Page 64 of The Vengeance You Crave

"For your solo admirer."

I swallow down my nerves at the thought of having to look him in the eyes once more and lift the tray.

I try to convince myself that walking up to Luca right now is less terrifying than that group of sleazeball men, but it's really not. They can objectify me all they like. I don't care what they think of me. But Luca. Shit. Back in the day, his opinions used to mean everything to me. I used to care what he thought.

I shove that teenage girl deep down in the box she belongs in and hold my head up high as I step into the darkness that surrounds his booth.

There's a very good reason why this booth is situated in Helena's section. None of us can see what happens back here and we're not brave enough to come and see.

Stepping up to him, I slam the glass down on the table, making the contents splash over my hands.

"You need to lea—" My word falters when I get a look at his face.

Concern washes through me, but I bite it back.

He deserves whatever Leon threw at him for the game he played this weekend.

But as I stare at him, I don't feel vindicated in any way. I just feel… sad.

I might have been dragged away from Luca years ago. I thought I'd dealt with the loss, but deep down there was always a hope that one day we might just be able to reconnect. That he would still be the boy I remember all too well.

But he's not. That boy is dead, and the intense wave of grief that rushes through me almost takes me to the floor.

"You need to be careful with those assholes," he says as if I'm some naïve little girl who's not aware of the situation I've put myself in doing this job.

I know the risks. But right now, the benefits of the paycheck outweigh them.

Maybe if he cared a little less about himself, he'd have a better understanding of why I'm doing it.

"I know what I'm doing."

He sits forward, his elbows resting on the tables, his fingers laced together and covering what looks like incredibly sore, busted-up knuckles. His eyes hold mine. There's a softness in them that I really don't want to see. I don't want or need him to be nice to me right now. I need him to be the evil, vindictive asshole he's been since he first found me in here a few weeks ago.

"You don't have—"

"No, Luc. You don't get to show up here and do this," I explode, guessing where his question was going. "You don't get to care all of a sudden because you don't like the way they look at me, not after how you've treated me. After this weekend, I'd actually prefer to be serving their drinks and allowing them to look down my top rather than I would you," I spit. It's a barefaced lie but he doesn't know that.

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I? Do you know what else?" I ask, ready to really rub salt into his wounds. His lips twitch as if he wants to say something but I beat him to it. "I bet they'd more than willingly get me off too."

His palms slam down on the table, the glass I placed down only minutes ago rattling with the force.

"You need to leave."

"If one of them—"

"Save it, Luca. It's too late to pretend to care. You've already proved how little you feel for me now."

"They don't get to fucking touch you, P.No onegets to touch you."

"Oh get over yourself, you conceited jerk. Leave or I'll get security to throw your ass through the door."

"It's cute that you think they could."

My teeth grind as I barely contain my anger at his arrogance.

Reaching out, he takes his glass and tips back the amber liquid, swallowing it down in one.