Page 12 of Brutal Reign

FIVE

PAVEL

Chloe frowns,her eyes tracking Hope as she disappears through the door to the back. That worried look is enough to spur me into action.

I rise from my seat and head toward the washroom, but at the last second slip past the bar gate and push into the narrow corridor markedStaff Only.

The ceiling sags, and a flickering fluorescent light washes everything in sickly yellow. I move fast, scanning for any sign of where that bastard Darren might have taken her.

I nearly collide with a skinny man in a grease-stained apron, a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

"You lost? Toilets are back that way," he grunts, jerking his thumb toward the bar.

I nod. "Cheers, mate."

Then I drive my elbow into his temple. He drops hard, unconscious before he hits the linoleum. I drag his dead weight behind a stack of beer crates and keep moving.

Voices drift from behind a door left slightly ajar. One deep and menacing, the other unmistakably hers.

I flatten myself against the wall, listening as white-hot rage builds in my veins.

“You think I didn’t see the way you were looking at him? Practically crawled into his fucking lap. Got a taste for foreign cock, is that it?”

“Jesus, Darren.” Hope’s voice is strained. “I was taking his order and making polite conversation with a customer. If you think there was anything more to it, you’re wrong.”

“Taking his order.” He lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. “It looked like you were trying to score yourself a date.”

“I’m working. Part of the job is being friendly to customers.”

“Sure it is. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how Chloe’s been rubbing off on you. Teaching you to show a bit of skin and flash that pretty smile. Tell me, sweetheart, how far would you go for a good tip? What would you offer me if I paid you?”

My pulse becomes a slow, steady throb in my ears and I have to fight every instinct to kick down that door and pummel his face. But there’s plenty of time for that.

“Nothing.” Her voice is quieter now, but there’s steel in it. “You’d get nothing from me.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Darren’s voice turns hard. “You’re getting mouthy lately. Don’t forget who pays you, who decides if you get a shift or not. You better start being a lot nicer to me. Now get out of here.”

Hope releases a shaky breath, followed by the tap of footsteps on linoleum. I melt deeper into the shadows as she passes, head down, but I catch her profile in the flickering light. Her mouth trembles like she’s holding back tears.

Something primitive and violent unfurls in my chest. It makes no sense that I give a shit about her, but I do. And men like Darren only learn lessons the hard way.

The sound of a chair scraping back echoes from the office, followed by the jingle of keys. Heavy boots stomp toward the exit, and I slip away from the wall, trailing behind him.

He doesn’t sense my presence, which tells me he’s either supremely confident or supremely stupid. Probably both. As I follow him, I grab the fire axe from its bracket beside the exit.

Darren shoulders through the door into the back alley, whistling under his breath like he didn’t just threaten a woman half his size.

The alley is narrow, lined with dumpsters, and reeking of piss and rotting food. There's a security camera in the corner, but it’s not angled to see this section. Perfect.

He lights a cigarette with one hand while his other presses the button to unlock a black BMW. Probably bought with money skimmed from the till and tips stolen from his employees.

He’s almost at the driver’s door when I speak.

“Darren.”

He turns, cigarette dangling from his lips, brows pulled together in irritation. “What the fuck do you want?”

I step into the weak light spilling from the pub’s back windows, letting him see my face. “I’m wondering what you’ll miss more, your left or your right kneecap?”