Page 2 of Tortured Souls
“No worries, man, I get it.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, but my eyes get caught on a wave of dark chocolaty hair being flipped by a woman I’ve never seen here before. She’s small, in height and size. She’s thin, maybe even too thin, but she has definition in her shoulders. Muscles a lot of women don’t have or are too afraid to work out and build in fear of “being bulky.” My eyes roam over her body. Her demeanor is timid but fierce at the same time. Her eyes scan the room as if looking for someone, but she stands tall with her shoulders back, feigning confidence.
Her dark jeans and tight tank top that displays the absolute best set of tits I’ve ever seen, has my eyes lingering on her chest like a preteen boy. This woman is beautiful, and not the stereotypical version of beauty society paints. Her eyes are a piercing milk-chocolate brown, hypnotizing when the lights shine off them. And when she looks at me, I’m momentarily lost for words.
“Oh, excuse my rudeness, Saxon. This is Skylar. She’s my new bartender. I’m giving her a quick orientation before she starts next week.” A small delicate hand shoots out towards me, while a bright white smile splays across her face.
“It’s nice to meet you, Saxon.” I shake her hand, peering into her eyes that have me fucking mesmerized.
“Nice to meet you as well,” I say back, loud enough over the music for her to hear. The air around us shifts in a way that leaves my stomach uneasy. Like when you walk into a haunted house and feel a cold breeze, the feeling of an evil presence inevitable by the sudden climate change. As she starts to pull away, I give her hand a tighter squeeze, watching her expression as her smile falls, her eyes hardening as she holds my gaze. A challenge.
“Right, well, we best be off. We have a lot more to see before the night is over. Good to see you, Saxon.” Van breaks the tension of the awkward interaction, so I finally drop her hand. Van leads her to the side bar. I watch her as she leaves, taking in the sight of her plump ass swaying with every step. She must feel my eyes because she looks over her should at me. That’s when I see it. The mark, the brand, the unmistakableHmarking that all Hellstorms receive. Just below her ear, the mark is prominent, burned deep into her skin, leaving a scar with sharp edges.
She’s a Hellstorm. A member of my most rival club. The nemesis, the enemy. What in the fuck is she doing here? In my territory, in my town. This won’t do. She can’t be here, nor will Iallow her to walk freely without some type of retaliation. This is my town, and no fucking Hellstorm is going to bring harm to my family and my club. Not while I’m Saxon fucking Wilder.
TWO YEARS LATER
SKYLAR
The club is annoyingly busy tonight, which is weird because it’s a Monday. Who the fuck goes clubbing on a Monday? Either way, Capital Vice is by far the most popular club in the Golden Heights area. It’s a massive two-story nightclub with four separate bars, cages that are suspended from the rafters that our girls perform in, and one of my favorite aspects is aprivate section on the second floor. That’s where the most elite of the elite go to have a good time in privacy, talk and exchange business, or simply enjoy the company of one or even multiple of our dancers.
I, myself, am no dancer, but I’m a damn good bartender and bottle service waitress that’s made my fair share catering to these high-profile individuals. Politicians, government officials, entrepreneurs, and even the Kings’ Aces: the local motorcycle club who are known as the true rulers of Golden Heights—and one of the main reasons I settled here two years ago.
We serve them all, the good and the bad. We don’t care who comes to the club as long as they keep our environment safe for everyone else to enjoy. Money is money, and we don’t care where it comes from. It’s how I’ve managed to support myself these past few years.
“Hey, babe. Be a good girl, will ya, and get me another beer.” I fake a smile as I turn and grab another beer for this low-life college kid who looks as though he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Khaki shorts, a striped polo shirt, loafers, and a backwards lacrosse hat, giving him the typical “Daddy’s money” attire. I roll my eyes as I crack open his beer and slide it across the bar to him.
“Thanks, princess.” He winks at me as he turns and heads back towards his group of frat buddies.
“God, I freaking hate college guys. They’re all the same. They think their shit don’t stink and we should worship the ground they walk on,” Driesell says to me in a louder than normal tone due to the music being at maximum volume. I nod in agreement as I continue serving the mass of people at the bar. School is about to start, and all the college kids are trying to get in as much partying as possible before they’re inundated with schoolwork, tests, and whatever else college kids have to do. Thank fuck that’s not me.
