Scrupulous (An Affliction of Falling Novel Book 1) (19 page)

“You fucking bitch, I will have your job and ruin your life!” he screams like a wounded five-year-old as he holds his bloody nose.

“You shouldn’t have hesitated when trying to slap me, fucker. Now who is the sniveling bitch?” I am heated and pumped up on adrenaline, ready to jump over the counter for a good scrap if he were to come at me again. Asshole, trying to hit a woman. It’s a good job my daddy insisted his girls learned the basics of boxing to protect themselves. He may be a refined businessman himself, but my dad is a scrapper too. It’s no secret where I get it from. My mother hated the idea of her girls learning anything but proper feminine roles but had no choice in the matter.

Gavin and Hank sweep in from nowhere, pick the weasel up off the floor, and assure his well-being before Gavin sees him out to talk more privately. Gavin never once looks my way. “This isn’t over, bar bitch!” the weasel screams absurdly as he straightens his jacket and Gavin hauls him out by the collar, jaw clenched in an attempt not to punch the guy himself.

“Alright, everyone! Shows over and drinks for the last hour are on the house. We apologize for the interruption. L, Z will close up. Grab your stuff and come with me.” Hank informs us and motions to me with a look of regret in his eyes.

“Leave her, Hank. She did nothing wrong, I saw the whole thing. That guy was out of line,” Burt pleads on my behalf, a longtime regular who likes to come and chat with me on the weekends to get away from his overbearing wife. Even people with money have everyday problems. His wife has been boinking her ‘yoga’ instructor for the last year but he remained faithful nonetheless, hoping she would get over her infatuation. He works so much as it is and has never given up trying to make the marriage work.

“It is not my call, Burt. You know that,” Hank says as he hangs his head.

“I will have a talk with Daz myself, L. Not to worry. That piss ant has been irritating the crap out of everyone all evening,” Burt asserts, crossing his arms, beaming with strength and seriousness. It is easy to see why he is successful but it makes me wonder even harder why he rolls over for the bitch he is married to.

“Thanks, Burt.”

“By the way, nice shot. Remind me not to argue with you over my Bloody Mary next time.” Burt winks at me and I smile as I allow Hank’s bulky frame to lead my walk of shame.

The sound of clapping gently rises, causing my cheeks to heat under the pressure as Hank holds the door open. Daz is going to have my hide no matter how long I have worked for him. Probably will fire me too, best case a suspension so long I will be forced to find a new job.

As we travel down the hall of the second floor to where Daz’s office and the security room sits, unease washes through the darkened, gloomy path, adding to the dreadful travels. I drag my feet at a slow pace, stalling for the inevitable. Finally coming up to the imposing door, Hank knocks and Daz’s “come in” booms through the closed piece of steel. Hank mouths “good luck” to me as I pass into the swank, dimly lit room.

“Sorcha Quinn, what the hell am I to do with you now?” Daz’s deep, exasperated voice calls to me. His thick but squat build outfitted in a handmade Italian suit sits behind his rather large, mahogany desk. Daz isn’t particularly attractive but exuded a debonair power and confidence which had many a women eyeing him like candy. “You pissed off and physically assaulted an up-and-coming Wall Street tycoon who could close this club if he wanted to.” Daz rests his head in his hands in fatigue.

Coming around to face him, I sit at the edge of the leather seat across the way but say nothing. An imminent bulk catches my eye as I see Gavin’s frame merge from the shadows by the bookcase to stand near me, arms crossed and a deadly gleam in his eyes. I have never seen him like this, in ‘work mode.’ He appears to be a straight-up killer in a nice suit. Crap, he looks hot.

“What the fuck is going on with you lately? Your abnormally pissy attitude has been lighting up the staff for damn near two weeks.” A touch of concern barely peaks through his thoroughly inconvenienced tone.

