Test my Patience—I Dare You

        [Bianca]

        

        "Bianca? Bianca? Earth to Bianca!"

        

        Cassie's voice jolted me from my thoughts, pulling me back to the busy clinking of silverware and chatter that filled the high-end restaurant. I blinked and looked up to see her standing a few feet away, hands on her hips, one eyebrow arched. She looked like she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but the sigh she let out said it all.

        

        I blinked, realizing I'd completely zoned out while holding a tray full of empty wine glasses. Wonderful—on my first day back from the hospital, too.

        

        "Sorry, Cassie," I mumbled, straightening up and shaking off the fog in my head. "Just...zoned out," I muttered, managing an apologetic smile.

        

        "Yeah, I noticed," she replied, her expression softening a bit as she scanned my face. "Look, I know you're eager to get back on your feet, but maybe this is too soon. I mean... after everything you've been through," she said, dropping her voice as if my recent life crisis were some sort of scandal.

        

        "It's fine, really," I assured her, even though I knew she was likely not concerned and just looking for gossip. After all, she was just an acquaintance from my past. I didn't need everyone worrying about me like I was some fragile porcelain doll.

        

        "Table eight has an order," she said, motioning with her head before pausing to add, "Just take it easy, okay? It'd be a real shame if you fainted on some guy's steak tartare."

        

        I forced a small smile, though deep down, the last thing I needed was more pity. "Got it. Table eight."

        

        Cassie gave me a thumbs up, and I turned to head toward the table. My memory was fuzzy from last night—. Maybe it was the medication, maybe it was the stranger in the mask, or maybe it was the unsettling reality that I'd reached a new time low. Whatever that freak had injected me with had messed up my head. I found myself blanking off ever since I'd awoken on that rooftop. 'Bastard,' I cursed, mildly flexing my shoulders where he'd left bite marks. If these were the type of people I was destined to meet every time I took such a bold step, then I was done selling my body to strangers—at least while I still had an intact body to worry about. The thought of enduring another night like that made my stomach twist.

        

        At least Grayson had come through, helping me get this job at a respectable restaurant. Most of my former 'connections' were vultures now, waiting for the next chance to worm their way into my pants with cheap promises. Grayson had been the rare exception—offering me a legitimate way to earn a paycheck without strings attached. I owed him for that. He was the closest thing I had to a friend, I could still remember his nickname back in high school—gay Gray.

        

        I chuckled.

        

        "Thank you, Grayson," I whispered under my breath, steeling myself before I reached table eight. This was a high-end restaurant, so appearances mattered. I adjusted my uniform—black slacks, a fitted white blouse with a tiny embroidered logo on the collar, and a waistcoat that was somehow tailored to be both professional and slightly flattering. Nothing like the revealing outfits from other jobs I could get. I had to wear a turtle neck inside because of the bite marks from last night.

        

        "Good afternoon," I said, passing on a warm, polite smile as I approached the lone man sitting at the table. His suit was sleek, probably custom-tailored, with a tie that looked like it cost more than my last medication bill. He looked quite young with curly blonde hair and caramel eyes that seemed almost boyish.

    

    Maybe I should have searched for more respectable men instead of selling myself short?

        

        He tilted his head, his eyes lingering a moment too long—a sign that he wasn't my ideal definition of respectable.

        

        "Ah, just water for now. My companion is running late," he said, his voice smooth but disinterested as if dismissing me. I loved this restaurant because each table was rounded by a miniature cylindrical wall to give customers some sense of privacy.

        

        I nodded and started to turn away when he stopped me with a casual, "Haven't seen you around here before. First day?"

        

        The smile stayed on my face, though I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes, it is," I replied, hoping that would be the end of it as I moved briskly toward the bar to fetch his water.

        

        Returning with his ridiculously overpriced bottle of imported mineral water, I approached the table again, only to find a second man now seated across from him. I lowered the bottle, bowing slightly as I asked, "Would you like to order now, gentlemen?"

