Fated Hearts (Echoes of Darkness Prequel)

8

Ava

T he sun makes its lazy descent into the horizon, painting the sky and the four-story Victorian-style buildings in vibrant orange hues as I get out of the art studio in the northern part of Ashville. I’ve just finished attending an hour-long pottery class, and let’s just say it was a bit of a disaster. I have clay stuck in places no one should. I’m looking forward, though, to the other classes, especially the watercolor painting one, since I always loved to paint as a kid, but my mother said it’s nonsense, and I shouldn’t even bother with it because becoming an artist is not a real job that will earn me money, so she threw out all my art supplies.

After I woke up from the heart transplant surgery, I wanted to start exploring things I’ve never done before because I was never given the opportunity. Even if pottery is going to be a failure, I’m not easily deterred. I will find something I’m good at, and if I can’t make money from it, I will at least enjoy it as a hobby.

Crossing the street, I make my way to where I parked my car and get inside. The traffic is a bitch, moving at a snail’s pace, and by the time I park the car on the side street next to my apartment building, dusk is settling around me on the short walk to the front door of the building. I punch in the code and take the elevator to the seventh floor.

As soon as I close the front door of my apartment, I make a beeline for the bathroom and turn on the water in the shower. I peel off the sweaty, clay-splattered clothes and step into the hot spray, letting it pound on my sore muscles. Who knew throwing pottery is a freakin’ workout?

I made some pasta for dinner, and now I’m seated cross-legged on the couch with the hot plate in my lap, surfing through the TV channels for something to watch as I eat. I stop on the news and turn the volume up. The news anchor’s voice echoes off my apartment walls as she announces a woman has been killed in a horrible animal attack in the national park.

She looks like she has been mauled to death by a lion. What kind of animal does that? A horrible feeling of dread churns in my gut. I wanted to take a walk in the national park today, but I changed my mind at the last minute. That could have easily been me.

After I finish eating, I do my makeup, carefully accentuating my eyes with a sexy brown smokey eye. I then get dressed in a leather skirt with black tights underneath, a cute satiny red top with a deep V-neck, and my leather jacket. I pair the look with my over-the-knee boots that have short high heels, and even take the time to style my hair in voluminous curls.

I’ve been trying to find a job these past few days, but after scouring the internet for hours, I always come out empty. Today though, I remembered the sign I saw in the window of the dive bar in the Raven district. I’m going to stop by and ask if I can speak with someone about the job. I don’t think I will get it since I have no experience working in a bar, but I can at least try. It’s better than nothing.

I exit my apartment building and start walking in the direction of the Raven district. The city’s sounds and smells travel through the air, assaulting my senses. I haven’t been here at night before, especially not on a Saturday night, and it looks like an entirely different neighborhood. People are crowding the streets in groups while stumbling in and out of bars, their speech slurred and loud. As I walk by a dark, dingy alley, the pungent smell of alcohol and vomit makes my stomach roil, and I crinkle my nose, trying to breathe through my mouth for a few seconds.

My mood sours when I see I have to pass a group of drunken men standing and smoking in front of the Shabby Shotglass. All of them look like douchey frat boys. They make disgusting remarks at every woman who passes their group, and their boisterous laughs are like nails on a chalkboard as I approach them.

Inevitably, one of them spots me. His leering gaze travels the length of my body, and I shudder in disgust. “Nice tits,” he says, and they all snicker, turning around to look at me.

My jaw ticks, and I curl my fingers into fists at my sides, leaving behind crescent indentations. Exhaling loudly through my nose, I ignore them and reach for the bar’s door. But as soon as I turn my back to them, a hand grabs my ass beneath my skirt and squeezes hard.

My blood boils over with rage. Before I can think my actions through, I turn around and swing my arm, punching the blond pendejo that grabbed my ass. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to throw a good punch: torque your hips to use your body weight, not just your arm strength. At least my mother’s boyfriend did one thing right; he taught me how to defend myself against sleazy cabrones como este . But even so, I don’t expect to send him flying backward. He would have skidded on the asphalt a few feet back if it wasn’t for one of his friends stopping his momentum.

WHOA!

I look at my fist, my brows furrowing in confusion. My knuckles don’t even hurt. The old Ava would have just clamped her mouth shut and kept going. I think I like this new Ava that doesn’t take shit from anyone. Pretending like I’m a badass bitch, I smirk. “Nice face,” I retort. “Maybe next time you’ll use your brain, if you even have any, before putting your hands on a woman.”

