Page 93 of Smolder

“Yep. Power-bill paying day for me,” I said, thankful I’d made enough tonight that I could finally get it paid.

The bell chimed, and Linda’s eyebrows shot up. “Another one, and it’s almost three. We are popular tonight.”

Yeah. Lucky us.

I headed back out to the dining area, but the dark hair and even darker eyes stopped me. A chill ran over my body, and while my mind was screaming,RUN, I was glued to the floor.

The only reason Thatcher Shephard would walk into a place like this was because he was looking for someone. That someone being me.

He surveyed the place. “Swanky,” he said sarcastically before turning his eyes back to me.

“What do you want?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t terrified, but the fact that my voice was just above a whisper didn’t really sell that for me.

My reaction amused him, although he never really smiled. It was in his eyes.

“You’re gonna need to be nicer if you want good tips. I know making money on the right side of the law is new to you. But I hear there are more rules and etiquette involved.”

Was he making jokes? My hands clenched into fists, and I reminded myself this man wasn’t sane. Telling him to go to hell was a bad idea. I was pretty sure that was where he’d already escaped from. Satan needed to come retrieve his wayward son.

He held up both hands. “Too soon,” he said. “I get it.”

When he took a step toward me, I was finally able to move. I almost fell on my butt though, trying to get away from him.

“Easy there … what was it my brother called you? Oh, yes. Ace.”

I glared at him. I hated that name. I hated that memory. I hated that my heart felt like it was being ripped apart all over again at the reminder of what I’d never had.

“Please leave. I’ve not done anything to you. Or him. Neither has my dad. Just go away.”

Thatcher pulled out a stool and sat down on it. “We need to have a chat first,” he said.

I glanced back at the kitchen to see if Linda was heading this way. I didn’t want to be alone with him, but Linda had three grandkids and a bad hip she needed replaced. She didn’t need Thatcher doing anything to her.

“What is it?” I snapped.

There was almost a smirk on his lips, but it faded before it formed. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips.

“You can’t smoke in here,” I told him pointing at the sign on the door.

He quirked one eyebrow as he lit the cigarette. “What? Are they afraid it will sully their greasy plastic coated establishment?”

I glared at him saying nothing as he took a long pull. There was no reason to argue with him. He was going to smoke it no matter what the sign or I said.

“I have two questions,” he told me. “Answer them truthfully, and I’ll walk away. Lie to me and well, it’s often a poor choice. I don’t like liars.”

“I don’t like them either,” I agreed biting back what I wanted to shout at him. That it was his brother who was the liar. They all were. The whole entire mafia.

Thatcher studied me. His eyes were as frightening as I remembered. That cold, demented glint seemed to always be there.

He stood back up, and I immediately wondered if I could outrun him.

“Interesting,” he said.

I began to plan my escape route mentally while he stood there smoking.

“I just need one question answered now,” he told me. “What did Merce Dancastle say to you to get you into his car?”

He knew I had gotten in Merce’s car. How? Maeme and Capri had been asleep for hours when I snuck out.

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