Page 10 of Darkest Valley
The angel dips and grinds on the pole, and when she spins upside down while holding on with only her thighs, I’m reluctantly impressed. Also, a little worried. Will those fluffy wings help her if she falls?
Her song ends, and I stay glued to my seat, hoping she’ll come my way.
“Can I get you something?” I’m so busy imagining how her voice sounds that the deep baritone interruption ruins my daydream. I blink at the stranger. Dressed in all black with a towel tucked into his belt loop, his hazel eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes. There’s a ring in the left side of his full bottom lip, and he chews on it as he waits for me to answer.
Holy shit. Is every employee in this place stupid hot? Why haven’t I been here before? I lean forward in my seat and give the guy my most winning smile.
“Thank you for asking. What do you have on draft?” He rattles off the standard options, but I can’t help myself. “Surprise me with your favorite,” I say, tilting my head to study his reaction.
He freezes, from the line of his chiseled jaw to the top of his messy brown hair, and peers down at me like I’ve grown another head. Eventually, he pulls it together and nods, pivoting with a half-smile and muttering ‘another one’ under his breath.
Since that makes no sense, I think nothing of it and lean backin my chair. This mission is looking up, and I’m starting to hope Roscoe is hard to find.
The angel takes the stage three more times, and I can’t keep my eyes off her. It’s embarrassing. She’s far from the only gorgeous woman here, but I’m locked in. Working the floor, she weaves between the tables, talking to anyone who waves her down.
I watch from the corner of my eye, enjoying how she prowls through the room as if she’s confident in every inch of herself. A queen among men and she knows it.
One big shifter calls to her, his eyes yellow and glassy from too much cheap beer. I stiffen, not liking the look of him. I’m not here to make trouble, though, I’m here to squash it. Tense, I stay in my seat and watch her talk to him. She’s careful to maintain space between them, but when she turns to leave, he grabs her arm and yanks her forcibly into his lap.
I shove to my feet, about to do exactly what I swore I wouldn’t. Except there’s no need.
The angel plants both hands on the shifter’s chest and shoves, sending him crashing backward as she stands. His wooden chair skids about eight feet before tipping over and throwing him in the floor on his back. His arms and legs flail like an oversized beetle, then he jumps to his feet with a roar, patches of fur popping up on his burly arms.
The ferocious look in his yellow eyes promises violence, but the angel grins, her perfectly even teeth winking in the flashing club lights.
I sit back down. Something tells me I’m about to get a far better show than the one happening on the stage, and maybe a snack too. Already, I feel a few tasty wisps of fear curling up around me. None of them are coming from the angel.
“Bitch,” the shifter roars, his voice distorted by rage.
She laughs, shaking her head as she adjusts the complex web of straps crisscrossing her torso. “Now it’ll take two apologies, Rex. Do you want to go for three?”
“You shoved me in the floor,” he complains, glancing at his buddies for help. None of them are willing to meet his eyes.
“I did,” she says. “And I’ll do it again if you put your hands on me without permission. You know the rules, Rex. You all do.” She stares pointedly at the scraggly crew loosely grouped around him, propping her hands on her hips.
“Sorry, Celine,” one mutters, bright red spots staining his cheeks.
“It’s the second pitcher,” another adds. “You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly before the beer takes over.”
“What’s done is done,” she says, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “You’re all through for tonight, but Rex can come back once he’s ready to give me those apologies.”
“That’s not fair!” The mountain known as Rex growls again, slurring his words as he takes a step toward the angel. This time, his crew steps in, dragging him out of the club and telling him to shut up as he loudly gripes.
The angel—they called her Celine—scans the room with that sassy smile firmly in place. “Sorry for the drama, folks! Anyone else hoping to pick a fight with me? If so, step right up.”
She holds her fists up and the crowd chuckles. Raw panic rushes through me at the idea of these guys attacking her. She’s practically daring one of them to try. I know a performance when I see it, but my heart is in my throat.
Celine sashays out of the main room and another dancer takes the stage, but my attention is on the hall now. From her fluffy ass wings to her giant brass balls, the angel is too interesting to ignore.
After a few minutes, she comes back, ducking behind the barto talk to the hot guy with the lip ring. I can’t hear what they’re saying, and pure nosiness drives me to my feet. I skulk casually up to the bar, wrapping myself in enough nightmare magic to stay unnoticed unless someone looks specifically for me.
“Did you serve him two pitchers or not?” Celine demands, her voice raspy as she confronts the bartender.
“Of course not, let me see your arm.” He reaches for her, his hazel eyes wide with concern.
She shrugs out of his grasp. “It’s nothing.”
“You always say that,” he groans. “I’m getting tired of hearing it.”