Dark Queen

“So, who did it?”

She clasps her hands onto the arms of her chair, lifting her shoulders. “They don’t know. But this freak really did a number on her—carved her up until she wasn’t recognizable.”

Again, she stares at me waiting for me to gasp, or run-in fear.

I won’t.

“The cuts were so deep, it had to be someone really fucking nasty, brutal, strong.” Taking a breath, she adds, “And it came only months after Mr. Leto’s mom’s death.”

So much death surrounding us both.

“How did she die?” The way she said it implies her death wasn’t a normal death either.

“A mugging, of all things. Supposedly.” Her brows pinch. Worry tugs at her lips.

“His mother was murdered as well?” I breathe aloud, wanting to soak in all the information she has to offer.

“I know. It’s suspect.”

Is it?

“Do you think he could have done it?” I ask, bewildered by this new information.

Tension builds suffocating the room.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” she’s whispering now, concern watering her eyes. “But it scares me. I’ve seen the way he watches you.”

Which way is that?

Like I’m his next victim…

I reach over and squeeze her arm. “Don’t worry about me, but thank you.”

Swiping at her eye she sniffles chuckling, “For what?”

Smiling I say, “For being honest and genuine.” I check my watch. Break’s over.

I can feel his eyes on me as I move around the lower floor.

Always freaking watching, stirring my insides.

He’s returned to his table, having lost his suit jacket and tie. He’s now in a white shirt, the sleeves pushed up his arms.

I often wonder what he’d look like without clothes on, and what I’ve learned about him hasn’t quelled that thirst.

Shaking my head to rid the thoughts from distracting me more, I move to the new customers and take their order.

The man, thin with leathery, crinkled skin, looks much older than the girl he’s with. The atmosphere between them makes my stomach churn.

There’s no spirit in her dull, bruised eyes. His large, bony hand clenches her smaller, pale one, making the tips of her fingers turn white.

“My usual bottle,” he tells me flippantly without even raising his eyes to mine.

Another rich, entitled asshole.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m new here. I’m not sure what that would be.”

His jaw flexes with annoyance. “Then ask someone,” he snarls.

The girl he’s with makes a whimpering sound, her shoulders dropping from how hard he’s squeezing his hand on hers.

Bastard.

I want to ask if she’s okay, but I fear it will only anger him further and his aggression will be taken out on her.

“I’ll be back with your order,” I say through gritted teeth, plastering on a fake smile.

When I get to the bar, Simon raises his brows at me, shaking his head. “What’s got you worried this time?”

“Just another asshole who thinks he owns the world,” I grumble.

“Do you know that man?” I ask, nodding my head to the man in question. Simon’s lips curl, answering without words. He disappears out to the wine room and returns with a one of the rare bottles.

“He’s a rich prick. Likes his wine mature but his women not so much.” He shudders.

I look back over at their table, my instincts telling me to go rescue the poor girl. “She doesn’t even look like a woman,” I input, playing with a strand of my hair from my ponytail.

“Alyssa,” he says my name in warning, gaining my attention back to him. “Trust me. Those girls know what he is. She’s not here against her will.”

Taking the tray, he scoots across the bar toward me with the wine, I blow out a breath and head back to the table.

Holding out the bottle, I get an arrogant head jerk in response, confirming it’s the right wine.

I pour for him, then move the bottle to the girl’s glass. The asshole shoots his hand out, covering her glass, but it’s too late for me to stop the wine from pouring out of the bottle and over his hand.

A gasp leaves both me and the girl.

Shit.

“You idiot,” the man roars, his chest vibrating. I can’t move, my legs solidified to the spot, my heart raging.

He begins shaking his hand, sending wine splashes all up my shirt. The blemishes sink in, painting a permanent stain.

“I’m sorry,” I say, despite wanting to hit him over the head with the bottle. His beady, narrowed eyes finally raise up to mine.

“You useless little bitch.” He cracks, the bitter, evil beast in him raising to the surface and spilling free all over me.

My stomach bottoms out with the pure intent of his hateful glare. Instincts have me scanning the table to use something as a weapon if I need to.

All eyes peer our way, putting me in the spotlight. “Clean the mess and get me your manager.” His tone is loud and spiteful.

Words fail me.

I’ve never been spoken to so rudely by a stranger before. Hell, by anyone—not including Luca.