Page 14 of Flames of Ruin

“Sandy gave you the week off after she heard about the incident in the alley. She said she expects to see you Friday night.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe she made me finish my shift. That bitch.”

I chuckle at her defensiveness. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a little woozy and banged up. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, well, Mister Pissy Pants told me to tell you to stay in bed.” She laughs. “He seems really intense. What was he like?” She looks at me curiously.

“Intense is one way to put it, and utterly confusing.” I groan.

“What do you mean?”

“Hell if I know. One minute the man is trying to throw me away from his table, the next he saves my life and brings me to his home. Then the next minute he’s warning me to stay away from him, that knowing him is dangerous.”

“Well, sis, he is a criminal. He’s probably not lying.”

“It doesn’t add up. Criminal kingpins don’t save people, they look the other way. And they damn sure don’t care about anyone’s well-being but their own.” I sigh, clutching a pillow in my lap, playing with corners of the pillowcase.

“He seems different,” I mutter.

She lets out a loud gasp and covers her mouth, “You WANT him! Like, wanna ride him like a horse, want him!!”

My cheeks grow hot and I just know they’re probably a deep shade of red.

“No. Miranda, I don’t. And Drake Reign wants nothing to do with me.”

“So he says. That’s not what I saw when he walked out of our apartment. He didn’t want to leave your side.” She smirks. “OH MY GOD! If you married him, you could have his mini criminal babies!” She giggles, falling back on the bed.

I throw the pillow at her, and it smacks her in the face.

“I can’t stand you.” Rolling my eyes, I lie back in bed. “I need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

She smiles as she walks out of my room, and says over her shoulder, “Have sweet wet dreams about your criminal boyfriend.”

Groaning, I roll onto my side and try to shut my eyes. As soon as I do, I can see Drake’s face staring back at me. His tortured, black, sad eyes.

Rolling onto my back, my eyes fly open and I stare at the ceiling.

He’s hiding something from me bigger than his identity, and I plan on finding out what.

***

It’s been a week since the attack and luckily I am feeling somewhat like myself. I still have the stitches, which I can hide with my hair in a cute updo, but the headache and the nausea have resolved. It’s Friday night and Sandy expects me to report to work as if nothing happened. Apparently, two waitresses and one dancer quit after hearing about the attack, so the bar is short staffed.

When I walk in, I can see the relief on Sandy’s face as I approach the marble bar top.

“Thank fuck. Someone decided to show up to work today,” she says, as she is furiously wiping the bar down.

“You said I could have the week off?” I ask, already pissed at her demeanor.

“That wasn’t directed at you, sug,” she pauses. “Sorry. I’m just stressed. Being short staffed in a bar where most of your clientele are pistol wielding crybabies when they don’t get what they want doesn’t exactly bode well for my attitude.”

Miranda leans in and whispers in my ear, “When does she have a good attitude?”

I try to stifle a laugh, but I have to bite my tongue when Sandy glares at her.

Pushing Miranda toward the break room, I say over my shoulder, “We’re just going to get ready for our shift.”

She waves us off and begins taking orders from customers who have approached the bar.

“At least she apologized to you,” I hear Miranda say, but I am too distracted by the dark storm cloud yet again sitting in the corner booth. Instead of burning a hole through the table with his eyes, he's burning a hole through me. This time, his sidekick is sitting across from him. He is spewing words, but Drake isn’t listening. I notice instead of a crisp Armani suit, he is wearing black jeans, with a black hoodie, and boots.

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