Page 51 of Unraveling an Enigma
“Nah. It’s the fact every guy in this place is gawking at you, but not one of them has been brave enough to come and talk to you,” he informs me, pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket.
After yanking out a cigarette, he twists the packet toward me in silent offering. The smell of tobacco filters through my nose when I screw up my face and shake my head.
He places the unlit cigarette between his lips. “The ‘leave me the fuck alone’ vibes are bouncing off you, sweetheart. It is scaring all the guys away. So, if you're out here with the aim of picking up a guy for the night, you might want to shut those vibes down.”
A rowdy giggle escapes my lips. We chose this pub as it would be the least likely place for us to get hassled by locals, wondering who these strangers are who suddenly arrived in their derelict town. We don’t want to gain any unwanted attention while we wait for Isaac’s security team to arrive. Brandon left a few minutes ago to head to the hotel two doors up. He is making a few calls to some contacts he has in the FBI in the hope of finding out Megan’s current location. Hugo has gone to the bathroom. He was apprehensive about leaving me sitting here alone, but I refused to follow him into the men’s restroom, much to his dismay.
I don’t feel in any danger. When I was younger, I'd hang out with my Uncle Tobias in old run-down pubs all the time. It is amazing the wonderful people you come across in the sleaziest looking places. Usually, they're the ones with the biggest hearts, as they're the people who went through the toughest struggles in life and came out the other end stronger. I also feel safe as I have my loaded pistol in my satchel.
After checking his phone in his top front pocket, my mystery companion props his elbows onto the countertop and inclines close to my side. “Unless you want a drove of men running toward you, you probably shouldn’t giggle again.”
When I eye him curiously, he gestures around the dingy, poorly lit pub. Shifting my eyes around the room, I do notice several pairs of male eyes watching me.
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” I return my eyes to his. “I'm not on the prowl tonight.”Or any night.
“Well, that’s my cue to leave.” He stands from the barstool and swiftly walks away. He gets halfway to the door before he pivots back around. I watch him with a hint of amusement tugging my lips higher as he strides back.
“Ah, stuff it. I only have another five minutes before I’m due back at work, so I may as well spend it talking to a beautiful lady.” He plops back down on the barstool.
My smirk merges into a full grin from his cheeky demeanor. He once again pulls his cell phone out of his top pocket and looks at the screen before returning his attention back to me.
Noticing he still hasn’t lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth, I question, “Do you need a light?” while grabbing a box of matches off the sticky and in bad need of a remodel bar top.
“No, thanks.” He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth. “I gave up smoking six weeks ago.”
I eye him peculiarly.
“Old habits die hard,” he mutters to my inquisitive face.
Lifting the cloudy shot glass to his mouth, the stranger downs the entire nip of brown liquid in one hit before signaling to the bartender for another. “So what happened to cause all this worry marring your pretty face?”
I roll my eyes. “No offense, but you don’t look like a therapist type of guy,” I respond, my voice getting an edge of wittiness to it.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover, sweetheart. Under this god-gifted sexiness is a real heart of gold,” he retorts with a cheeky wink.
Another broad smile stretches across my face. I have to give it to the stranger. He oozes cockiness and sex appeal with a real tattooed bad boy sentiment. Except he is 100% a man and not a boy. But even more appealing than his rugged good looks is his cheeky personality. He shifts his head to the side and watches me in silence. Not wanting to issue him an answer to his personal question, I lift my shoulder into a small shrug and return my attention back to the glass of wine in front of me. In the corner of my eye, I witness him once again yanking his phone out of his pocket to check the screen.
“Are you waiting for a call?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me since he is obsessed with checking his phone.
“Nah. It’s another bad habit,” he replies with a sly grin.
A stretch of silence falls between us.
Fighting through my gag reflex, I finish the last sip of my wine before placing the dirty glass back onto the countertop. My companion’s gaze drifts from the empty glass to my face. “Do you want another drink, Isabelle?”
My eyes snap to his.How does he know my name?A surge of panic rushes through me. Pushing off the barstool, I scamper backward. The stranger’s shoulders stiffen into a straight line as he runs his hand down his face.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Izzy,” he says, his resolute eyes staring into mine. “My name is Hunter. I'm Isaac’s head of security.”
An gasp escapes my lips as my eyes study his body. Other than when Hugo was faking being my friend, I never saw him out of a suit. Nothing against this cheeky stranger, but he isn’t a suit-wearing type of gentleman. Lumberjack, yes. Head of security for the most fascinating man I’ve ever met, unlikely!
His brows arch high into his hairline. “Hey, don’t judge a book by its cover, remember,” he responds to my silent grilling.
I remain quiet, examining the space to see if there are any exits that don't require me to walk past the man claiming to be the head of Isaac’s security. My brows stitch together when my eyes dart outside. Because of the soot and dust covering the windows at the front of the pub, I can’t make out anything but shadows of blackness bouncing around in the moonlit night.
Riddled with anxiety, I roughly inform him, “I'm carrying a weapon. If you attempt to stop me from leaving, I'll shoot you.”
The bearded man referring to himself as Hunter smiles. My pulse quickens when he stands from his barstool and steps toward me. In less than a heartbeat, I snag my satchel off the counter, shove my palm up against the bridge of the bearded stranger's nose, then bolt to the exit door of the pub as quickly as my quivering legs can take me.
