Page 5 of Ravaged By a Devil

Little stubborn minx actually dumped a whole glass right into my lap and walked off like she owned the damn place.

I should be pissed. Anyone else pulls a stunt like that with me, they’re leaving the building in a bag, or at the very least missing a few teeth. But as I wipe the alcohol off my dark pants, a low, rasping chuckle rips out of my throat.

I'm irritated as fuck, yeah, but I’m a hell of a lot more amused than angry.

Alexis Hayes.

When Ezekiel and Malachi put me on Nolan Devlin’s tail weeks ago, watching her wasn't part of the assignment.

Nolan kept dragging his useless ass back to this high-end joint every single night, and at first, I only looked at her because he was looking at her. I needed to see if the Devlin prick was using her for drops, if she was a contact, or if she was just another piece of arm candy he was trying to buy.

It didn't take long for my interest in her to grow…

My eyes just... stayed on her.

Even when Nolan wasn't opening his greasy mouth in her direction, I couldn't stop tracking her across the fucking room.

I’ve watched the way she handles the drunk bastards at the bar with razor-sharp smiles that shuts them down before they even realize they've been cut.

I’ve watched her crack jokes with the other waitresses in the back nook, her whole face lighting up, soft and real.

I’ve watched the proud, defiant set of her shoulders every time some rich, entitled prick tries to make her feel small or uncomfortable, and how she shuts it down without ever breaking a sweat.

Hell fucking damn it, she’s beautiful.

Full, deadly curves that make my hands twitch to grab hold of her hips and anchor her down. Extremely feminine, soft features that contrast so fucking sharply with the sharp, fiery mouth she runs.

The way she moves through this dark room drives me insane.

She doesn't even have to try, and my dick is ready to burst through my fucking pants just watching the sway of her ass.

I’m turned on, sure—that’s the easy part. I want to pin her to the nearest solid surface, spread those soft thighs, and fuck that stubborn attitude right out of her.

But what pisses me off—what really fucking bothers me—is that I find her interesting.

I don't do interesting. Interesting gets you killed. Interesting makes you soft. In my line of work, women are a distraction, a fast mess, or a target. They aren't supposed to make you sit in a dark corner for two hours just to watch them laugh.

I toss the soggy paper towels into the trash, smoothing my jacket over my chest, and check my reflection one last time. My eyes are dark, hard, and ruthless.

"Spill my fucking drink," I mutter to the empty mirror, a dark, wicked grin tugging at the edge of my mouth. "Little brat."

I push through the bathroom door, stepping into the dim, tight service corridor that runs behind the kitchen.

The door to the supply closet swings open right in front of me, and Alexis steps out carrying a fresh stack of linen napkins. She’s looking down, balancing the pile, and doesn't see me until she’s practically in my chest.

She pulls back fast, her heels catching on the linoleum, but I catch her elbow before she can lose her footing. The touch is brief, hot, and electric through the fabric of her dress. She slaps my hand away and glares at me.

Feisty.

"Whoa there, handsy," I rumble, letting my grip slide away real slow. "First you drown my lap, now you're trying to tackle me in the dark?"

Alexis resets her stance, clutching the linens to her chest like armor.

"I didn't drown anything," she says, her tone smooth as silk. "It was an accident. My hand slipped."

"Right. Complete tragedy," I smirk, stepping closer until the front of my jacket nearly brushes her shoulders, crowding her against the narrow wall. "You always pour rye into a man's lap when you're feeling clumsy, sweet face?"

She doesn't flinch, but I see the quick, subtle pulse hammering in the hollow of her throat. She tries to take a step around me, her shoulder dipping to clear my chest.