hate people.”

I laughed, the sound shooting out of me before I could stop it. “Same.”

We both turned and headed back out to the front. I followed behind, seeing if the drunk was still out there… optimistic that one of these times he’d stumble out and never come back in. But there he was, glaring at the wall, probably thinking of all the ways he could get back at someone who’d wronged him years ago. Because men like him were mean while drunk, but sober… he was probably a nasty bastard.

I was checking to see if his food was ready when I heard the diner’s front door open. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart immediately skipping a beat before taking on an erratic note as I watched who walked in. The man was one I’d seen here many times over the past two months.

And he was a man who instantly had every survival instinct in me kicking into gear.

I didn’t know him, not his name, age, occupation. He always paid with cash, always kept to himself. He never spoke more than what was required to order his food. And his expression never gave anything away. No frustration, no exhaustion. No pleasure or hatred. Nothing. It was as if he had no emotion, this blank slate that saw nothing but took everything in.

He was tall, with short dark hair, and he carried an air around him that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but danger. The power he wielded was breathtakingly clear in just the way he walked, in the way he held himself. And the strength in his body was evident despite the dark clothing that shielded it from view.