Page 4 of The Devil In Disguise

I continue working, mindful to avoid Wendy lest she ruin my good day. Deliberately ignoring the barb she makes about my regular T-shirt and jean outfit, I stand at the register and leave her on pick-up duty for a while.

I see him before he even walks inside the shop. I’d know that tousled, jet-black hair with that black leather jacket anywhere.

Kylo Kincaid.

He thinks he’s this invincible, omnipotent being. He’s not the only one, either. Everyone seems to bow down to him and anyone else from the notorious Kincaid crime syndicate.

His stupid gold chain glints under the sun's rays, reminding anyone who looks his way how much money he’s made of. I watch him toss the butt of his cigarette onto the sidewalk before coming inside. I should pick it up off the ground and shove it down his throat so he can choke on it. That’ll teach him to stop littering.

It’s some sort of open secret amongst all of us in the community that we need to stay on the mob's good side. Of course, to some girls they think that means getting in Kylo or one of his capo’s pants, dropping to their feet at the snap of their fingers. Honestly, it’s just sad to see.

Kylo has been frequenting this café for a few weeks now. I still don’t have the slightest clue why he comes here. There are plenty of coffee shops on the other side of the bridge where he lives.

Those dark, midnight eyes lock on mine across the room as he prowls to my spot at the counter. I want to look away and hand him off to Wendy—who I’m sure would be thrilled to take his order—but I can’t pull my eyes away. He has me in a trance. I fight the urge to break our stare off and let my eyes roam over his bulging muscles or trace the tattoos that peek out. I have a weakness for tattoos, and the bastard is tatted like a Chipotle bag, all the way from his neck to his knuckles.

As much as I hate him, I can’t say I’m completely immune to his allure. But I’ll take that confession to the grave.

Subconsciously, I don’t hear the normal chatter in the room. Either everyone got quieter or I drowned them out; I’m betting on the former. When he reaches the counter, I recite the usual customer greeting and wait. But I realize he isn’t paying attention.

“My eyes are up here,” I snap. If there is one thing Kylo is good at, it’s pissing me off. His mere presence is a disturbance to my peace.

“I’m not looking for your eyes. It’s your body that’s calling my attention,” he quips while he takes his time perusing my body.

I instinctively put my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Eres un capullo.”

“But I’m your favorite asshole, aren’t I?”

“No,” I deadpan. His expression morphs from amusement to disgust. He looks at me like I’m a piece of trash he stepped on. Well, the feeling is mutual.

“But since we’re on the topic, while I couldn’t care less if you killed your lungs and brain cells, can you keep the damage to yourself and maybe not kill our world in the process? There was a trash can less than three feet away from the door.”

No one talks to him like that, but they should. I am well aware that he can have me killed with the flick of his wrist, yet I’ll never cower to him.

These exchanges we have irk my soul, but they also excite me in a way. The back-and-forth dance we do stirs up all the emotions inside and I let them fly out freely. He can actually keep up, too. I like a good challenge.

Kylo puts his weight on the counter, leaning forward to whisper, “Were you watching me, Amaris? Waiting on me, hm?”

His warm, husky voice sends a trail of goosebumps running down my body against my will.

“Absolutely not. You just so happened to be in my line of vision at my job, Einstein. I don’t know why you bother coming here, anyway.”

The enmity between us is obvious to anyone with working eyes. Devilish eyes stare me down, holding a swirl of emotions I can’t quite put a name on. Even when he’s hunched down, he still towers over me by at least a foot. I’m five foot five, so most guys I know are closer to my height. But it always throws me off when I have to look up at Kylo.

A small scar on his cheekbone always captures my attention. It oddly makes him look more attractive than a clean, unmarred look would. Whenever the weight of his stare gets too heavy for me, I focus on that scar. He has a similar scar running across his other cheek until it disappears into his growing beard.

Just when he is about to respond, I hear a valley girl voice from behind me, a telltale sign that I should abandon my post completely.

“Don’t mind her, she has a permanent stick up her ass.” Wendy comes into view, batting her eyes up at Kylo seductively and shoving me aside.

“Someone needs to stick their foot up your ass and leave it there,” I grumble before making a beeline to the kitchen. Instead of calling out the order, I make his drink myself. He orders the same thing every time he comes. He is the only person who orders this specific drink, too.

I quickly make his drink in order to get him out of here quickly. When I return to the register, I’m not surprised to find Wendy still shamelessly flirting over the counter.

I set his to-go cup on the counter harder than I probably should. “Irish coffee. $8.50,” I say monotone, shooting daggers at him with my eyes.

Chapter 3

Every time Amaris sees me, those amber-brown eyes light up with rage. Every time I see her, I want to snuff out the fire in her eyes. I enjoy coming in here and ruining her day, but that’s not enough. I hate Amaris Santos. I want her blood on my hands, and not in a way she’ll enjoy.

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