Page 305 of Hell Hath No Fury
Standing there, gazing at the shop where Asher and Easton were still working, my mind wandered to the second empty space.
Pocketing my keys again, I moved away from my door and stood in front of the currently unoccupied storefront. The windows were large, very similar to what Asher was working with in his location, but these were dirty, a layer of grime coating the glass and making it difficult to see inside. Pressing my empty hand against the glass, I peered in, taking note of the surprisingly roomy store. There were a couple of folding chairs against one wall, and a ton of discarded cardboard boxes, as though someone had brought in more than they needed to move out of the place, and just left the extras there to gather dust.
But beyond the clutter, I could see a decent amount of square footage, high ceilings, and a whole fuck of a lot of potential.
“Damn,” I whispered. “You could be beautiful.”
And it could; I could see it in my mind, the walls painted a dark slate gray, some low leather seating near the front for customers. There would be a vintage desk on one side, something mid-century, maybe, with rounded corners. On the walls, there would be nothing but art, my work displayed in technicolor, letting people finally see all the magic that my hands could make.
And for a name?
Something bold. Something that would catch the eye and make you wonder.
Maybe—
My thoughts cut off abruptly, my attention snagged by the shadowy figure suddenly visible in the murky glass as it approached me from behind.
At first, I thought it was Asher; that maybe he had followed me out of the shop to engage in some more verbal foreplay, and a smile formed on my lips. I hadn’t had that much fun in months—years, maybe—and I was excited to continue our playful, flirty banter.
But as the shadow got closer to the window, I could tell that the features were all wrong. Instead of Asher’s broad shoulders and tall frame, the person approaching me was narrow, skinny to the point of wiry, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
Realizing I might be in trouble, I made to turn around, to face the person behind me and prepare myself for whatever came next.
But I moved too late, my reaction too slow thanks to my daydreaming, and before I could turn, rough fingers gripped the back of my neck, squeezing tightly as I was pressed against the filthy glass.
“You think you’re so tough,” the guy snarled, his face buried in my hair and making it impossible to see who he was, but the voice was familiar. “But that smart mouth of yours is only good for one thing,puta, and it ain’t talkin’.”
“Javier?” I questioned incredulously. What the hell was this guy’s problem? “Seriously, dude. It was just a tattoo.”
I could see the reflection of cars driving past in the window, the mid-day traffic still relatively slow in the lead up to the evening rush, but unfortunately for me, the sidewalk appeared to be empty. In a rare moment, the normally bustling neighborhood I’d come to love appeared abandoned, the pedestrians having been chased inside by the recent rainstorm.
Which meant I was on my own.
Like always.
Pushing against the window with my free hand, I tried again to turn, my heart rate increasing as I realized just how fucked I might be. But Javier had other ideas.
Sliding his hand up from my neck, Javier fisted my hair in a punishing grip, drawing my face a few inches away from the window before slamming me forward. The crack of the glass against my nose had me seeing stars, and I couldn’t help the short scream that I released, no matter how much I hated showing any kind of weakness to this prick.
“You just don’t listen, do you, bitch?” Javier leaned in close, the stench of his breath wafting over me like the breeze off a landfill.
“Two languages, and that’s still the only word you know?” I snapped, my words muffled by my swollen nose. “I guess neither smartsnorlooks run in your family, hey?”
With another angry growl, Javier spun me around, one hand on my shoulder slamming me against the window, and the other he brought up fast, delivering a savage slap across my cheek that had me reeling.
“How many times you gotta be told to shut that whore mouth?”
Spitting a wad of blood and phlegm onto the sidewalk, I ran my tongue over the gash I could feel inside my cheek, the spot already leaking more blood. This time, I didn’t spit it out; instead, I sucked on the flesh until copper and iron was all I could taste. When I had a mouthful, I turned back to Javier, pasting a manic grin on my face and forcing all the blood through my teeth in what I could only hope was a truly frightening and macabre smile.
Judging by the look he gave me, I was successful.
“At least once more,” I whispered, before I spat right in his fucking face. He reared back, clearly shocked by my crazy, and while he was distracted with his attempts to wipe off his face, I stepped up and kicked that motherfucker square in the balls.
The wheezing sound that escaped him was extremely satisfying, and I wished I could have recorded it. I’d have used it as a lullaby for years to come, sending me into a peaceful sleep every night, knowing that Javier would be unable to procreate after I’d mashed his nuts into oblivion.
“You fuckingbitch,” he snarled, and I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a bitch. Tell me something I don’t know.”