Refusing to acknowledge Gavin, the source of my mood swings, I look Daz in the eye. “Daz, I’ve worked for you for a long time, dealt with your mood swings and last-minute demands that consume my schedule at the whim of your bottom dollar. I bitch here and there but I come through, always. I apologize for upsetting you, but I do not apologize for hitting that ass hat. He had been upsetting our regulars all night, sexually harassed every waitress up there, and no one did a damn thing.”

“Sorcha, Sorcha…” he trails off menacingly while in thought, butchering my real name beyond belief, making it sound all wrong. I try not to wrinkle my nose up at him. “Do you really doubt me after all these years? We had planned to simply revoke his privileges after tonight, using our…persuasive methods. I prefer to handle these situations with gloves, behind the scenes as to not interrupt everyone else’s good time. You know that though. Which brings us back to you. What do you think is an appropriate punishment for someone who may have compromised the favorite of my establishments?” His shadowed face set in a perma-frown waits patiently for a retort.

“Well, Daz, I know you are not going to say ‘ a beer, a slap on the ass, and a raise.’ If you plan to fire me, get on with it,” I reply in defeat.

“You are not going to beg for your job? Throw out some pitiful attempt at blackmail or call in a random favor you think I might owe you?” he asks in delight, having too much fun with me.

“No, not my style, boss, but you already knew that too.”

“I did. That is why Gavin here somehow found an incriminating amount of cocaine on the man in question, and in exchange for not reporting you to the police or pursuing any further corrective action, we will not report him either. You are one of the few I trust around here, even if you are a pain in my ass.

“Now, get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and make an example of you. I can’t have the staff thinking they can go around and punch every asshole who comes in the door or every prominent man in this city would be suing me. Why do you think I overpay this piece of shit and all of his merry men? To handle these situations on a different level.” He haphazardly motions his cigar to Gavin. “Now go! Get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind,” he demands with a twinge of jolly to his tone that adds to my suspicions that he may be watching the video replay of my handy work over and over tonight for amusement purposes.

I nod to him and smile, the most of a ‘thank you’ that he knows he will get from me and head to the door. Men like him don’t respect weakness, so I have to be just as a hard. As I open the door, Hank steely yet aging face meets me with my forgotten jacket and a tender smile before trailing behind to see me out through the busy club. It never ceases to amaze me how many still come out on a Sunday night to drink with their friends.

As the brisk, cool air hits my face, a sense of happiness overwhelms me. The sea-kissed air sings in my lungs as I inhale my freedom from the gloom of tonight. A hand suddenly catches my elbow, spinning me around forcing me to throw up my fists in surprise, ready to fight.

“I am taking you home. Get in.” Gavin demands as he motions to the dark private town car waiting at the curb, in line with the cabs waiting for a fare. Hank is nowhere to be seen.

“You’re talking to me then?” My rare Gaelic accent peeks through the stress of the night.

He holds open the back passenger door and wills me in with his rigid and dangerous eyes. Throwing my hands up in defeat, I ease down into the car and scoot over to make room. Gavin burdens the seat next to me and car dips in protest as he slams the door and mumbles my address to the driver.

The driver takes off and we ride in silence the entire way as the man next to me mutely seethes. It doesn’t take long for us to arrive at my building. One glance at my companion tells me he isn’t open for conversation, so I pop my door and hustle to the curb, leaving him to sit and stew on his own. No need to wait around to watch paint dry.

My front door opens with ease, and the peace of the little studio greets me at the end of a hard day like a long-lost lover. A yearning for the beast who saw me home seeds in my chest once more, trampling my typical self-assured stance. Un-warranted hope stops my hand from completely closing the door, choosing to leave a lifeline. Maybe he will surprise me. He doesn’t disappoint. Catching a glimpse of him sliding in out of the corner of my eye as I grab a beer; I get two. Gavin locks the door and we settle on my couch just as we had the first night he came here. The two hard heads have come full circle.

“I was pissed that you risked yourself by punching that asshole. You’ve got a hellava right hook,” he says, attempting to break the ice.

“Thanks.” I want to say more, but my thick skull and anger have me pegged.

“Help me out, please. I don’t know where to go from here.” He shifts uncomfortably next to me.

