Page 8 of Pray for the Damned

But I’m not willing to risk it. Not when I’ve already fought so hard.

“The pastor seems to have his eyes on you,” Abigail, the other waitress on tonight, tells me. Her dark raven hair is perfectly straight against her bare back, and her deep brown eyes sparkle with excitement.

“The pastor?” I ask, my eyes moving over the club. Maybe whoever she’s talking about has some kind of kink that everyone but me knows about. After a few hours, I’m finally starting to get a handle on my blushing every time I turn around and find a scene playing out in the middle of the bar area, or on the adjacent stages on the other side of the club, but I think it’ll take more than one night to completely get used to it.

“Emmett Levine. He’s a pastor at the community church. He appeared a couple of years ago and comes here a few nights a week.”

My brows tug together. “A priest? In a sex club? Is this the start of some kind of joke?”

Abigail giggles, and her smile lights up her entire face. I’ve struggled all night to get a read on her, but this is the first time I’ve seen past the armor she wears on the outside, and I’m jealous of her ability to drop it. I learned long ago that I either protect myself by hiding from the world, or I’m vulnerable, something I refuse to let myself be, even for a moment.

“You wanna take him, or should I?”

I let out a steadying breath and move from around the bar toward the only occupied booth on the right side of the bar.

I wobble on my heels as I catch full sight of the man I’ve felt the eyes of on me all night. He’s beautiful. Or maybe that’s not the right word.

Even sitting in the corner booth, it’s clear the man is built, but not in an overly bulky way. His black button-down is rolled up to the elbows, and his corded forearms lean against the table.

But it’s eyes that catch mine that I can’t tear my eyes away from. The inky pools are so dark they barely seem real, and I’m lost in them.

His dark brown hair is styled messily, and I’m about to turn on my heel and go back to the bar to double-check this is the pastor Abigail was talking about. Because the man I’m staring at looks like he could kill someone with his bare hands and not so much as blink, not like someone that takes confessions from sinners.

The corners of his lips tip up when I stop at the edge of the table, but I can’t find my words, which just seems to amuse him further.

“Hello,” he rumbles, his head tilting to the side as his eyes move over my face in a way that feels too intimate for a stranger.

I take a breath and shake myself off. This is ridiculous. It’s not like this is the first attractive guy I’ve come face-to-face with. I need to get it together.

“Can I get you another drink?” I ask, my voice a little too breathy for my own liking.

“Whiskey. Neat,” he replies, and there’s something about his voice that seems almost familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. Surely I would remember if I’d ever met a man like this, and yet between his dark eyes and the timbre of his voice, I can’t shake the feeling this isn’t the first time we’ve met.

“Coming right up.” I force a smile to my lips and quickly move back toward the bar, my entire body on fire at the awkward interaction.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Abigail smirks at me, and I try my best at a glare, but I think my cheeks are still too flushed for it to come across.

“You don’t strike me as someone that has any trouble speaking to the opposite sex,” she comments as she looks me up and down. Years of living on the run, never knowing where my next meal will come from, and not always having access to soup kitchens have left me skinnier than I would like to be, but my natural curves level out how underweight I really am.

“I don’t normally,” I grumble as I make quick work of making his drink.

As much as I’d like to drag out the time before I have to return to his table, I can’t afford to not do well. I’m not half as uncomfortable here as I thought I would be, and given the amount of security that’s stationed around the place, this is probably one of the safest jobs I’ve ever had, and I would like to do everything in my power to keep it.

“I’ve never seen him show interest in anyone like he does you.”

I flick a look behind me at where Abigail is hanging a clean wine glass from one of the racks above the bar. “What do you mean?” This is a sex club, isn’t everyone here for the same thing?

“He comes in most nights and sits in that same booth, has exactly two glasses of whiskey, and then heads out. He watches the scenes that play out around him, so I figure he’s a voyeur, but I’ve never seen him engage with anyone.”

“He hasn’t engaged with me,” I point out.

“Maybe not yet.”

CHAPTER FIVE

EMMETT

---