Page 66 of Ruthless Salvation
“Oh!” I laughed at the absurd notion. “I’m not here to dance. I’m looking to be a server. You don’t want me up there, trust me.” I winked with a grin.
He tapped his knuckles on the bar. “Makes that easy. We’re not lookin’ for anything else.”
“Wait, are you sure? I’m super reliable,” I assured him. “And folks up north always love a little Southern charm.” I wasn’t sure why I’d resorted to begging. I could manage a few more days of job hunting, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this place suited me.
Jolly shook his head, but before he could reply, a man seated on the other side of him spoke up. I’d just assumed he was a customer and hadn’t paid him any mind until now.
“You know how to make drinks?” He looked over, and I was struck dumb by the most radiant blue eyes I’d ever seen. Multifaceted and warm like the images I’d seen of the Caribbean. They almost seemed to glow from beneath his angular brow.
I had to give myself an internal shake. What was it with me and blue-eyed men?
“Yeah, I’ve waitressed and bartended before. I’d prefer to waitress, but I can do either.”
Jolly gave the man a questioning look but didn’t contradict him.
The blue-eyed man threw back the rest of his drink. “She can act as a filler, float between Candice and Lyla.” He slid from the stool and walked away without another word.
I had to force myself not to stare at his retreating form. He was decently tall and lean with honed muscle visible beneath his snug, long-sleeved shirt. I couldn’t even begin to describe how perfectly his chiseled backside filled out his dark-wash jeans.
Sweet Mother Mary. Would you get ahold of yourself, child. The last thing you need is to get involved with a man—least of all, a man likethat.Honey’s voice rang loud and clear in my head.
She was right.
“Well, guess that’s that,” Jolly grumbled. “When can you start?”
I gave him a Christmas morning smile. “You tell me when, and I’ll be here.”
Present
Torin’s doctorwas a middle-aged man who looked like he’d been a heavyweight champ in a previous life. He was solid with mature muscle and easily six-five if he was an inch, and he moved with the carefree ease of a man of that stature—a man who rarely met with any challengers.
“That’s a nasty shiner you’re wearin’ there, Miss Lawson.” The man spoke with a breezy Caribbean accent that complemented his laid-back demeanor, though the disapproving look he shot at Torin wasn’t so casual.
“You look at me like that again, and I’ll give you one to match.” Tor pointed at the man who was his senior in both age and stature. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I didn’t lay a finger on her. Not sure what would make you think otherwise.” He muttered the last part, giving me the sense they knew each other well.
The man, who had introduced himself as Jonas, wasn’t the slightest bit affected by Torin’s threat. In fact, I detected a touch of amusement, as though he relished the thought of Torin attempting to challenge him.
“Still too easy to rile, little Byrne.” Jonas grinned. “I thought I taught you better.”
“Just do your job, old man,” Torin shot back at him without any real force. Their dynamic fascinated me. And I quickly decided that I liked Jonas. A lot.
I smiled at the unconventional doctor. “It’s true. I was attacked at my apartment. Tor had nothing to do with it. Just one of those random awful things that happen sometimes.”
Jonas’s eyebrows arched high. “On Thanksgiving, no less.” He tsked. “Your luck must have run plumb dry, considering de timing. Thanksgiving day has one of de lowest crime rates all year.” He spoke with slow, measured words as he looked me over, skepticism unmistakable beneath his melodic cadence.
My gaze shot briefly to Torin, whose fathomless stare already pinned me in place. “I’ll hold off on buying a lottery ticket,” I murmured.
“Ah, well. T’ings are bound to get better.” He patted my shoulder gently and suggested we look at “those ribs,” only it sounded more like “dose reebs.”
He looked me over, running through a series of tests involving deep breaths, twisting, and bending—all of which hurt like a son of a bitch. Eventually, he gave me a clean bill of health, aside from bruising and contusions.
I excused myself to shower as soon as he finished, allowing the two men to have a moment alone. My hair hadn’t been washed in days, and I needed a chance to do some thinking. I could feel myself wanting to fall back on the excuse of my injuries to stick around. Being cared for was an emotional luxury I’d long been denied. The allure was incredibly tempting, but I couldn’t let it distract me or weaken my resolve.
I took a cold shower, letting the discomfort of the chill ground me and soothe my swelling. By the time I got out, my determination had returned, albeit somewhat less enthusiastic than before. I would go, but it was going to take a heavy toll. My spirit could only be chipped away so many times before the remaining piece was jagged and perilously hollow. Thinking I had finally found a place to call home, only to have it viciously yanked from my grasp, was so much more painful than if I’d simply stuck to my routine and kept on the move. And now that I knew Damyon was still on my trail, it looked like I’d never have a home.
With that depressing thought, I wrapped myself in a towel and opened the bathroom door to get clothes from my suitcase. I didn’t make it far. Torin leaned against the doorframe across the room as though he’d been waiting for me.
I stilled. “Everything okay?”