Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

SPENCER

I sit at the sticky bar top sipping on my rosemary vodka tonic, wondering why I let Iris talk me into tonight. She invited some of her friends so at least all the attention isn’t on me and my lack of donut glazing. Alma had to cancel because her sitter is sick and her husband is out of town on a work trip. I pushed Iris and her friends to let loose on the small dance floor so I could sit by myself for a bit and decompress.

I don’t particularly like drinking. I don’t like it when my head gets fuzzy or I forget what I do or say. I like always being aware. When I’m not aware I’m vulnerable, so while I enjoy spending time with Iris and Alma, I have a one drink limit.

Shifting in my seat, I adjust my dress for the millionth time tonight. It’s a simple, spaghetti strap, ruched bodycon in deep blue. At least that’s what the online description said. It’s more like a boa constrictor trying to squeeze the life out of me. I bought it so Iris couldn’t talk me into wearing one of her dresses. I curled my hair so it would fall into natural looking waves, and Iris applied a smokey eye that makes me look alluring. Too bad I can’t talk to a man without short-circuiting. That has been proven multiple times recently.

Or maybe it’s just two men in particular.

Every time I see an attractive guy, I don't get those flutters in my stomach. Not like I did when I met them .

Instead, I see a hand itching to leave bruises on my body or words perfectly sharpened and aimed to hit where it’ll hurt for years to come.

How does one even date in today’s world? I’m not downloading Tinder on my phone so I can get harassed by men asking if I’m “DTF.” As if the catcalls in the street aren’t enough? No thanks.

Iris slings her arm around my neck and says too loud, “Come dance with us!” She’s not drunk but well on her way.

“I’m good. I’ll just sit here.”

“Aww. Come on! What if I request your favorite song?”

“Nope. Still good.”

“Please! Consider it team bonding.”

Knowing she won’t give up until I give in, I cave. “Fine, but just one song. Okay?”

“Yeah sure. Whatever you say, Boss.”

By her tone I know she won’t let me sit down until my feet feel like they’re going to fall off. Damn Earlier Spencer for thinking these heels were a good idea. I should have just worn tennis shoes.

When we first get out to the dance floor, I feel awkward and uncomfortable. I’m self-conscious, thinking people are watching and judging. Worried that the wrong man will get a dumb idea, and we’ll have a repeat of what happened the first time I went out.

Slowly, I allow myself to feel the beat and get lost in the moment. It’s difficult for me to let go, but I remind myself that Iris’ friends are nice. They’re the kind of women who build each other up. The kind we need more of in the world. They have my back simply because of my XX chromosomes.

Swaying my hips, I allow myself to feel free even if it’s just for a moment.

Everything I do in my life is to keep myself safe. The running, the workouts, the meticulous perimeter checks, making sure no one is going to jump out at me. But right now, I can simply be. Just like when I’m creating with clay.

Next thing I know, there’s a pair of hands on my hips and they’re definitely a man’s hands. I go to step out of his hold but he pulls me back, so my ass is flush with his unimpressive dick. My fear takes over in the moment and I struggle. Suddenly I’m not in Moonlit anymore, I’m in a cold house with unfeeling rooms and a monster who doesn’t care when I beg and plead with him.

“Spencer, Spencer. What am I going to do with you now?”

“P-please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Let me go!” I ram my elbow back into the guy’s stomach at the same time I throw my head back, hoping I hit something, which I do. I don’t hear a crunch over the loud music, but I hear an “oof” and he lets go.

“What the hell, bitch!”

I turn and see a man I don’t recognize. Shame and panic wash over me in an unbearable wave.

Oh my God. I just did that.

I turn to leave but an inked arm wraps around me. “You’re okay, Mama. I got you.”

“Did you just put your hands on her?” I peek over my shoulder to see Zane in the stranger’s face.

“I was just having some fun, man. It’s not like there’s a ring on her finger.”

“I don’t give a fuck if there’s a ring or not. You touched her.” Zane leans in and says something in the man’s ear. His skin turns ashen, and he scurries away.

What did Zane say to him?

Rio’s soothing words fade as I breathe.

One. Two. Three. Four—breathe in. Breathe in the shame. Breathe in the fear.

One. Two. Three. Four—hold. Feel the memories.

One. Two. Three. Four—breathe out. Breathe out the past. Breathe out the regret.

Feeling my panic subside, I open my eyes and find myself back at the bar. Rio on one side and Zane on the other, boxing me in. Not in a way that feels claustrophobic, but a way that feels comforting.

He’s just a man. He can’t hurt me.

I sit down and Jerry gets me another drink. Staring at it, I wonder if I just give in then maybe the pain will go away. The worry, the exhaustion. I could so easily just slip into a state of numbness, but I know that won’t change anything. I’ll still be here, wondering if he will ever show up.

“You okay, Angel?” Zane’s hand lifts my chin tilting my head to meet his assessing gaze.

“Oh my God!” Iris squeals in my ears behind me and spins my stool to face her.

My face pinches. “Too high-pitched. Please come back to normal human volumes.”

I look at Iris and see her staring at the men on either side of me and then it hits me. Zane and Rio are here. Here . At Moonlit.

Did they know I was going to be here? Or are they just out to blow off some steam on a Saturday night? Are they planning on taking someone home?

A green haze coats my body, and I’m assaulted with violent images of what I would do to the women they took home tonight.

The jealousy leaves as swiftly as it came, and shock mars my face. It may appear as shock due to Rio and Zane’s attendance, but it’s actually due to how dark my brain went. For a second, I actually thought I could do those things to someone.

I remind myself that they’re not mine and I’m not theirs. I will admit here and now—but never again—that I’m attracted to both of them. I’ve even had hot dreams about both of them, but I have no claim over them…and I never will.

I need to take my feelings I have towards them, shove it in a box, and lock it behind a thick steel door.

“They came! I told Zane, but wow. I can’t believe he brought the other one too.” She talks as if they can’t hear every word she’s saying.

“You told them?”

“Only Zane. But hey, now there’s two. Double the glaze.”

My eyes widen in alarm. I can’t believe she just said that in front of them. She must be more drunk than I thought. “For the love of femininity! I do not need to get laid.”

“You absolutely do. When you do, you’ll thank me, especially if it’s one of them. Or both,” she says with a wink then sashays away leaving me gaping after her.

Hiding my face, I pray that when I turn back around Zane and Rio will have disappeared. If they were smart, they would book it, lose my number, and never talk to me again. I would even give Zane a full refund for Rio’s pottery lessons.

But when I turn, they’re not gone. They’re still here, asses happily planted in their seats.

Two sets of heated eyes lock on my face and trail down my body.

What the fuck am I doing?