        

        It felt almost ridiculous—standing here in this expensive restaurant after last night's... side hustle. Compared to that, this felt like some sort of performance in front of a live audience, and I wasn't sure if the irony was funny or tragic. But money was money, and I needed every dollar I could save.

        

        "Dante, what would you like to order?" the first man asked, turning to his companion.

        

        Dante. The name alone made something in my chest tighten, an instinctive ache. He was striking, to say the least, with dark hair and a sharp jawline that seemed somehow familiar. His gaze was fixed elsewhere, yet there was something about his profile. I dared a closer look, and he turned, his eyes meeting mine. Dark, intense, and strangely familiar, they held me in place, making my heart stumble.

        

        "The usual," he replied smoothly, his voice carrying a calm authority that compelled me into obedience.

        

        I tried to shake the feeling as I turned to the next man who stated his order alongside Dante's 'normal' since I was new here. I scribbled their order, but my mind was a mess.

        

        "The waitress is new, there's no way she could know your usual. I know you always order the same thing but this is quite good," the first man tried to show him the menu as I walked away.

        

        After a few minutes, I returned with their order. The first man was nice and more chatty, but he had some sort of perverted air around him. As I bent over to serve Dante, a hand touched my ass, rubbing it softly.

        

        My eyes shot towards the younger man.

        

        He whistled, taking his hand away, "If looks could kill," he mocked with a laugh, "why not meet up later? You're too pretty to be a waitress and I can offer you much more—if you'd let me," he reached into his suit pocket to pull out a card, slipping it into my apron. "Give me a call sometime." With that, he grabbed his glass of water and took a sip, giving me the cold shoulder.

        

        Without a word, I turned to leave with a tray of soup Dante had requested to be heated properly. Before I could take a step, I tripped, sending the bowl hurdling over his lap and splashing the contents all over his trousers.

        

        I froze midstride, eyes wide as I stared in horror at his soaked clothes.

        

        Hell no...

        

        "I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean—" I opened my mouth to apologize but his words cut me off.

        

        "Then lick it clean." He demanded, gesturing towards his pants.

        

        My eyes widened even further. I knew my mouth was open, but I couldn't seem to close it. Did he want me to lick the soup off his pants or was I simply hearing things?

        

        "Dante?" his companion seemed taken aback by the request.

        

        "It's all right, Keith. She's eager to make up for her mistake," Dante said smoothly. "I just think she ought to show a bit more sincerity—especially if she values her job here." He leaned back, settling into his chair, spreading his legs apart and glancing towards me.

        

        He was threatening me...

        

        I forced a laugh, a last-ditch effort to make it sound absurd. "Sir... you can't be serious?" I didn't mean for it to sound like a question.

        

        But the look in his eyes was cold, and dark, making it clear he wasn't joking. He leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch between us, his expression barely shifting as he flicked his gaze to the empty space between his legs, then back to me.

        

        "Go on," he said, his voice low, calm, like he was daring me to disobey.

        

        My cheeks burned as I glanced over at Keith, silently begging him to say something, to step in. But he turned his face away, jaw tight, as if he couldn't even stand to look at me. So that was it then—he was just going to sit there, letting this man humiliate me.

        

        I couldn't speak, in fear that I wouldn't recognise my voice.

        

        Dante raised an eyebrow, cool and unbothered as if he knew he'd already won. I swallowed, a sick feeling twisting in my stomach. Taking a slow breath, I lowered myself to kneel, never breaking eye contact as I moved between his legs, tears gathering in my eyes.

        

        "Please..." I pleaded, barely recognising the sound of my own voice. I needed this job more than anything...

        

        He looked down at me, his gaze condescending as a small smirk threatened to curl at the corners of his lips. It seemed so familiar...

        

        It was then that I recognized him—this psycho, the same one from last night. The bastard who drugged me!