Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

ZANE

W ho the fuck is Lance? Just the name sounds punchable. Spencer’s greeting is a dead giveaway that he’s bothering her, and now I have the urge to go find the guy and make sure he stays away. I’m willing to ask every man on the street if his name is Lance to find the fucker. No one bothers my Angel.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Lance?”

“Yeah.” Spencer’s head tilts down and she shifts her weight back and forth.

Interesting.

“Who is he?”

“Oh he’s no one. Don’t worry?—”

Spencer doesn’t get to finish because she’s interrupted by Iris. She’s short but looks like she could hold her own in any verbal sparring match. Sassy women have that energy.

“He’s this annoying guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and always comes by to ask Spencer out. Not that she’s ever given any indication that she’d go out with him. He thinks every woman is dying to spread their legs for him.”

He better fucking not or else he’ll find himself with a few broken bones to make sure he can't utter another word to Spencer, let alone ask her out. Then when it heals, I'll break it again. This time for pure pleasure.

“Iris!”

“What? Am I wrong?” Iris doesn’t look remorseful.

Little does she know, I already know almost everything there is to know about her: where she was born, how often she drinks coffee, what her most watched show on Netflix is.

“Well, no, but you don’t have to say it like that,” Spencer’s attention comes back to me. “What’s up? It’s a little early for lunch.”

“I wanted to check out the gallery.” More like I just wanted to see her again and not at 10x magnification from my car.

“Oh. Do you want to just browse or would you like a tour?”

A smile sneaks across my face at the thought of spending time with her. Just her. The lunches have been fun and all that, but I need more. I need more of her words, more of her time, more of her.

“A tour would be great.”

“Follow me.”

I’ll follow you anywhere, Angel.

She shows me a few landscape paintings that I would not normally be interested in, but when it comes to Spencer, her interests are my interests. Her passions are my passions, and her desires are my desires. I nod along and drink in everything she says. She explains the stippling technique in one painting and the use of light and shadow in another. She could be reading me an instruction manual on plumbing, and I would hang on her every word.

I love seeing her in her element. She’s confident and comfortable. As she continues to speak, her voice soothes me. Being in her presence makes all the shit I’ve seen and done drift away. She makes my world brighter just by existing. When she exists in my space, my world isn’t the dark, depressing place I’ve known my whole life. There’s color and joy.

As we drift through the showroom, I allow myself little touches here and there. A simple hand on her lower back, a brush of my hand against hers. Every time it happens a blush takes over her cheeks. A blush I bet spreads down her neck to her chest and across her perfect tits.

I stop at a sculpture of a woman that piques my interest. Her eyes are closed, and she has hollowed cheeks as if she’s underweight and starved. Her hair is in a messy updo and her brows are slightly pinched giving off the impression she’s in pain. I move to look at the other side of her face only to see it’s not there. It’s as if someone dropped the bust and it broke, but this looks more deliberate. The artist purposefully broke off the side of the face. Destroyed it.

As if the artist was destroying their pain. The agony they have lived. They want it gone. Obliterated.

I look at the tag and see the words “Moving On by Unknown.”

Glancing up, I see Spencer worrying her bottom lip between her teeth waiting for my opinion and it clicks—she made it.

“What do you think?” She’s nervous.

Does she want me to understand? Does she want me to know it was her?

Everyone wants to be seen. All their ugly, broken pieces. We’re all just wandering this Earth waiting for someone to reassure us that we’re not as broken as we think. That our scars aren’t that hideous.

I don’t need that validation. I know my scars are hideous. I know my broken pieces are ugly. I accepted that truth years ago.

Spencer is different. Her scars and broken pieces draw me to her. They have a tight fist clenched around my heart and pull me towards her every minute of the day.

I see her alright and not just through her window at night.

I tilt my head to the side and ask, “Are you the artist?”

She glances to the side, wanting to hide the truth, but I already know the answer. The sculpture may not be an exact depiction of her face, but it’s clear this is how she sees herself. Weak and starved. Starved of safety, protection, love.

Beautiful, I will give you all of that and so much more.

“Who hurt you?”

She looks shocked at my question and scrambles to deflect. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I go to her and gently grasp her upper arms. Pulling her close and leaning in I whisper, “I see you. You don’t have to hide.”

Spencer looks up at me through her lashes and my cock stirs. Unable to resist, I slowly lower my face to hers.

“Tell me to stop, Angel.” My lips brush hers in a tender caress. I wrap my arms around her lower back and align my body with hers. I want her to feel all of me. To feel what she does to me.

She gasps when she feels how hard I am. Her whispers tease across my mouth. “Please don’t stop.”

My heart comes alive in my chest. Looking into Spencer’s eyes, I feel like I’m whole again. Her perfect hands are molding to my chest, and as our lips connect, I hear a door swing open.

“Hey Spencer? The clay supplier is on the phone in the studio wanting to double check the order.” Hayes' voice is loud and oblivious to what’s going on in front of him.

Spencer jumps from my arms and bumps into the wall. She leans to the side so she can see around me. I’m not a big guy, but I’m not a twig either.

“Would you mind taking care of that, Hayes?”

When I glance over my shoulder I see the kid with horrible timing. He has his brow raised, checking to see if Spencer is okay. I look back and she gives him a subtle nod with wide eyes as if to tell him to clear out.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Thanks.”

Hayes leaves and I turn back to Spencer who is clearly flustered.

“So. Umm. Thank you for coming by. Feel free to keep looking. I need to get back to some paperwork.”

She goes to leave but I grab her hand to halt her hasty exit. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me see you.”

That adorable blush returns and I allow the back of my hand to trace lightly down her heated cheek.

“I need to get going anyways, so I’ll walk you to the front.”

“That’s alright. I should head over to Clay Creations. Thank you again for coming, Zane.” She practically sprints to the connecting door.

The door’s resistance to let her through causes a blush to rise up the back of her neck. She kicks the door for good measure but eventually gets it open and leaves.

I make a mental note to fix that for her.

Her departure cuts off the light I have become addicted to. The light I can’t live without.

As I pass the front desk, I give a small goodbye nod to Iris.

“You should meet us at Moonlit tonight at eight. Jerry usually hooks us up with a few free drinks.” Iris’ invitation stops me in my tracks.

Another guy? What the fuck?

“Who’s Jerry?”

“Jerry is an old man, but his bar is pretty cool. We go out every so often for a little Ladies Night with Alma.”

Oh.

I smile at Iris but don’t give her an answer.

Looks like I’m crashing Ladies’ Night.