“How old are you?” another one asks me while I fantasize about stabbing them.
“Why does that matter?”
They laugh as though my irritation is exactly what they’re going for.
“Damn, kitty has claws!”
I bite back the retort on my tongue. “I’ll bring over the steaks as soon as they’re ready.”
“Are you hungry?” Eagle Tattoo asks me.
I stop reluctantly and pivot to face them again. “What?”
“I asked, are you hungry?” he repeats, enunciating each word like I’m an idiot. “Because I’ve got a delicious piece of meat that I’m sure you’ll love.”
This fucking asshole.
My skin prickles with heat. I can’t help wondering how a certain tall, dark Russian would react to these men.
I chase that thought away as soon as it comes.
You’re on your own, Esme. There’s no tall, dark Russian to come to your rescue anymore. There’s no point thinking about him now.
“I’m vegetarian,” I reply smoothly. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Beer,” Eagle Tattoo says. “Lots of it.”
I bring four huge pitchers of beer to their table and then scuttle back to the kitchen the moment I can. I feel their eyes on me the whole time.
It makes me want to scream.
I need just one fucking minute away from their awful stares. Anywhere is fine, as long as it’s away. I don’t even think about where I’m going until I end up in the walk-in refrigerator.
The cold feels good against my fevered skin. I try and breathe, rubbing one hand against the crest of my stomach.
The baby is kicking furiously. I wonder if that’s because he can sense how agitated I am.
Then the door to the walk-in freezer opens. I turn to find Sara, looking at me with concern.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
She’s a sweetheart and a good friend, but it pains me that I can’t tell her everything. Not even my real name. Not even that one little, insignificant fact about who I really am.
“Sorry. I just needed to catch my breath,” I say. “I’ll be out to help in just a second.”
“There’s no need,” Sara tells me. “Michael arrived early for his shift and there are only a couple of tables left. We can manage. You take your time.”
I smile gratefully. “Oh, you don’t need to…”
“You can go home if you want,” she suggests.
“What about the assholes at table three?” I ask.
“Michael can handle them,” she says with a shrug. “He’s plenty scary himself.”
That’s definitely true. Michael is ex-military and doesn’t tolerate bullshit in any forms. Especially not the “I’ve got a delicious piece of meat you’ll love” variety.
He’s a teddy bear on the inside, but you have to get to know him to see that side of him.