“You bitch,” one of the other pricks spews and staggers toward me.

“If I were you, I would be mindful of the next words that leave your mouth before I decide to rearrange your face,” a deep, gravelly voice booms from behind me. The asswipe stops in his tracks, face ashen. Then they collectively scurry away like their asses are on fire, stepping all over each other as they cross the street.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” I say while turning around. I almost have to do a double take at how freakin’ attractive this guy is. His muscular body is decked in a very expensive-looking suit, the top buttons of his shirt left undone to allow a tattoo to peek out from underneath. He has a piercing in his left ear, a short beard that stretches across his cheeks, and a razor-sharp jaw that could cut a diamond in two. There’s a dangerous air to him. Like he could snap your neck with the flick of his finger. And it’s not only because of his artfully styled raven locks.

“No need to thank me. I think you had it covered with how you sent that dipshit almost to his grave. You’ve got a mean right hook,” he chuckles out, his pearly white teeth glinting in the light cast by the street lamppost.

“I’m honestly surprised by my own strength,” I reply, laughing.

He bends slightly and opens the door. “After you,” he says, gesturing for me to enter.

As soon as I step over the threshold, the smell of tap beer mixed with cloying cologne and fried food overpowers my senses. The low music playing in the speakers is drowned out by the murmur of people talking all at once, laughing, and by the sound of ice clinking and beers being gulped.

“What’s your name, bella ?” the stranger asks with a perfect Italian accent after he closes the door at our back.

I turn to look at him, his piercing blue-green eyes captivating mine. “Ava.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Ava.” He winks and saunters toward the back of the dive bar, leaving me staring at his fine ass. As soon as he’s gone, I realize I was so mesmerized by his eyes that I forgot to ask him his name.

Blinking a few times, I take in my surroundings. The dimly lit interior is far more spacious than the outside let on, with a long bar at my right made out of dark wood and numerous high-top tables, almost all occupied. Two pool tables are on my left in a separate space, crowded by people playing and standing near them, drinking beer. There are some private booths as well toward the back, where the hottie disappeared.

Making a beeline for the bar, I sit on one of the empty brown leather stools, hanging my purse on the wooden backrest. The wall at the back of the bar is entirely made out of shelves stacked with alcohol bottles. A rack with upside-down stem glasses hangs above the bartender’s head.

She has to be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, her delicate features framed by angular cheekbones and a defined jawline—the kind of bone structure you would kill for. She is mixing a cocktail vigorously, the outline of a tattoo on her muscular right bicep peeking from under the short sleeve of her T-shirt. Damn, she is ripped.

I am munching on a pretzel when the bartender finally makes her way to my side of the bar. “Hey, sorry about the long wait. Do you already know what you want to drink?” she asks, smiling warmly and placing a coaster in front of me.

I smile back. “No worries, it looks like it’s a pretty busy night.” My eyes skim over the drinks menu I am holding. There aren’t many alcohol-free options. “How’s the Zombie mocktail? I can’t drink alcohol,” I say, lifting my head and looking into her honey eyes.

Those eyes, they’re so mesmerizing. Why do I have a feeling I have seen them before?

“It’s a blend of citrus and tropical flavors. It’s okay, but not my favorite. I can make you the Emily Special mocktail if you want. It’s not on the menu, but it’s delicious. It’s my favorite.”

I shrug. “Yeah, sure. I trust you.”

“Do you want to start a tab?” she asks.

“No, I’ll just pay by round.”

“’Kay.” She dumps some ice in the cocktail shaker. “So, are you visiting Ashville?” She starts pouring from different bottles over the ice, her gaze flitting to me.

“No, actually, I just moved here a week and a half ago, and I’m looking for a job. I saw the sign in the window and thought it’s a good idea to come by and ask about it.”

“Em, can you please pour twelve tequila shots for table seven?” A willowy guy with dark umber skin places a tray on top of the bar next to me and sighs. “The crowd’s rowdy tonight,” he mumbles, pats his sweaty forehead with a napkin, then runs a hand over his short buzz cut.

“Tony, is Marnie still here? We have someone asking for the server job.”

“Yeah, she went into her office ten minutes ago,” he shoots back and turns to look at me. “Oh hey, buttercup. I saw you through the window punching that douche outside. I could hug you right now. Those frat boys were a nightmare to serve, and they didn’t even leave a tip. Don’t let her pay for her drink, Em. It’s on me.” He winks at me and picks up the tray of tequila shots, keeping it high above his head while weaving his way through the packed bar.

