Hooked: A Dark, Contemporary Romance (Never After #1)(10)

“He was a cad, darling.” His eyes glint. “Not worthy to taste the air you breathe.”

My cheeks heat. I had forgotten how forward he is—how absolutely consuming his presence is to be around.

“If you say so.” I smile, glancing at my pink nails before raising my eyes back up to him. “What would you like?”

“A date.”

My breath stutters, my stomach somersaulting. “A… what?”

He grins, one side of his mouth pulling up. “I think you heard me.”

My brow lifts, that same fire I felt two days ago raging back to life. “I did.”

“Fantastic.” He glances around at the empty tables. “When do you get off work?”

I rest my fingers on the counter. “I appreciate the gesture, but… I have plans tonight.”

“That’s right,” he says. “With me.”

Irritation brews in my stomach. “Not with you. God, you’re cocky as hell, aren’t you?”

His eyes flare. “There goes that mouth of yours again.”

I smirk, my heart jerking as it slams against my chest.

He leans forward on the counter. “Tell me your name.”

“Couldn’t find that out when you somehow figured out where I work?” I tilt my head.

He chuckles, standing up straight, his eyes searing through me. “Happy coincidence, I assure you.”

“What’s your name?” I reply.

“I’m James.” His hand reaches out across the counter.

My stomach tightens and my teeth sink into my lower lip. Slowly, I lift my arm, placing my palm in his, the warmth of his skin shooting up my arm. “Wendy.”

“Wendy.” He twists my hand, bringing it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure.”

Heat spikes through my middle.

The bell chimes above the door, a young woman walking in with kids, and I jerk my fingers out of his, straightening my apron.

The left side of his mouth lifts, his eyes never leaving my body. “I’ll be seeing you, Wendy, darling.”

And then he turns and saunters out the door, the woman who just walked in staring after him with her mouth slightly agape.

I can’t say I blame her.

Taking a deep breath to settle my nerves, I ignore the way my insides flush. I’ve never had attention on me the way he gives it, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how he is with everyone—like his world stops spinning, its axis tilting just for you.

Either way, I like it.

It isn’t until hours later, when I’ve closed up shop and settled in for my movie night with Jon, that I realize he never ordered a drink. A small smile lights up my face, butterflies erupting in my stomach at the thought that maybe he was there for me, after all.

It should put me on guard, but instead, excitement floods my insides.

And that night, when I go to bed, I dream of cerulean blue.

James.





6





James





My shoe taps against the stone tile of the JR’s basement floor. I smile, remembering when Ru fought me on installing it, wanting to stick with concrete instead. But I insisted. Concrete is porous, harder to clean. He was thankful for it after realizing that having a cement dungeon in the bottom of a bar would have looked far more suspicious when the feds sniff around.

Which they do every few years.

Even more so after Ru became sloppy—shooting a man in broad daylight and expecting to have no blowback.

If it were anyone else, I would let them rot. The only way to grow from mistakes is by living through the consequences, after all. But this is Roofus. And if Ru is the sand, I’m the wave that washes away the footprints.

So, I handled things. And now, we have the feds on our payroll, focusing on our competition, making sure nothing passes their desks with our names. Free rein, as long as it also pads their pockets, and keeps their families alive.

The Lost Boys, as the newspapers have affectionately labeled us, run wild and free.

I’m sure it would come as a shock to people who don’t understand the game. The majority of Americans live under the illusion that everything works as it should. That government and people who promise an oath actually do protect and serve.

They do. Just for me instead of others.

It’s one of the reasons I find it so lovely to have Peter Michaels and his daughter showing up in the belly of the beast. He’s a powerful man. But here, his name is useless. His money nothing more than dyed paper.

People in this city answer to me.

Including the pathetic excuse of a human tied to the metal chair in the center of the room. The one who thought he could call Wendy Michaels a bitch and not have to deal with the repercussions. I don’t care for disrespect, especially when they’re exerting misplaced power over a woman I’m planning to own.

“So,” I start, my shoes clacking on the tile as I move to stand in front of him. “Here we are.” I grin, my arms raising to the sides.

The man jerks against the zip ties binding him, his eyes wide and red. He mumbles something, but it’s difficult to hear behind the duct tape covering his mouth.

My smile grows and I lean forward. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

I look to the twins; two brothers who have been in my employ since I found them panhandling when they were fifteen. They’re identical, and I used to confuse them so frequently that I’ve stopped referring to them by their names at all.