“Hey, girl!” I hear a familiar voice scream at me at the end of the bar. I turn to see Sage, Ophelia, Bristol, and Freida huddled together, giving me the biggest smiles and waving their little hands off. I smile at them and wave to Driesell that I’ll be right back. I met these girls about a year ago when I noticed they frequented the club. They soon started treating me like one of their own. I’ve never had close girlfriends growing up, so having these girls has been a breath of fresh air.It’s something I’ve always wanted but never imagined I could actually have. I’d since given up on the whole having girlfriends thing, but these girls welcomed me in almost immediately. As if they’ve always known me and included me in their circle. I adore these girls, and that’s saying something.
I make my way down the bar, smiling at my friends, when a strong hand grabs my arm and nearly yanks me across the bar.
“What the hell!” I shout as I narrowly catch myself before I smash my face off the sticky bar.
“I said I need another!” a very drunk twenty-something-year-old yells at me as he sways back and forth on his feet. I try yanking my arm free from his grasp, but this kid has a death grip on me.
“Let go!” I yell, as I try to peel his fingers off my rapidly bruising arm.
“I’m a paying customer, and you’re the bitch who serves me. I said get me another before I—” Whatever he was about to say is cut off when a behemoth of a man grabs the kid by his collar and practically throws him across the room, knocking over many of his buddies on his way to the floor. The kid scrambles to his feet, ready to fight until he notices the man walking towards him.
“Hey, man, I mean no trouble,” he whimpers as he raises his hands in front of him defensively.
“You fucked up the moment you decided to touch her, as if she was your personal fucking servant.” The sound of a fistcracking against bone fills the already loud room as blood begins to spew from the kid’s mouth. Fuck, that was a good punch.
“Pick up your friend and get the fuck out of here, all of you!” I watch as the group of college kids scurry their way down the stairs and out of the club. Serves them right. Rubbing my arm that’s now styling a purplish bruise, I watch as the man approaches the bar. Saxon Wilder. The leader of the Kings’ Aces, and the man who’s recently decided I need his protection, or rather, babysitting.
“You alright?” he asks from across the bar. I nod and make my way to the end of the counter as he follows. I’ve known he’s been watching me since the moment he realized who I was. The first day I met him, matter of fact. At first, he was like all the other men in this world, eyeing me up and down as if I’m their own personal snack. That was until he saw the brand behind my ear. I can’t say I’d ever tried to hide it. In fact, I wanted him to see who I was. I figured if he knew who my father was, he’d “keep a watchful eye on me.” And he has. My father is just as much my enemy as he is Saxon’s, and if Saxon knows who my father is, he will be on the lookout for the fucking Hellstorms every minute of every day. A security measure for myself. However, I didn’t realize just how much this man would enter my orbit. With my extracurricular activities, I fear some day he’ll catch on to me. He’s everywhere. I can feel him. The way his eyes burn against my skin is like the sun beaming on you for far too long. Even now, I can feel his presence despite not looking at him.
The girls, who watched the whole scene unfold, grab me and cautiously examine my arm as if I’d been shot.
“Shit, Sky, are you okay? The fuck was that guy thinking?!” Sage says as her brother appears beside me.
“He got what he deserved, though. Am I right, Sax!” Ophelia, who I’ve come to realize is Sage’s closest friend, slaps Saxon on the shoulder as she flashes her infectious smile at him. Heshrugs her off, their relationship reminding me of an annoying younger sister and a grumpy older brother.
“Yeah, I could have handled it myself, but thanks anyway,” I say to Saxon, who stares at me with his usual brooding expression. He’s hovering, fishing for something to say as he rolls his eyes at me. This is Saxon’s constant state since he learned who I was, always stalking me. Making me aware of his presence by being my constant shadow. It’s like that annoying guy friend who always wants to be your guardian but just turns out to be insanely smothering. That’s what this is between us: playground admirers. Because, let’s face it, Saxon is stupidly gorgeous, and, well, he’s always staring at me, causing that tingle that prickles my skin whenever his eyes are on me. I’m curious about how we appear from the outside looking in. Do we give off that vibe that says, “We love to hate each other?” The amount of times this man comes to this club when I’m working is a clear sign that he’s watching me. But I’m unsure whether he’s watching out of interest or watching to see if I slip up and prove I’m the person he thinks I am. A spy, a snitch, the enemy on a mission to destroy his club.
“I never said you couldn’t handle it yourself. I needed to release some tension and took the opportunity. So don’t flatter yourself by thinking I’m here to be your personal bodyguard.”