“Marnie’s our boss. You can find her office at the end of the bathroom hallway. Just take a right at the back exit sign, and then her office will be the first door on your left,” the bartender says before placing a rounded cocktail glass filled with an amber concoction in front of me.

I take a sip; the flavor explodes on my tongue. A moan escapes my lips at how good it is. “Oh my God, this is incredible. I can’t believe it doesn’t have any alcohol. What did you put in it?”

“It’s an amaretto sour mocktail with a secret blend. I knew you’d love it.” Her full lips curve in a knowing smile, and then she moves to the other patrons waiting to be served.

I down what is left of the delicious mocktail. Despite what that server, Tony, said, I place the money for it along with a tip under the empty glass and get off the bar stool. I sling my purse back over my shoulder before making my way toward the toilet sign hanging above the corridor near the pool tables.

As I weave through the packed bar, a burly man that is clearly shit-faced tries to hoist himself up on the stool at one of the high-top tables, but his foot misses, and he ends up spilling his beer on the guy next to him while falling backward and barreling into my side, sending me sprawling forward.

I slam and squeeze my eyes shut to mentally prepare myself to collide with the floor, but instead, I land into a hard, hot body that smells incredible, earthy, and woodsy with a hint of pine. It reminds me of the forest.

A strong arm bands across my middle, and a warm hand presses at the small of my back, fusing me completely to the front of the stranger that caught me. My eyes immediately snap open at his touch, which feels like a live wire of electricity, making my pulse skyrocket and my nipples pebble into diamond-hard tips.

As I look up, intending to thank him, my words die on my lips. My brain absolutely short-circuits. He must be the hottest man alive. He’s so freakin’ tall, about six foot nine, and he is all hard-cut marble, broad shoulders, and thick, powerful thighs. His muscles are so sculpted you can see the outline through his navy Henley. The color of his skin reminds me of the desert dunes bathing in the sunset light right before the sun disappears completely from the sky, and his hair is an ash-brown mess of curls, longer in the middle and shorter on the sides. Stubble covers his cheeks, giving him a sexy, scruffy appearance.

Time seems to stop as everything disappears around us. The muffled music, the slurred drunken conversations, and the laughter coming from a nearby table all fade away the moment our gazes collide. His eyes are two pools of desire, the amber transforming to burnished gold as he gulps, his breath coming hard through his parted lips.

His eyes…where have I seen his eyes before?

Oh my God. The wolf I’ve been dreaming about since I woke up from the heart transplant surgery. He has the same eyes. No…that’s impossible. I’m just reading too much into things.

We are both breathing as if we’ve just finished running a marathon. He bends slightly, brushing his knuckles on the side of my face, and then frames my jaw with his calloused fingers while his thumb presses on my bottom lip. My tongue sneaks out to taste his skin, and his eyes darken with desire. Molten lava courses through my veins, and my clit starts to throb as my panties soak completely with the need to feel him between my legs.

Mierda. ?Qué me está pasando?

He closes the space between us, and I think he is going to kiss me, but instead he buries his face in my hair. “Mmm, you smell so good I could eat you piece by piece,” he rumbles in my ear, his deep, gravelly voice like crushed velvet over silk as his breath tingles the side of my neck, sending shivers down the ladder of my spine.

Jesus, I have never been more turned on in my entire life. If he decides to bend me over and fuck me right here in the crowded bar, I won’t even lift a finger to stop him.

He turns his head slightly, bringing our faces so close we are practically sharing the same breath. Fiery golden eyes snap to my lips. A hard swallow follows. And as if he can’t stop himself, he inches forward when a woman knocks into us and breaks the spell. His dark-winged eyebrows furrow while he shakes his head as though he can’t believe what just happened between us. As if I’m poisonous, he lets me go abruptly. Everything comes rushing back all at once. My knees buckle, and I feel like this time I will surely face-plant when his hand shoots out, grabbing my elbow and stabilizing me.

“You okay?” he asks gravelly, clearing his throat, his eyes fixated somewhere above my head as though he’s asking for the universe’s secrets to unravel at his feet.

“Yeah,” I respond, my voice so breathy, I barely recognize it. “Thank you.”

He nods sharply, letting go of my elbow as if I burnt him. Shoulders stiff and spine rod-straight, he turns around and hightails toward the private booths at the back like the hounds of hell and Satan himself are nipping at his heels.

What the hell was that?

I have to take a few moments to breathe in and out with my hand pressed to the center of my chest in a feeble attempt to calm my erratic heart. I almost go after him and demand he finish what he started.

