Page 28 of The Devil's Deal

He screams, blood gushing out like a fountain as he palms his nose, hyperventilating. There may or may not have been a possible crack. It’s kind of hard to say. He’ll have some good memories to look back on. He starts to stumble, but Antonio keeps him upright.

The men at the table to our right mutter something with a chuckle.

“Do you still want to feel my tits?” I ask with a bitter laugh.

All those boxing classes I took for a year have come in handy.

“You stupid bitch!” he cries. “I’m going to sue you for this.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re either stupid or have a death wish. I can’t quite figure out which one.” I release a bored sigh. “I suggest we pretend you didn’t just say that.”

I near his face again, practically smelling the blood still spouting out.

“I’ll break a lot more than your nose if I ever see you near me, my club, or anyone I know. You’ll wish we’ve never met.” I shove at his chest. “Now, you’re gonna scatter like the bug you are and go crawl into whatever hole you came from before I call the cops. And believe me, you’ll stay in prison for a very long time if I do. I’ll make sure of it.”

I back away.

“Get this trash out of here,” I tell Antonio and Marco.

Antonio nods. “With pleasure.”

He drags the scumbag by his hair, the man practically falling over his feet. I rake my fingers through my long black hair that cascades down to the small of my back. This is my life. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. But here I am anyway, kicking ass and taking names.

I wanted to be a teacher. Crazy, right? I intended to make a difference in the world, I guess to counteract the bad my father was doing. It’ll never happen now.

I’m twenty-eight, stuck here working for my father for however long he makes me. I couldn’t even pick my own major in college. My father instructed I choose business so he could use me when he needed me.

This was his plan for me all along: force me into a marriage he knew I’d refuse, so I’d have no choice but to do his bidding.

Walking up to the bar, I order a drink. I need it after that incident.

“Hey, Tina,” I call to the bartender. “Could you get me a Short Southern Screw?”

I love ordering that one, makes me laugh every damn time. And I could definitely use a screw. Not a short one, though. Preferably a long, thick one that knows what it’s doing.

I drag in a long, deep breath. I guess it’ll be another lonely night with me and my friend Pat, a.k.a. my dildo.

Tina places the shot before me, and I immediately let it pour down my throat. It’s got a hint of peach and orange mixed with vodka and Southern Comfort. I wanted something to burn and hit me fast, and that sure as hell did the trick.

As I’m about to head back to the silence of my office, someone taps me on the shoulder from behind. I peer around, finding Joelle standing there.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her brows bending. “I saw what happened with that shitbag. I can’t believe he did that to Sienna.”

She shakes her head, pursing her lips with worry, her long, wavy strawberry-blonde hair flirting along the curves of her face.

The woman’s gorgeous, and I don’t even swing that way. She’s the favorite in the club. Every guy who can afford her wants a private dance. Not only does she look like a 1920s pinup, but she also knows how to move her body well.

I wouldn’t know what to do with a pole if my life depended on it. The one time I tried for fun, I looked ridiculous. Sometimes, it sucks being a boss of a bunch of strippers who know how to wrap around a pole better than you could ever dream of, especially when they ask you to join them.

I don’t know why I agreed. The girls were practicing their routines one day and invited me to try it. I was the only embarrassment. I never did it again. These ladies make it look so easy.

It’s not.

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

“I did,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Remind me never to mess with you.”

Her lips curl in amusement.

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