Little slút

ONE YEAR LATER.

“Hey, Cat!” One of the waitresses, Nina, called out to me the moment I hurried into the club from the back entrance.

“Are you just f*cking getting here?” She asked chewing her gum with a smile. She was vulgar but I was not surprised because she had always been like that.

Her pretty midnight-black eyes held pity but I ignored it.

“I barely managed to hide your absence from the manager!”

“Thanks, Nina, I owe you one!” I panted out through heavy, hurried breaths, giving her a guilty and thankful look as I practically ran past her to the changing rooms.

My ears twitched as banging sounds and vibrations of music came through the walls from the main bar area. That meant the club was already in full swing.

Shít.

In record time, I pulled my waitress clothes out of my locker in the staff changing rooms while stripping off my regular clothes at the same time.

At my other job, I was made to work overtime today and that was why I got here so late. I could not neglect Brian at his nanny care so I had to go nurse him first.

I would rather lose my job than leave him hungry and cranky.

But I’d rather not lose my job right now because I needed it to pay bills.

I grimaced, staring at the buttons of the white packet shirt I was in. I could barely button up.

I believed the worst was the skater skirt. It reached just above my knees and I dared not crouch to pick up anything from the floor. My whole butt would be on display and that was the last thing I wanted.

The club made all the waitresses wear ridiculous outfits, to attract more customers. It was sickening, but it was a major job requirement.

And a good sales strategy.

Moving to the cracked mirror in the corner, I pulled my luscious auburn hair up into a ponytail.

As soon as I was done, I dashed to the bar area, dodging the manager. The last thing I needed was for him to lecture me and told me how I was going to lose my job if I keep arriving late.

The barman was arranging some hard liquor and assorted drinks on a shiny silver tray when I got to the counter, and I quickly grabbed it.

“Which table?” I asked.

He probably did not hear me through the loud music, but the club’s staff had learned to communicate with each other without actually hearing each other’s voices. So he motioned to the farthest table to my left, where eight men sat in the shadows.

I nodded, giving him a brief smile.

My hands balanced the tray while I weaved my way through the grooving bodies with expertise.

When I got to the table, I got a clear view of them. They all looked rough and intimidating, like biker men. The air around their spot was clouded with cigarette smoke and the smell of burning weed. The man closest to me was even sucking from a hookah pot, blowing nicotine in my direction.

I was used to these unsettling habits from the customers, as long as I just do my job. But what I could never get used to was the sexual and disgusting way the customers often spoke to waitresses.

Sometimes, they go as far as touching them or staring up their skirts. Like the way, they were currently staring up my exposed thighs under my skirt as I bent over to place the tray on the table.

After taking their drinks off the tray and arranging it on the cluttered table, I straightened up with a smile, “Enjoy your drinks.”

All of them suddenly gave me disturbing grins. One gruff voice came from one of them, “There is something else we are definitely enjoying. The view up your tiny skirt!”

Laughter roared from the rest like there was something funny about staring at my panties.

With hard-earned patience, I kept my smile on my face as if I was agreeing with their crude joke, and turned around to leave but another man spoke up,

“Hey! You know what you’re doing, don’t you, eh? These fucking waitress sluts…”

From the slur in his voice, I knew he was drunk already. Another man added. “They all know they are sexy as fuck. That’s why they all fucking wear tiny skirts to confuse all our money out of us.”

I felt all their heavy, dirty gazes sliding over every curve of my body.

He added, “I would not mind having a quickie with you, right here, little slut. How much?”

The other men jeered and I sighed, ignoring the rude question.

I usually wear stockings under my waitress uniform to protect my intimate parts from hungry male eyes, but I was already running late today, so there was no time for that.

Now I regret it. They were feasting on my bare thighs and legs, combined with my curves that got even more voluptuous after having my son.

I just hoped they would focus on their drinks and stop bothering me.

A sudden motion a few feet in front of me snagged my attention. A couple of people dancing to the thumping music had made way for some newly arrived guests to pass through, and from what I could see, they were important guests, about four towering men.

