Page 5 of Claimed By the Villain

“More stupid jokes?” I ask when she walks back over to me.

“Yeah. Lucky me. I always get the table full of idiots.”

“Don’t fool yourself, honey. The real miracle would be finding a table without idiots. The guys who come here think that just because we’re serving them, they can say and do whatever the hell they want.”

“I can’t believe my shift ends in just half an hour,” she says.

“You could wait for me. I’ll walk with you to the subway. You’re too young and way too pretty to be walking around alone, Taylor.”

“I’ve got a pepper spray in my bag—locked and loaded.”

“And would you actually use it?”

“Absolutely. I’m not the type to feel bad about hurting someone, Jackie. If my safety’s on the line, I won’t think twice.”

“Your dad raised you right, Taylor.”

“Yeah. He was the best father a girl could ask for.”

“And how’s your other job going?”

Her cheeks turn bright red, and I wonder what she’s not telling me. Taylor has a second job helping take care of an elderly millionaire woman.

“It’s going fine,” she answers vaguely.

“You look tired. I know working the floor is exhausting, but once you turn twenty-one, you’ll be able to take a mixology course.”

She smiles but doesn’t respond, and then I remember what she once told me—that her real dream is to go to nursing school. I doubt she sees this place as part of her future.

“So? Gonna wait for me so I can walk you home?”

“No, but thanks for the offer. I’m wiped. I have to be at Mrs. Marshall’s house at eight tomorrow morning. Don’t worry, I’m always careful when I leave here. Besides, it’s not just the spray, I’ve got two legs too. I love to run.”

I laugh.

“The brave one fights, the smart one runs,” I say.

“Yeah. In my case, I don’t mind being a smart heroine. Survival is already a win in my book.”

As I walk home through the streets, I think about how weird I am. All the girls at the bar get nervous walking through the city at this hour. Not me.

I’ve never been afraid of the dark, because every time I think about the night, I think ofhim.

Lucifer, my shadowy protector.

In the past few years—since that last goodbye at my gate—he’s only shown up once, at my mother’s funeral… and a year later, at my brother Martin’s. He barely spoke to me, but I know, somehow, he’s still watching. Like he promised. If not in person, then by sending someone to do it.

I’ve never caught anyone in the act. Not Lucifer, not anyone else. I just know.

And the craziest part? I can tell when it’s not just one of his people—when it’s actually him.

Like tonight, for instance. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, and I know he’s close.

Not out of fear. Out of excitement.

How pathetic can I be, still in love after all these years with a man who once saw me as nothing but a kid, a little sister—and who now won’t even speak to me face to face?

I’ve even dreamed of confronting him. Of going to wherever I imagine he might be watching me from, hiding in the shadows.