Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

SPENCER

T he rest of my day flies by uneventfully. Alma gets more plates done, Paul makes a set of teacups to match his teapot, Hayes adds more shape to his monster of a vase, and I teach the day camp how to make a coil pot. Still no progress on the pieces for my exhibit. I think if I bang my head against the wall, an idea will come to me.

I checked a few items off my to-do list. But, of course, there’s more to add by the end of the day. By that time I’m tempted to fall asleep on a work table, but I force myself to lock up before I tumble into bed.

When that damned five a.m. alarm goes off, I’m ready to question my choices. Do I really need to go to the gym today?

The unfortunate truth is yes.

I once skipped a workout without calling Joey and he flipped his shit when I showed up the next day. The workout was twice as hard, and I could barely walk home afterwards.

As much as I love being prepared to punch a handsy man in the face, being sore is the absolute worst and I’m a whiny baby about it.

Surprisingly, my workout is easy today. Well, easier . I don’t hobble out of the gym, so that’s a plus.

Now it’s just after lunch and in walks…another fucking sexy-as-hell man.

Is there a sign on my door offering discounts to hot men or something? Because what the hell? I normally get teachers looking for a field trip for their students, stay at home moms who want out of the house, artists who need a space to create. I do not get sex-on-a-stick men.

He’s tall like Zane, but where Zane’s skin is a beautiful ivory, this man has a rich tawny tone. His eyes are a deep chocolate I would happily drown in. His hair is cropped all around and looks to be a true warm brown. He’s wearing a simple white henley, dark wash jeans, and work boots, but on him they are anything but simple. The shirt hugs his chest and torso in a way that showcases the solid muscles underneath. His rolled-up sleeves display his mesmerizing tattoos, and…oh my. Are those finger tattoos? Why is that so hot?

Pushing myself to be the professional business owner I am—who does not check out every man who walks in the door—I stand and greet the man in the only way I know how.

Awkwardly.

“Hi! Welcome to Clay Creations. How can I help you?” For good measure, I throw in a wave that can only be described as the imitation of a fish flopping on dry land.

Yep. Awkward as fuck. Apparently, that’s me when a man is involved.

He looks at me and smiles.

Shit.

This is going to be a repeat of yesterday. Only this time Alma and Paul are here with Hayes. Well, I guess they don’t need yesterday’s story. They’ll get to witness it all first hand.

“Hi, I’m here for a lesson my friend signed me up for.”

Friend? Is he Zane’s friend?

Of course, Zane’s friend is as hot as he is. Hot men live in packs I swear. They all know each other and have some sort of hot guys club. I’m so fucked. Zane paid for three months’ worth of classes. I’m going to be seeing Rio two days a week for the next nine weeks. Yep, definitely fucked.

“You must be Rio. I’m Spencer. I’ll be your teacher.” I reach out my hand to shake his.

But when he takes my hand, he pulls me close and says, “Actually my name is Navarro Juan Carlos de la Cruz Flores. But, Mama, you can call me Rio.”

Oh. Hell. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is, should it?

I realize I’m panting. Fucking panting while I’m less than a few inches away from this man. Could I be any more pathetic? He’s just flirting. He probably does this with all women.

I go to pull my hand away, but he holds firm. Not in a painful way. It almost feels as if he doesn’t want to let me go.

His hands are warm and soothing. How is that possible? It’s just a handshake, but his touch speaks volumes, as if telling me a story. It tells me that he works hard. The scars on his knuckles hidden under the ink tell me he’s fought before. More than once by the look of it. He’s no stranger to pain, but instinctively I know he wouldn’t turn that pain on me. I don’t know how I’m so sure of that after only just meeting him, but I am.

“You never truly know someone” has been a rule that has kept me safe in recent years. I don’t want to give Rio the opportunity to prove me wrong, but I get the feeling he’ll show me whether I want him to or not. I shouldn’t let him, but everything about him piques my curiosity.

After a moment I realize I haven’t moved, but neither has he. He’s watching me with a playful heat, a heat that warms me all the way down to my core, and I find that I don’t hate it. I should hate it. I should turn his attention elsewhere, deflect his focus, but I can’t bring myself to do it. His attention on me is addicting and I revel in the burn.

He slowly lets my hand slide from his. His fingertips graze down my palm making my heartbeat silently pound against my chest.

I make myself switch into work mode. “I’ll give you a tour today and do some demos. Next time you’ll be on the wheel. Before you leave, I’ll need you to sign some paperwork. Sound good?”

“All good here, Mama.” He flirts further while dragging his eyes from my dirty Chucks, up my dusty leggings, and over my large band tee.

“We The Kings?”

“Huh?” I glance down at my shirt. “Oh. Yes. Love them.”

“Never heard of them.”

“What? Okay. That has now been added to your classes. Music education.”

He smiles as if he just won something. I’m not sure what he won, but I’d give him a gold medal for that smile alone.

A man with a nice smile will forever be my type.

“Follow me. I’ll show you where you can put your stuff and where your pieces will be stored. Everyone has their own shelf space,” I explain as I walk towards the back. “Your shelf is here. You’re going to want to put your keys, wallet, and all that here while you’re working with clay. It gets messy very quickly. On that note, next time, wear clothes you’re okay with getting dirty. Some clay can stain, so be ready for that.”

Rio looks down at himself and inventories his outfit. “Clothes I’m willing to get dirty. Got it.” Then he winks. Fucking winks. My face heats at his implication, but I think I do a good job brushing off his comment.