“Help you out? If you don’t know, give me my fucking beer back and bugger off.”

“You act like I have something to be sorry for?”

“That’s it; give me the beer and leave.” I reach across his chest in an attempt to grab it. He holds it back from my reach and dares me with one look. “You really need a hint, fine. Don’t make plans with someone, never show or call, and drop off  the face of the planet. She may be stupid enough to think that you may be a man of your word and jump to false conclusions like you may have been hurt or something crazy because a man of their word who was working so hard to establish trust would never do such a thing.

“But no, you were not hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere. You were working over another piece of one of your many asses, just like I had been to you. You wanna know the funny part? It’s not being treated like another nick on the headboard─ that doesn’t bother me. It is the fact that I was stupid enough to fall for it all, and I know better. I play the game just as much as you,” I seethe and pull from my beer in an attempt to cool my jets, my blood pressure soaring in my ears.

“Don’t act all innocent; you were parading around on Devon’s arm like a goddamned peacock, enjoying yourself quite well. No help needed from me. But hey, we are not exclusive so it doesn’t matter,” he bitterly fumes.

“No, I wasn’t there to get my jollies, asshole. My original intent was to explore and learn as your dumbass had me opening my mind to new possibilities. I had intended to get a better feel for things on an abstract level to see if I could be more of what you
needed
.” I am hot, flustered, and in his face as I smart off the last line.

“You seemed to be having the time of your life. Did you see anything else that interested you? Private room perhaps?” His insinuation has me livid to the point of slapping him in one quick movement that explodes color across his sharp cheekbone.

Fury burned in me. His stunned expression morphed before my eyes to something deadly, anger and then that of a starved madman. Gavin rushes into me with such heated passion my defenses crumble instantly. Our lips collide in a burst of electricity, sending our half-full bottles skittering about in a foamy mess as we literally rip each other’s clothes off on the spot. The urgency in which we need one another defies words and our desire cannot be satiated with a simple kiss. In this moment, the only thing that matters is my primitive need to get as close to him as fast as possible.

Without separating our lips, I semi-stand to be stripped. Gavin finally breaks the seal and takes a pink, taut nipple into his hot, wet mouth, causing my legs to buckle, collapsing back into him. With the swipe of his outreached hand, the coffee table is cleared in a whirlwind of magazines and candles, landing in a distant thud that is probably a lot louder than I can possibly comprehend in this moment.

Leaning me back onto the small, wood piece, he pulls my ankles up into the air and spreads me wide with a satisfied grin. Hooded eyes drift from mine as he appreciates what is now presented before him. His teeth graze his lower lip as pure hunger storms across his face. Sliding his wide palms down the backs of my legs, he slowly drops to his knees in one fluid motion. His eyes never drift from what they are now locked onto. Gavin grips my thighs, spreads them even further before growling and diving in with enough gusto and perfect application that I come within seconds, neither of us holding back.

Shaking from the violent and sudden release, there is no time to recover as he stands, picks me up, and wraps my legs around his waist as he claims my mouth and carries us to the bed. The taste of myself on his tongue unfurls a need deep within that one cannot easily describe. My core aches for him on a painful level and I still cannot get close enough. Twisting my fingers in his short, wavy hair and pressing my breasts into the hard lines of his chest, I attempt to get closer but find it frustratingly impossible. An agonizing cry escapes my lips and into his.

“What is it, love?”

“I need you inside of me so bad it hurts,” I whimper as I cling to him and find his mouth once more. Our tongues dance and the tune changes. He all but buckles onto the bed and his hands and mouth are feverishly everywhere at once. My legs remain wrapped around his waist, aiming his head perfectly at my wet opening as his trousers slip around his ankles.

“Fuck me, say it again!” he demands, voice strained. Possessed by the moment and aching build up that consumes every ounce of my being, I let go.

“I need you, Gavin. I love you!” I scream and sway my hips, the gentle nip of his tip dancing around my sensitive flesh proving to be maddening.