January in Atlantis - Alyssa Day (red white royal blue .txt) 📗

in chairs, and others were starting games of pool at the two tables along the side wall. She didn’t recognize any of them, but then again, she didn’t have to.

Every single one of them was wearing the trademark sleeveless leather vest with black-winged angels painted on the back and the words Hell’s Dark Angels embroidered across the shoulders.

They were here.

There were Dark Angels in the Copper Cantina, and every instinct in Eva’s body told her to run. Luckily, her brain took over from her animal instincts, and she resisted the urge. Running would only draw their attention. Like any other predator, the members of the Dark Angels would be on high alert at the first sense of prey.

Eva had no intention of becoming prey for any of them ever again.

These didn’t know her though. It wasn’t like Scott had put up Wanted posters in every chapter across the country, as far she knew. To do that, he would’ve had to admit to his criminal buddies that he couldn’t “control his woman.” He’d never do that.

No, only a few of his trusted thugs knew who she was and what she looked like. So long as she didn’t see any of them, she was safe tonight. She could wait until she got back to her tiny studio apartment to decide what to do. The problem was, she didn’t have enough money to run yet.

All things considered, being broke was better than being dead.

Maybe she’d get lucky though. Maybe this was just a group of them riding by on their bikes, headed to somewhere else. Maybe she’d be okay—but she’d never had any luck, not even once in the four years and change since she’d first met Scott.

“Six Budweisers and six shots of Jack,” Missy said, and Eva could tell from her friend’s worried expression that it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “Are you okay? What did Noel do? I swear, I’ll have Bryce come in here and—”

“No. No, I’m fine. Just… daydreaming, I guess. Here you go. Six Bud, six Jack. Rocks?”

Missy shook her head. “No. Shots. And watch out if that big one in the yellow T-shirt comes over here,” she said quietly. “He said something really foul about ‘the redhead at the bar,’ and you know Noel isn’t gonna do anything to protect you.”

Eva laughed bitterly. “No, he’d probably sell me to them if he thought he could make some money out of the deal. Anyway, I’ll be fine. Here’s your drinks. You’d better head over there.”

From that moment on, Eva kept a close eye on what the gang members were up to. She made sure none of them caught her watching them, and the one time the guy in the yellow shirt came up to the bar, she made a point to have to run down to the basement for a case of Bud, so Noel had to serve him. By the time she got back, the man had moved on and was shooting pool.

The nice thing about drunk assholes was they usually had short attention spans. The next time she looked up, maybe thirty seconds later, two guys she’d never seen before—definitely not with the Dark Angels—were walking into the bar. The first one was tall, blond, and lean and reminded her of surfers she’d known in California. He was a handsome guy. He grabbed a seat at a table facing the door.

The second guy though… Oh dear God.

Her first thought: this one is trouble.

She’d seen more than a few handsome men in her life, especially working in bars, but this man wasn’t handsome. He had nothing to do with such a mild word as handsome.

No, this man was male beauty personified. Eva’s breath caught in her throat when he turned and she caught a glimpse of his profile. His face was all hard lines and angles and belonged on a statue of a Greek god. Or—no. A statue of a conqueror who would lay waste to continents and ravage the hordes of women who threw themselves at him. His dark hair lay in slight waves and looked ruffled, as if he’d just run his hands through it.

Her own hands suddenly ached to smooth it in place.

She couldn’t stop staring at him. She couldn’t breathe. What the hell was the matter with her? She didn’t have reactions like this to men.

But this man—oh, this man. He walked across the floor toward her with a confident stride, like he owned the place. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, and he was coming toward her.

Eva took a shaky breath and wiped her hands on the bar towel, waiting. Frozen in place. Up close, she could see the color of his eyes. Dark, ocean blue. Their eyes locked, and suddenly time stopped running. This had never, ever happened to her before, and the world turned sideways—vertigo rocked her back on her heels.

She could see only him.

There was no bar, no Noel, no Dark Angels. No Scott, no troubles, no worries.

There was only a searing flash of heat from the raw, primal desire she saw in this man’s eyes when he looked at her.

It was too much—too intense. Suddenly she felt fragile, as if her bones had been hollowed out and replaced with air and light. As if she might float away if this man didn’t stop looking at her.

As if she might collapse in despair if he did.

It was too much, and she didn’t understand. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak.

Across from her, the stranger seemed to be having the same problem. He said nothing, simply stood there and stared back at her. His jaw clenched, and she could see his throat move when he swallowed, and she didn’t understand why the sight of his throat was so fascinating to her.

She didn’t understand any of it, but she knew one thing. She knew he was trouble. And she was absolutely done with anything that looked like trouble.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, so grateful that her voice didn’t tremble. Much.

He just stared at her.

“Sir?”

“I don’t know,” he finally said in a deep, husky voice that sounded strained. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I came over here for drinks, but now all I can think about is how much I want to get you in my bed.”

She gasped. She’d been hit on hundreds of times by men in bars, but never like this. Never in such a raw, blunt manner than rang with so much truth.

She wanted—fiercely, urgently wanted—to take his hand, pull him out the back door, and beg him to take her up against the wall in the alley.

She moaned at the thought, just the tiniest sound, but his gaze arrowed in on her lips. Her body clenched deep in her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together against a sudden rush of heat.

What in the name of all things holy was happening to her?

She forced herself to tear her gaze from his sensual lips and met his gaze again.

Mistake. She fell, drowning, right back down into those ocean-blue eyes.

“I can’t— I have no excuse for that,” he said roughly. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I know you must have enough to deal with without clumsy lines from idiot customers. Let’s start over. I’m Flynn, and you’re—?”

Lines? What? Her brain had quit making sense of the English language, and her body was only interested in the language of desire. Of hot, sweaty sex—with this man.

Now.

Damn, girl, pull it together.

“I’m Eva. I don’t… It’s fine,” she said automatically, her lips turning up in a fake, professional smile. Not at all like she’d just been imagining him, hard and powerful, thrusting into her. Her entire body convulsively shuddered at the thought, and omigod what was happening to her?

Flynn’s eyes flared hot again, and he groaned, low and deep, his hands tightening into fists on the bar. “I’m sorry, Eva, but you need to stop looking at me like that unless you want me to drag you out of here and beg you to fuck me.”

“I might be the one doing the begging,” she whispered before she could stop herself, and an expression of purely masculine satisfaction crossed his face before being replaced with hot, primal, naked need.

“When?” he demanded. “When are you done working?”

Now, she wanted to say. She wanted to say it so much that she didn’t trust it at all. She had to turn him down. Turn this into something light and funny. Make him—

The door to the bar banged open, and she looked up automatically to see who was coming in.

And then she ran.