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But I’m starting to think it isn’t enough.
?
“Bourbon,” I say just as some kid in a button-down shirt slams into me with an ‘oomph’. He’s busy laughing his ass off until he catches sight of my face, at which point the smile falls off and he turns deathly pale.
“Fuck, sorry, man,” he stammers, looking like he’s about to shit himself.
I fix him with a glacial stare.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I snap at the kid. He hoofs it away as fast as his spindly legs can carry him. Fuck knows how he got past the door security. I need to have a word with Kelvin. If we’re letting underage kids in, it’s my ass on the line.
As I sip my bourbon, I spot an attractive woman with vivid red hair further down the bar. She’s all alone, which is surprising. Women who look like her are usually with a guy, or in a group of friends. She’s not a hooker either. The working girls who sometimes find a way into my club always have one eye on the room, searching for their next mark. This woman is completely oblivious.
She stares into her glass, lost in thought. There’s something closed off about her and it’s obvious her attention is a million miles away from the club. The guy to the left of her gives her a second look and edges closer. The avaricious way he’s looking at her puts me on edge. I know a predator when I see one.
We do not tolerate harassment or any underhand behavior in Venom. People caught in the act are given a short, sharp shock and barred for life. This guy is on the fast track already. One more wrong move and he’ll be tossed out into the back alley with a black eye and a split lip. Or worse, depending on who does the honors.
The asshole says something. She shakes her head and glares. He tries again, not getting the message. She freezes and he grabs her arm. The vibe I’m getting is that she’s afraid, and I don’t like it. So I step in.
Chapter 3
Rory
Another one of the reasons I rarely go out is that I hate being hit on by men who refuse to take a hint. The guy next to me is a classic example of an entitled, overbearing, douche. I don’t want his hands on me, and I’m sure as hell not going to suck his dick anytime soon. The fact he even had the nerve to ask me that after knowing me for all of two seconds tells me all I need to know about the kind of prick he is.
Then he gets closer, and I realize I’m pretty isolated here. This bar isn’t as busy as the one closer to the main dance floor; the lone bartender disappeared into the back a few minutes ago, and there aren’t any security guys nearby. Shona and Maddie probably assume I’m still in the bathroom. They won’t come looking for me yet.
The stench of the creep’s cheap cologne with base notes of acrid sweat curdles my stomach. My mood dips and my heart pounds. It’s ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen to me here. It’s not a stupid frat party. Nobody’s going to spike my drink.
But it doesn’t stop the visceral fear from creeping through my veins though. After all, it happened once, so it could happen again.
Before I can react, the guy is suddenly yanked backward. I hear a loud growly voice warning him to back off. I haven’t a clue what’s going on and I don’t care. All that matters is the creep is no longer touching me so I’m free to leave.
When I spin around, my harasser is on the floor squealing. One of the stacked security guys hauls ass over and picks him up like a piece of unwanted trash.
“I’ll deal with him, boss,” the guy grunts. He must have eaten his spinach this morning because he doesn’t break into a sweat when he drags the asshole away. My eyes are drawn to the second man, the one who pulled Mr. Cheap Cologne off me. The security guy called him ‘boss’, which makes sense. This man has Big Boss vibes written all over him.
The suit he wears is designer and the watch on his wrist would have Joel apoplectic with excitement. He’s tall, not as stacked as the security guy, but still packing a lot of hard muscle. I’m expecting him to walk off now his good deed for the night is done, but he turns around and looks at me, giving me a quick once-over. There isn’t anything lecherous about it though. He’s just making sure I’m OK.
Some of the tension in my body dissipates. I droop a little. Adrenaline has burned the alcohol in my system away and I’m exhausted and ready for bed.
“I’m sorry about that,” my savior says with a rueful grimace.
“It’s fine.” I shrug. There are guys like this everywhere. It’s one of the perks of being an attractive female.Not.
“No, it’s not fine. We want our female patrons to feel safe, not targeted by sexual predators.” He practically growls that last bit and it’s obvious he’s pissed.
“Well, thank you,” I tell him. And I mean it. Plenty of other guys would have looked away or decided it was a free-for-all and joined in.
“Let me get you a drink and then I’ll order a car for you.”
This is when I should protest and walk away, yet something in me says no. There’s a fizz in my veins, a prickle of anticipation I can’t quite identify. Nothing about this man scares me, although it should. I’m not stupid. He’s not Mr. Nice Guy. Far from it, in fact. But he’s been nothing but respectful so far, and he saved me from harassment. Agreeing to a drink is the least I can do.
I follow him past the dance floor and up two flights of stairs to the VIP area. There’s a guy at the entrance stopping riffraff from breaking in. He nods at my savior and pulls the velvet rope aside to let us through.
The vibe here is very different. It’s less crowded for starters, with just a few groups of men and a handful of women, all watchingthe dancers perform while chatting and drinking expensive liquor.
I feel like a fish out of water but also excited to see how the other half lives. The girls will be jealous as fuck I’m up here and I can’t wait to spill the deets on Monday. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous leads me to a booth tucked away in the corner. At no point does he touch me. This tells me he is smart enough to see I don’t want to be touched without consent.