“Um. Uh. Right. Yeah. Clothes you don’t mind getting dirty.”

Real smooth.

“And who is this handsome man?”

I internally groan and turn to Alma. “This is Rio. He’s taking some pottery lessons,” gesturing between Rio and everyone else, I make introductions. “Rio, this is Alma and Paul. They’re both artists who come here often. And that’s Hayes over there, he’s my studio assistant.”

“What’s up, man? Nice to meet you.” I turn to Hayes and he gives me a smug look. A look that says I know you think he’s hot . I shoot him a glare in return.

“You too,” Rio replies politely.

Paul just gives Rio a chin lift, but Alma gives him a huge megawatt smile.

“Well, hello there, handsome.” She bats her lashes and practically makes googly eyes at him.

“ !Hola, chica! ” Rio turns his winking power on Alma and the woman fucking swoons. Dampening Rio’s effect on me would be a lot easier if everyone else didn’t feel it as well.

Continuing with the tour, I show Rio the kiln room, damp room, and storage closet with clay and tools. Once he has his own set of tools, I begin the demo. I explain how men naturally build upper body strength easier because their center of gravity is in their chest. So centering the clay and shaping his pot on the wheel will look different from how I do it. A woman’s center of gravity is in her hips, therefore I utilize the strength there to work clay on the wheel.

During the demo his eyes never leave me, making the fire he lit inside me burn hotter. I don’t think he actually watched my hands at all. Well, maybe when I showed him what coning was. That always gets an adult male student’s attention.

After I’m done with the demonstration I ask, “Do you have any questions?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“What?” My mouth hangs wide open in shock.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Rio repeats the question slowly, enunciating each syllable as if I didn’t hear him the first time.

“Um. I meant, do you have any questions about the demonstration?”

“Yeah. That’s my question. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Well. No. But I don’t see how it’s related.”

He smirks at me and says, “I’ll explain it one day, Mama.”

Why does it feel like there’s a joke here I’m not getting?

I narrow my gaze and attempt to say threateningly, “If you say so, Rio.”

He chuckles and I can’t help but smile back. After a moment, I’m laughing myself. His laugh is infectious. A deep, rumbling laugh that makes me smile just to hear it; it’s pure joy.

“Any other questions that actually pertain to pottery and not my relationship status?”

“Not right now.” He winks. Again.

He really needs to cut that shit out or I’m going to end up in the hospital with an irregular heartbeat.

At that moment, my phone goes off and breaks the bubble Rio and I had unwittingly erected. I normally have my phone on silent while I’m in the studio, but I guess I forgot to turn it off. We have a landline here for any work calls, so I know this notification isn’t work related.

I know. I’m ancient.

I wipe my hands off, pull out my phone, and freeze. There’s a ringing in my ears and everything around me fades away as I read the text.

Unknown: Remember. You’re mine. If you let another man touch you, you’ll regret it. I fucking swear, Flower, you better not.

Flower. That name. He always called me that.

After the first time he yelled in my face, he bought me a bouquet of flowers and begged me to forgive him. I gave in easily because he seemed so sincere and genuinely remorseful, but the next day the flowers were cut up and scattered all over my apartment for me to clean up. That’s how it happened every time after that. We would argue, he would buy me flowers, and they would all be ripped to shreds the next day.

He’s coming for me isn’t he? Just when I feel like I’m actually making progress. Am I going to have to pack up and leave? Will I have to sell everything and run? Where would I even go? I don’t think I can start over again. I’ll never find another Alma or Iris or Paul or Hayes. To keep myself safe I would have to leave, wouldn’t I?

My mind wanders to the duffle I have ready to go at the bottom of my closet. I could leave if and when I need to, but that would mean leaving this life I’ve built. This life I’ve worked so hard for.

If he really has found me, I don’t have a choice. I have to go.

“Are you okay?”

I snap back to the present to see Rio peering down at my phone. I quickly hide it and shakily answer, “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”

“Spencer, you’re as white as a ghost.”

“I’m okay. Must be low blood sugar or something.” My voice still wobbles.

A gentle hand under my chin softly tilts my head upward. When I allow my eyes to follow, I’m looking directly into Rio’s rich irises. The sincerity and concern shining from them is alarming. I’m not used to that kind of care. Why would he be so nice to me? He barely knows me.

“Who was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I deflect, breaking eye contact.

“Okay. We’ll play it your way for now, but promise me you’ll tell me about it someday.”

“Sure,” I respond to get him off my back.

“Yes or no, Spencer.” He says each word with such authority. It’s not the type of authority that results in harm if not obeyed, this type of authority I’m unfamiliar with.

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“Good girl. I’m going to go and I’ll be back in on Thursday for my next lesson, okay?”

Fuckitty fuck fuck. Good girl ? That should not make my panties wet. I’m completely speechless with a blank stare on my face so all I do is nod.

“I need your words, Mama. Let me hear that beautiful voice tell me yes.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His thumb trails my lower lip and he releases my chin. I’m suddenly cold at the loss of his touch, but that fire is still burning inside me. He stands and nods then leaves the same way he came.

Taking a breath, I realize he made me forget all about the text. Normally I would need to lock myself in the bathroom or excuse myself to leave so I could break down in private. Without even trying, Rio prevented my panic attack.

Alma, sitting at the wheel a few feet from me, snaps me back to the present when she says, “Oh girl. You’re in trouble with that one.”

As I steady my breathing, all I can think is how absolutely right she is.

I’m in so much trouble.