The dim club lights did not let me see much from where I stood, but I watched them settle on the leather couch around a table.

Then one raised his hand in my direction and motioned for a waitress to come to take their orders and serve them.

That was my cue so I took began to move forward, but a large, clammy hand grabbed me back. In shock, I yelped and stumbled backwards. My tray fell from my grip from the rough and sudden movements with a loud clatter. But it was not as loud as my heartbeat when I felt one of the threatening ‘biker’ men standing behind and over me like a giant from a nightmare.

His touch felt like sandpaper.

My fear soared high. Why was he touching me? Why was he holding me back like that?

“Where do you think you are going without giving me an answer, little slut? I said, how much?!” A menacing growl came from the brute behind me, followed by cruel laughs and cheers. Shakily, I whirled around to look at him.

But what met my sight made me gasp. It was so sudden. A masculine figure blurred past me and knocked the brute off me. His clammy grip on my arm slipped away as he stumbled back. A couple of people around scurried off before he would crash into them.

In a split second, the bone-crushing sound of a heavy punch followed. The brute let out a tortured sound and crashed back into his table, shattering the glasses and spilling all the drinks. My hands flew to cover my mouth at the utter mess he had made. Cuts were everywhere on his exposed skin as he slid to the floor, sprawling and grabbing his beer belly in pain.

The rest of his seven friends had gone silent, staring at their collapsed friend in shock. Then they looked at something behind me, with fear growing on their faces. At the same time, they all took a couple of steps away from me, backing off like they did not want to get hurt.

What the hell?

I was absolutely stunned by the disaster that just went down in the space of a few seconds. They kept sliding their wide eyes behind me, and an awareness prickled the back of my neck. I turned around too, wondering what the heck they were staring at—

There was a hulking masculine figure right in front of me, invading my personal space.

Even in the dim and blinking club lights, I saw the powerfully intense green eyes glaring down at me from behind strands of thick, jet-black hair. I saw those painfully gorgeous, strong facial features. Those pink lips.

I recognized that face faster than I have ever recognized anything in my life.

It was Andre Gray.

He found me.

Shock, so potent, ripped through me as my lips fell open. My eyes grew wide and I instinctively took a step back, but he grabbed my hand. Something that sounded like an automatic protest started to rush out of my mouth, but one glare from him shut me the fuck up.

I was shocked beyond words as he started to drag me away from the scene. His strong, warm grip on me enveloped my wrist to almost half of my forearm, rendering my attempts to free myself useless.

I noticed that he was hauling me out of the bar, and I exclaimed, “What are you doing? Let me go!”

I was ignored.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Stop!”

He did not even bother to respond to my protests. Not that my voice could even do much against the loud music, anyway. I wriggled in his grip, staring up at him in panic. He was staring straight ahead, a dark look on his face and my heart lurched. He was still so handsome. As handsome as he was scaring the shit out of me right now.

How did he find me?

What was going to happen now?

The cold night air hit me once he dragged me completely out of the club, and I yelled at him, my voice showing my panic and anger, “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

The rest of my angered shout dissolved into a startled gasp as he suddenly shoved me against the wall at the side of the building, pinning me there with his large hands.

My breath was knocked out of me as I hit the cold, hard wall.

I looked up at him, trembling from being trapped between two unforgiving hard surfaces. The wall. And his body. There was no escape in sight.

Those green eyes bore down on me with a punishing glare, and from the dark look on his face and the tight clench of his chiselled jaw, I knew it would be a bad idea to try to resist him. Like he saw the contemplation in my eyes, he said in a deep, dark and final tone. “Don’t even fucking think about escaping me. Because you can’t. Now that I found you, I am never letting you leave again.”

I desperately wanted to talk back to him. To yell at him in my most insolent tone and let him know that he did not ‘let’ me leave. I left without his or anybody else’s permission and he was unable to stop me, or even catch a glimpse of me for a whole damn year despite all his money and power.

But under his gaze, my voice had fled, and I could only stare with matching anger.