Page 15 of Wrecked By You
“Him.” Stan jerked his chin at a man in his forties propped up against the bar. I’d never seen him before, but something about him set my instincts on fire. He had this predatory look that set my teeth on edge. I thought about asking Nate who he was but decided against it.
“Thanks.”
“Want me to handle it?”
“No. I’ve got it.”
The woman Stan had referred to, Justine, had appeared from nowhere about six weeks ago. She’d only just turned twenty-one, according to my security personnel who had ID’d her, given that she looked closer to eighteen. Since that first night, she’d come to the club every Friday and Saturday, and sometimes on Sundays, making it clear what she wanted.
Me.
Too bad for her I wasn’t available. And even if I were, I wouldn’t stick my dick anywhere near someone so young and vulnerable. At least, that was how she came across to me. She gave off an air of desperation, and as much as I had an issue with women in general, I’d never purposely go out of my way to break one.
The women I fucked knew the deal. I stated it clearly right up front, and I chose carefully. Most were late twenties to midthirties, strong females who’d been through the “Who the fuck am I?” journey, and were confident in themselves and what they wanted out of life, and out of their sexual encounters. But Justine was too young and too fragile to swim in shark-infested waters.
I’d made it clear that she’d never get what she wanted from me, but either she refused to take a hint, or she’d heard me just fine but thought she could persuade me to change my mind. Lately, she’d upped the ante by arriving with other men, or picking one up while she was here, and putting on a show, purely for my benefit. But she was playing with fire. Whether or not she got burned wasn’t my business, but for some ridiculous reason, I felt responsible for her safety. Hence I’d ensured that a member of my security detail followed her home at the end of each night and made sure whatever guy she left with didn’t hurt her.
So far, she’d gotten lucky. The guys would drop her off at her home, and she’d go inside. Alone. But it only took that one who refused to take no for an answer, and while my security guys would step in if things got out of hand, I couldn’t keep her safe twenty-four seven, and there were a lot of men out there who didn’t like being told no.
She wasn’t listening to reason. Therefore, the time had come for me to deal with this situation once and for all, and I knew just the way to handle it.
Cruel? Yes.
Necessary? Abso-fucking-lutely.
It would also make me the villain, but I had no problem slotting into that role if it taught Justine a valuable lesson that kept her safe.
I had a word with one of my security guards and pointed out the guy Justine had arrived with. He’d block off the guy if he tried to follow us. I made my way over to the bar and held up a finger at Ella. She nodded to acknowledge me, finished serving her current customer, and then made her way over to my location. She dipped her chin as she approached, her moss-green eyes part submissive, part defiant. My groin heated. I had to admit, she was a pretty little thing. Hair the color of the darkest night hung past her shoulders, her cute button nose turned up at the end, and a handful of freckles were scattered across her cheeks. Small, too. I liked small women, or rather, I had, when I’d still liked women. Maybe it had called to the latent protector that hung over the male of the species from prehistoric times.
Nowadays, it didn’t matter whether they were tall or short, curvy or slim, demure or overtly sexy. I didn’t do women. They were either drama or death, and I wasn’t in the market for either.
“How’s the hand?”
Ella startled at my question, then held out her palm and flexed her fingers. “It’s fine. A bit sore, but I’ll live.”
“Make sure you get it checked out tomorrow.”
She nibbled her lip and ducked her head. “I will.”
Her reply sounded more like “I won’t,” but whatever. Her decision, and her problem if the cut got infected.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah, water.”
She pivoted, crouching to one of the low-level fridges. Her top rode up, revealing a sliver of pale skin. My dick swelled. I willed it to deflate. Executing my plan to scare off my stalker wouldn’t work if I had a boner.
Ella set the water on the bar. “Anything else?”
“No, I’m good.”
She paused, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, then she nodded and bustled off to serve someone else. I tracked her for a few seconds, impressed at how she juggled serving two customers at once. She’d caught on quickly. After a few shifts, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between her and my longer-serving employees. My instincts about her from a work perspective had been right on.
Were my instincts about her being trouble, or beingin trouble, also accurate? Only time would tell.
I spun to face the club, resting both elbows on the bar. Justine stood about fifteen feet away, shaking her booty. Her middle-aged companion had his hands on her hips and was grinding into her. She lifted her head and her gaze found me, hunger and lust blazing from her honey-colored eyes.
My water bottle dangled from my right hand, and I swung it in the air, then cocked my head. She took the bait, shoving the guy’s hands off her and nearly falling over her feet as she made a beeline for me. I set off for the staff restrooms, not needing to glance behind me to know she’d follow.