Page 33 of The Villain

The entire place went quiet except for a few low murmurs. Bar stools scraped against the wooden floor as men craned their necks to get a look at me. One guy froze with his beer halfway to his lips. There had to be close to fifty people in this room, and I almost expected all of them to gang-rush me.

Then Cian moved his big body in front of me, and in a deep growl that echoed around the room, he said, “No one touches him.”

He was met with a respectful chorus of “Yes, Cian,” and a ripple of movement passed through the restaurant as everyone returned to what they were doing, the pause all but forgotten.

“I gave ‘em all a heads-up,” Rhys said. “But it’s probably still a shock to see him.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a fucking zoo animal.”

“Don’t bite people then,” Cian snapped.

I threw up my hands. “It wasonetime. One time. And I’ll have you know, I’ve never bitten anyone before or since.”

Cian gripped my arm and pulled me over to the short side of the bar where two stools remained vacant. Rhys sat in one, Cian in the other. Then he pulled a third stool over, wedging it between himself and the wall. He pointed at it.

I sat and leaned back against the wall with my arms crossed. One of the three bartenders, a woman in a tight tank top with the bar’s logo stretched over her chest, placed a clear fizzy drink in front of Cian and a beer in front of Rhys.

I casually leaned my elbow on the bar top. “I’d love a water, sweetheart.”

She sputtered out what had to be a laugh as Cian grabbed my chin and turned my face toward him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Hydrate?”

“Be charming.”

My jaw would have dropped if he hadn’t been gripping it so tightly. “You think I’m charming?”

He ground his teeth together and shoved my chin away. The woman placed a glass of ice water in front of me, and her eyes sparkled as she unsuccessfully hid a smile. “There you go.”

And because I liked trouble, I leaned in and said, “I’m Devlin. What’s your name?”

“Don’t answer him,” Cian barked, turning to me. “Don’t talk to anyone. Just fucking sit there.”

“Can I talk toyou?”

His inked claws curled as his fists tightened on the bar top. He leaned toward me, his voice pitched low so no one else could hear.

“Flirt with one more person and see what happens, devil. I’m not fucking with you.”

The threat in his tone sent a delighted shiver down my spine, and I instantly wondered who I could flirt with—but I decided to save some fun for later.

“Fine.” I pointed at his glass. “What’re you drinking?”

“Club soda.”

“What, don’t want to drink on an empty stomach?”

His blue eyes met mine. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

Something about the way he said it told me this wasn’t just about him hating the taste or the way alcohol made him feel. I knew his father drank. He’d gifted me expensive scotch a few times. He’d smelled like it too. Patrick had the flushed face of someone who’d been drinking excessively for years. I knew, because my father had the same one. I wondered if Patrick was as mean of a drunk as my father had been, or if he’d just been an asshole all the time.

I was a mean drunk too. Hadn’t touched the stuff since I woke up in the hospital. “I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

Cian studied me like he wanted to say more and leaned into my space…

Rhys suddenly cleared his throat. “Cian. Meeting.”

Cian jerked his face away like he’d been caught doing something illegal. Then he nodded sharply. “Right.”