Page 12 of Obsession

Getting to know her is like trying to pacify an angry kitten. I don’t know why she continues to remind me of one, but shedoes. Maybe it’s the way she looks at me, her eyes hostile and her tone cautious. Most of the questions she answers for me are of a yes and no variety. And for a split second, my mind wanders to a dark side where I imagine having her in a compromising position where still, her eyes are hostile, but her tone isn’t cautious–it’s desperate.

I adjust myself at the crotch and chastise myself for spending so much time on the club floor when I have a thousand other things I should be doing. Of course, I wouldn’t be spending so much time here if I wasn’t trying to assess Megan’s qualities as a potential manager.Yeah, me hanging around here is a business management decision.With the current situation, I need a more hands-on approach in hiring somebody to run this place. Otherwise, I would get a thousand resumes, which would result in a thousand more Steves, and nobody wants that.

“Listen, you piece of trash,” Megan’s voice floats outside to me, and I stir in interest, wondering which poor bastard is getting a verbal lashing from her this time.

She’s actually not that far from me when I turn my head. She’s standing at the edge of the alleyway, talking to a man who is clearly drunk.

“I’ve told you five times to keep your hands off me. Otherwise, I’ll chop them off. And while I’m at it, I’ll chop off your little dick, too, and stuff it up your ass. Don’t think I’ve not done it before. You think you’re the first asshole to piss me off?”

Her tone is fierce, but from where I’m standing, I can see her hands shaking as the man advances. It takes me a second to realize that she’s simply trying to scare the man off by putting on a tough front.

She must have just arrived to work her shift. Her back is to me, and I watch in interest to see how she deals with the drunkard. My smile fades, however, when I see the man grab her shoulders and shove her into the alleyway.

“You’ve got a smart ass mouth, bitch,” he slurs as he pushes her.

My body begins to move on autopilot as I stride over to the alleyway. Megan is nursing her wrist as she scrambles back, a fierce look in her eyes as the man advances, stumbling. Her eyes are darting here and there to find a makeshift weapon, most likely.

I don’t care what his intentions are or how drunk he is. I grab him by the shoulder, and when he turns around, I punch him in the gut, making him crumble to the ground.

Megan’s eyes widened at seeing me. “Y-You!”

The man is howling in pain as he scrambles away. I can’t stand filth like him and have the urge to kick him in the gut a couple more times, but I have to stop myself from beating him to a pulp. I have a feeling that my feisty little bartender wouldn’t be so comfortable with the sight of the man’s blood splattered all over the concrete.

So, I let the man escape.

“I thought you were going to chop his dick off,” I ask, as I crouch down next to her, gently taking her wrist to check the damage.

“I was getting around to that,” she mutters, but I can see the fear still in her eyes. “Why are you following me? Is this because of what happened with your suit?”

She’s clearly terrified, but not enough to stop her from babbling.

“I’m not that petty of a man,” I assure her as I continue checking her wrist. “You twisted it, but nothing an ice pack won’t fix. I don’t suggest working with it today.”

Megan makes a face. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Why?”

“My rent is due, so I can’t afford to take any more days off. Any more questions, Sherlock?” she quips.

She takes her hand back from me and tries to move her wrist. All the blood drains from her face at the slightest movement.

“I’m sure your boss isn’t going to dock your pay,” I tell her. “It’s a work injury.”

She scoffs, “I once twisted my ankle because a delivery guy side-swiped me on his bike, and my boss docked me a full day’s pay because I showed up an hour late. He still made me work that whole day, too. So, no, I’m not going to take that chance.”

I feel a hint of irritation at her story. Did that rat bastard Steve make her work after an injury and still not pay her? I may have some questionable people in my club as patrons, but I don’t run a damn dump.

“Why didn’t you complain to the senior management?” I ask, helping her stand up.

“And say what?” Megan sneers. “He might be smart with money, but I’ve heard rumors about Mr. Middleton. He’s ruthless.”

“What’s so scary about him?”

“As if you don’t already know.”

“Humor me.”

“Rumors are that he’s killed at least three people in this place. It’s like one of those open secrets we all know and don’t discuss. I wouldn’t do this job if I weren’t so desperate.”

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