Page 9 of Deviant Obsession

Two minutes.

Three minutes of scrubbing at their feet while they continue their conversation above me like I'm invisible. When I finally stand, my knees ache and my face burns with humiliation.

"I think we're ready for the check," Dean announces, stretching languidly. "Unless anyone wants dessert?"

The table looks like a war zone. Crumpled napkins, scattered silverware, bits of food ground into the tablecloth. They've managed to make more mess than an army of toddlers.

I print their check with shaking fingers—$247.82 for all their sent-back food and endless drinks. When I return to hand them the receipt, they've already stood up, leaving a scatter of bills on the table.

Two dollars. Two crumpled one-dollar bills and a note scrawled on a napkin:

Better service next time ;)

I stare at the insulting tip as they file past me, Dean pausing just long enough to catch my eye and smirk. The message is clear.

This was never about the service.

The moment they're gone, I flee to the back alley, bursting through the heavy fire escape into the cool night air. My hands won't stop trembling as I lean against the rough brick wall, taking deep breaths that smell like garbage and cigarette smoke.

Fury and shame war in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I've dealt with difficult customers before, but this was different. This was calculated cruelty, designed to make me feel powerless. And it worked. The door creaks open behind me, and I quickly straighten up, trying to compose myself before I start screaming.

"Hey, hon," Jenna's soft voice carries across the dark alley. "I saw what happened in there. Those guys were grade-A assholes."

"I just don't understand," I say, hating how my voice quivers. "I've never done anything to him. Why does he seem to hate me so much?"

Jenna steps closer, her pale hair gleaming in the security light. "Men like that get off on having power over women. Just keep your head high. Don't let him see that he got to you."

"I try not to, but..." I gesture helplessly at my beer-soaked uniform. "He knew exactly what he was doing. They all did."

"Want me to cover your tables while you clean up?" Jenna offers. "I think there are some spare pants in the lost and found."

I nod gratefully, pushing away from the wall on unsteady legs. As I follow her back inside, I can't stop wondering what I did to deserve Dean's singular attention.

Why me? What could I possibly have done to make him target me like this?

The questions circle my mind as I change into slightly-too-short black pants from the box of discarded and forgotten junk. I scrub my hands over my face, trying to banish the lingering feeling of helpless rage.

Three more hours of my shift to go, and then I can go home and try to forget the whole thing. But as I step back onto the floor, plastering on my professional smile, one thought keeps nagging at me…

This won't be the last time I see Dean.

Whatever sick game he's playing, he's clearly enjoying himself too much to let it end just yet.

Chapter 4

Dean

The neon sign flickers overhead,casting intermittent red shadows across the half-empty parking lot. I take another long drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke sit in my lungs as I watch her through the streaky windows. Even in that drab, badly fitted uniform, she moves with an unconscious fluidity that makes my cock twitch.

Rhea.

The food was cheap crap, but at least I got a name on a shiny employee pin to go with that sickeningly angelic face. When Brett said last night he thought he recognized her from coming here, I couldn’t resist paying a little visit of my own. Usually, I wouldn’t be caught dead eating in a place that’s barely better than a truck stop. But to see that face again? In less than twenty-four hours, little Rhea's gotten so deep under my skin I can barely think straight.

The memory of her emerald eyes sparkling with defiance last night burns through my mind. The way she'd squared those tiny shoulders, chin lifted in challenge as she'd told me exactly where I could shove my attitude.

Christ. No one rejects me like that. No one except her, it seems.

I should have taught her a lesson right there. Should have shown her exactly what happens to mouthy little girls who don't know who they’re dealing with. Instead, I'd just stood there, getting harder by the second as that pink flush crept up her porcelain neck.

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