NICOLAS
The beat on the dance floor was sultry, and though it was warm out, inside, the air conditioning kept things at a delicious temperature that made it comfortable for me to sit here and watch.
My seat was on the cusp of the mezzanine that overlooked the rest of the club. In the VIP area, I could see everything up here. Everything—
“Would you like to dance?”
I scowled at the intrusion. “No.” When the woman pouted, her over made-up eyes flaring wide in surprise that anyone would refuse her, I lied, “Thank you, but no. I’m waiting for someone.”
She huffed and tossed her wavy black hair over her shoulder, but the lie seemed to work, and she flounced off with enough drama that I actually watched her go.
Not that I was interested in her.
I wasn’t.
Sure, she may have had an ass I could bounce quarters on, and her tits were round and pert in the bustier-style top that narrowed into a sleek tube skirt, but she might as well have been a man to me, that was how little attention she merited.
I had eyes for one woman and one woman alone, and she worked the bar. When I sat here, she was whom I watched. She was more entertaining than a stripper, even if she didn’t mean to be.
In her work uniform of a denim skirt, sneakers, and a simple tee, she outclassed every other woman in this place.
Phoebe Whitehouse made the one who’d just tried to dance with me look cheap, even though she’d been wearing designer gear and had two matching rocks in her ears I recognized as diamonds.
The trouble was, I knew it wasn’t just me.
Phoebe lit up the room, illuminated it in ways that made the shadows recede. But I wasn’t the only one affected. She had men swarming around her, men who wanted to hurt her. Some might say I wanted to hurt her too. Some might say that I meant her harm, but I didn’t.
If anything, she meant me harm.
She tormented me with her beauty, reminded me of everything I couldn’t have anymore. She tortured me with her friendly smiles, and made me miserable when I thought about how similar she was to another woman who’d made me suffer along the way.
Still, she needed protection.
There were too many eyes on her at all times, and the only way I could rest was if I knew she wasn’t in danger, and in this city, danger was always around the corner.
Here, she was relatively safe. I didn’t like the number of gazes trained on her, but I felt like I could protect her from my booth.
This was my spot.
I’d paid for it a long time ago when I’d put up the money for the club, and though he rolled his eyes at my dictates, Jay, my cousin, usually let me get away with murder because this sickclub was only sick because of me. Without my funding, he’d never have gotten it off the ground, and I wasn’t averse to taking advantage of that fact.
Not where she was concerned.
In class, I’d heard her on the phone one day. She’d been upset as I walked in, and because my radar always flickered to life around her, I heard her over all the other idiots in my classroom. They were talking about parties and who was fucking whom. Phoebe? She was worrying about making rent, about paying her bills.
She’d needed a job.
So, I’d gotten her this one at Crow.
Of course, she didn’t know. She never would either. I didn’t intend on ever revealing what she was to me, but some nights, like tonight, when I saw the way men hung on her every word, when she looked tired from a full day’s work, I wished I had the right to make her life better.
I didn’t.
Even though she was my everything.
But to her, I was and always would be nothing.
Someone in the shadows her light couldn’t touch. Someone too dark, too hideous to ever be loved by someone like her.
It hurt, sure, being so close to heaven. It was like hovering my hand over a naked flame on a candle and expecting it not to burn, but I’d deal with it, would endure it, because she needed me.
She didn’t know she did, of course. But everyone needed a savior. Even if that savior was a monster.
Sometimes, monsters could be heroes too.
I ran my thumb along my bottom lip when she reached up on her tiptoes to grab some of the expensive liquor from the top shelf. Her skirt rode up, revealing strong, sleek legs, and her breasts jiggled as she moved—I wasn’t the only one to notice.
Running a hand through my hair to still my agitation, fighting the desire to touch and not just look, instead, I stared down at my phone and the notes I’d been making for tomorrow’s class.
She’d be in it, and I always made sure that she knew she had my attention. It was the only time I could ever truly look at her without reprimand, and I took full advantage of it.
Maybe I was hard on her, maybe I was bitter—even monsters had feelings.
Eying the lesson plan, I thought about what we’d discuss, and then thought about how early I’d have to be up too.
Stalking wasn’t easy.
People didn’t give credit to stalkers, and they should. That level of dedication couldn’t be bought.
Of course, Phoebe had it worse since she had to work throughout those hours, whereas I just hung out. But still, we’d be going home shortly before she had to wake up at four for her shift at the coffee shop.
I had papers to grade so I’d stay busy from my little corner where she never saw me, where I always sat so I could see her reflection in the glass opposite me. It was hit and miss, but it was better than nothing. I could watch her, know she was safe in the mom-and-pop joint that really needed more staff at four AM.
How could I rest knowing she was in danger?
How could I sleep in my warm bed knowing she was not only working, but that she was in peril?
The answer was, I couldn’t.
And I stayed with her.
Kept her safe.
Last month, only my presence had averted a mugging, and she didn’t even know. She’d been in the back when a guy had come in and started ransacking the register. Had she left the kitchen, he’d have blown her brains out.
Instead, with the skills that enabled me to stalk her, I edged out of my booth, shoved my own gun behind his head, and told him to back off.
Politeness worked sometimes.
My lips curved down at the memory.
Phoebe was in constant danger, and with it, I was constantly stressed.
When the lights flashed as a particularly irritating song was blared over the speaker, I took advantage and hungrily ate up the sight of her.
She was as pale as white silk, and her mass of curls made me wish I had the right to grab those waves in my fist so I could urge her closer to me. She had the brightest green eyes, and the softest lips.
She was a woman, all woman.
My woman.
She just didn’t know it, and she never would either.