When I finally feel I have full control over my body again, I make a beeline for the hallway near the pool tables. After I pass the long line of women waiting to get into the bathroom, I amble toward the exit sign the bartender talked about and make a right on the dark corridor. I rap my knuckles against the first door on the left wall.

“Come in,” a raspy voice travels through the door.

Turning the knob, I step over the threshold and can barely see the woman sitting at the desk through the thick wall of cigarette smoke. “Hello, my name is Ava Perez. I’m here for the server position. I saw the help-wanted sign in the window.”

She stubs out the cigarette into an ashtray on top of the glass desk and waves her hand in front of her face in a failed attempt to clear the air. “Hi Ava, please come in and sit down.” She stands up and opens the window. “Sorry about the smoke. I forgot to open the window. I told my husband I quit a week ago, but running this bar stresses me the fuck out, so I hide in here to wind down,” she rambles as she takes a seat back at the desk. “He’s been on my case lately about selling the bar and retiring to a tropical island, but this bar has been in my family for generations. I can’t just sell it.”

Now that the thick billowing smoke starts to dissipate, I can see her clearly. She is a woman past the age of fifty with unruly, curly silver hair. She’s wearing a long flowery skirt and a bohemian shirt with flounce sleeves. “I’m Marnie,” she says, extending her hand toward me. “So, Ava, do you have any experience serving in bars?” she asks after we shake hands, her kind brown eyes sizing me up.

I sit down. “Um, I don’t want to lie to you. I haven’t worked much because I was focused on law school. I do have some experience working at a café on campus. I know it’s different from working in a bar, but I’m a fast learner.”

Marnie purses her lips and drums her fingers on top of the desk. “Why’d you quit law school? Don’t tell me your dream is to work in a dive bar,” she says, amusement dripping from her tone.

I fumble with my fingers in my lap. “Well, two months ago, I was given a new chance at life. I had a heart transplant, and I realized going to law school was only my mother’s dream and that I wasn’t happy. So, after I recovered, I decided to move to Ashville and start living on my own terms. The truth is, I don’t know what my dream is. I guess I never let myself dream when I only wanted to please my mother and be her perfect little puppet.”

She leans back in her seat with a contemplative frown , accentuating the already deep lines on her forehead. “I like your honesty. Can you start tonight?”

My eyebrows shoot up all the way to my hairline. “Wait, what? You want to give me the job?” I can’t believe it could be that easy.

“You’re not underage, are you?”

“No, but as I said, I don’t have any experience—”

“Well, I desperately need a server, and you need a job. Beggers can’t be choosers. Schedule’s Wednesday to Saturday from nine p.m. to three a.m. You have to come one hour before opening, and then you can leave after cleaning. If you do well tonight, we can manage all the paperwork on Monday.” Marnie pushes her chair back, making its legs scrape loudly against the hardwood floor, and stands up. “C’mon, let’s go find Tony. He’s one of the servers. You’ll shadow him tonight, and he’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

After she shows me the staff room and gives me a locker where I put my jacket and purse, I follow Marnie back into the crowded bar. My feet are already killing me, even if the boot heels are short. I’m not one to wear heels very often, and I want to kick myself for this stupid decision, but I honestly wasn’t expecting to start working right away.

Marnie hands me a notepad for orders and explains the last details of what the job entails as we wait for Tony to finish serving a table.

“That’s Emily,” Marnie says, pointing at the beautiful bartender pouring tequila into some shot glasses.

Wait a minute. The color of her skin, the shape of her face, her hair, and even her eyes. All of her features are so similar to those of the hot guy I landed into twenty minutes ago. “Does she have a brother?” I blurt out.

Marnie throws me a sidelong glance. “Yeah, she does. How did you know?”

I gulp, remembering the way my body responded to the stranger’s touch. “Um, I thought I saw a guy that looked exactly like her,” I reply, heat blazing in my cheeks. “She’s extremely talented. I ordered a mocktail, and I swear I couldn’t even tell it didn’t have any alcohol,” I say, trying to change the subject because I’m feeling flustered all of a sudden.

“Trust me, I know. I’m lucky she loves to bartend so much. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to afford someone with her skills. Will you be okay waiting for Tony by yourself? I need to head back into the office to deal with some paperwork.”

“Yeah, sure, no worries.”

She stands. “Okay then, I’ll see you Monday morning so we can sort out the contract and everything else. Does ten a.m. work for you?”

“Ten is perfect,” I reply, and she gives me a toothless smile and a nod before disappearing through the crowd.