Page 3 of Ruined By Protection (Feretti Syndicate #5)

The last customer leaves at half past midnight, giving me time to clean up before my shift ends.

I wipe down the bar for the thousandth time, enjoying the quiet after hours of noise and chaos.

My feet throb and I can't wait to kick my heels off.

Usually I'm not closing alone but today is one of those days that I have to do the job for two people.

I'm unloading the garnish tray when a voice breaks the silence.

"Need a hand with that?"

I nearly drop the container of olives. Matteo leans against the bar, watching me.

"Bar's closed." I say wiping like a maniac, not looking at him.

"I don't want a drink."

I finally turn up my eyes to meet his gaze. "Then what do you want?"

His smile is slow and deliberate. "To make sure you get home safely after your shift."

"I can take care of myself."

"I witnessed that earlier," he says, nodding toward where the drunk grabbed me. "Very impressive."

I roll my eyes at his teasing. "I had it under control."

"Of course you did." His voice holds a hint of laughter. "But it's late, and I'm offering a ride."

I stack clean glasses, buying time while my mind races. "Is this your standard approach? Rescue the damsel, then invite her to your room?"

"Who said anything about my room?" His eyebrow arches. "Though the offer's open if you're interested."

Heat rushes to my face. "I'm not going to your hotel room."

"Then let me take you home." He leans forward, resting his forearms on the bar. "It's after midnight, you're tired."

I should say no. The smart answer is definitely no. But the thought of waiting for a bus filled with more aggressive drunks, then walking four blocks to my apartment at this hour...

"I take the bus," I say instead of a direct refusal.

"All the more reason to accept a ride."

His offer is tempting—more than it should be. Part of me wants to see what would happen if I said yes to more than just a ride. The way he looks at me makes my skin tingle. It’s like he can see right through me.

What would it be like to give in? Just once?

The thought surprises me. I'm not impulsive.

But tonight, with my wrist still tender from that drunk's grip and exhaustion weighing on me, the idea of letting someone else take control, even just for a ride home, is ridiculously appealing.

"Just a ride home?" I ask, hating how my voice wavers slightly.

"Just a ride." His eyes hold mine. "Unless you decide otherwise."

I finish wiping down the bar, buying time while I debate with myself. The responsible part of me is screaming that this is a bad idea. The lonely, tired part is winning.

"Fine," I finally say. "A ride would be nice. I need to grab my things from the back first."

"I need to get my keys from my room anyway." He stands. "Meet you outside in fifteen?"

"Make it twenty," I say. "I still need to cash out."

He nods and heads for the door, leaving me standing there with a rag in my hand and my heart beating too fast.

I finish closing the bar on autopilot, counting the register and preparing the deposit bag. All the while, a battle rages in my head.

Say goodnight at the curb. Don't invite him up. Don't give him your number.

I change out of the heels into my sneakers in the employee bathroom. I stare into the mirror, trying to talk some sense into myself.

It's just a ride home . I tell my reflection. That's all.

Part of me wants him to persuade me, to give me an excuse to make a decision I can blame on something other than my own flaring desires.

I grab my bag and jacket and head out the employee exit to the parking lot which opens to a dimly lit side lot for staff to park.

Should I wait here or go around to the front?

I decide to stay put. The parking lot is quiet except for distant traffic and the hum of the hotel's massive air conditioning units. My breath forms small clouds in the chilly air as I shift from foot to foot, trying to keep warm.

The metallic jingle of keys draws my attention to a figure walking through the lot. I turn to greet Matteo, but the silhouette is wrong—shorter, broader, with an unsteady gait.

A businessman in a rumpled suit staggers toward me. I recognize him from earlier—not the grabby drunk Matteo dealt with, but one of the corporate group who'd been throwing back martinis all evening. He must have left something in his car.

I keep my eyes down, hoping he'll pass by without noticing me. No such luck.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart." His words slur together. "Fancy meeting you out here."

I nod politely but don't engage. "Good night, sir."

He changes direction, veering toward me. "What's the rush? Shift's over, right? You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore." He gets close enough that I catch the sour smell of alcohol seeping from his pores.

"I'm waiting for someone," I say firmly, taking a step back.

"I'm someone." He grins, showing too many teeth. "Someone who's been watching that sweet ass all night."

My stomach clenches. I've dealt with this type before—the ones who think service workers are part of what they're paying for.

"You need to back off." I make my voice hard, the way I've learned over years of customer service.

He laughs like I told a joke. "Come on, don't be like that. I'm a nice guy. I'll even pay for your time." His eyes drift down my body. "Bet you make more on your back than mixing drinks anyway."

Anger flashes hot through me. "Leave me alone."

I try to step around him but he moves faster than I expect for someone so out of control. His hand shoots out, grabbing my waist and pulling me hard against him.

"Don't be a tease," he growls, his breath hot and sour in my face. "You've been giving me eyes all night."

I push against his chest. "Let go of me. Now."

His grip tightens, fingers digging into my side. "Playing hard to get? I like that."

Fear spikes through me as I realize how alone we are in this parking lot. I writhe my body and try to knee him but he has me pressed close so my leg can’t find the manoeuvre. Oh, this is bad. My heart is pummeling at my chest wall, forcing itself up into my throat making my gasps even harder.

His fingers grind into my flesh and grope their way down to my ass, cupping part of one cheek into his fist as his moist face dips into my neck. His palms start their grabby path back up my body as his breath becomes hot and rasping against my skin.

I open my mouth to scream but vomit is sour on my tongue. What is it they say? Relax, don’t fight…

"Take your hands off her." A cold voice cuts through the night

Matteo stands a few feet away from us, his tall frame rigid with tension. I didn't hear him approach—he moved through the darkness like a shadow.

The drunk turns, hands still gripping me. "Mind your business, buddy. The lady and I are having a conversation."

"She's not interested in your conversation." Matteo's voice is eerily calm but the iciness in his eyes makes my skin prickle. "And she's with me."

The drunk snorts. "Doesn't look like it. Find your own piece?—"

He doesn't get to finish. Matteo moves with startling speed, twisting the man's wrist until he screeches and his hold on me breaks. I stumble back as Matteo forces the drunk's arm behind his back, making him gasp for air.

"I won't repeat myself," Matteo says, his voice still conversational despite the violence in his actions. "The lady is with me. You're going to apologize, then you're going to walk away. Understood?"

The drunk's face contorts with pain. "Fuck you?—"

Matteo applies more pressure and the man's knees buckle. "Wrong answer. Try again."

"Okay! Okay!" The businessman's voice rises in panic. "I'm sorry! Jesus Christ!"

"Not to me." Matteo nods toward me. "To her."

The drunk's eyes meet mine, fear replacing his previous lecherous confidence. "I'm sorry, miss. I was out of line."

Matteo releases him with a slight push. "Now get out of here before I decide an apology isn't enough."

The man stumbles away, clutching his wrist and muttering curses. Matteo watches him until he disappears around the corner of the building.

When he turns back to me, his expression softens. "Are you okay?"

I nod, my heart still racing. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Did he hurt you?"

I shake my head. "Just grabbed me. I'm fine."