Page 38 of Devotion

The fabric of a black shirt and dark, tailored suit jacket seems to melt over his shoulders, chest, and biceps. Just above the open collar where he’s left two buttons undone, dark ink bleeds over his skin in a shape it takes me a moment to identify. The spindly legs of a large spider stretch toward his throat and jaw. The rest of the body disappears beneath his shirt, and I swallow deeply to gather myself. I’ve gotten sidetracked from the real issue at hand.

Fucking John.

I face him again, with what feels like the human equivalent of a loaded sentry gun now posted behind me—this stranger who seems to have come to my rescue.

“Are we good here?”

John frowns at the question. “And who the fuck areyou?”

My chest heaves, and I get the sense that the walls are starting to close in on us.

The stranger takes a step closer. We aren’t touching, but I feel his heat warming my back, making me uncomfortably aware of him. “Who I am depends on your next move,” he warns. “I can either be some guy you ran across in passing. Or… I can be the guy who sends your sorry ass home to his mother in pieces. Your call.”

A chill races down my back. I’m positive he isn’t serious, and his threat is completely empty, but there’s an air of promise that makes his words just believable enough.

John passes a gaze toward me and then scoffs. “Fucking bitch. You aren’t even worth it.”

He grabs a napkin from the bar, then walks away, blotting liquor from his chin and chest.

Swallowing, I turn toward the stranger, only to find that I can’t even meet his gaze. I’ve never been this overwhelmed by someone before.

“Are you okay?”

I revel in his deep voice a moment before answering, first with a nod. “I’m fine. Mostly, I’m just annoyed.”

I keep to myself that onlyhalfthat annoyance is aimed at John. The other half is being reserved for Martinez. Who, after this, I’ve decided is completely fucking dead to me.

“You’re shaking,” the stranger points out. “Let me buy you another drink. Something to settle your nerves.”

He doesn’t even wait for an answer before turning toward the bartender, ordering two vodka sodas. Ironically enough, next to a Cosmo, it’s my favorite.

“Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself,” he says, facing me once the bartender leaves to fix our drinks. “Damien.”

The name pings inside my head, and I note the way he stares. As if awaiting some sort of reaction.

“…Layla.”

My eyes are drawn to the subtle curvature of his full lips as he smiles.

“Pleased to meet you,” he says, and I can’t seem to find it within me to respond.

Instead, I draw in a deep breath, silently praying Martinez doesn’t waltz his ass in here and ruin the moment.

“That was quite the threat you made a moment ago,” I say, finally willing myself to speak.

Damien laughs and, God help me, it’s by far the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

“It got the point across,” he answers, and I nod again.

“Clearly. Poor John couldn’t get away from us fast enough after that.”

That smile lingers on Damien’s lips as he places a drink in my hand, then takes one sip from his own glass before placing it on a napkin. After, his eyes flit right back to mine.

“Not sure I’ve seen you here before.”

NowI’mthe one smiling. “Are you here that often? You don’t strike me as the type who’d drink and party his life away.”

I clear my throat right after speaking, unsure of whether he’ll read too much into that and take offense.

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