Page 1 of Devil’s Candy

CHAPTER ONE

Candy

I tap my glass as I make eye contact with the bartender.

My drink is nearing the bottom, and I have no intention of running dry tonight.

He grimaces as he looks down at the drink he’s making. I’m sober enough to know that he’s judging me for ordering a fourth Slippery Nipple.

But I’m drunk enough that I don’t care.

“Need some help, beautiful?” a man to my right asks. I don’t look over, staring at the bartender instead. I think I checked out the guy who is now attempting to flirt forty-five minutes ago, and he’s not the type to hold my interest.

Then again, maybe that means I should give him a chance. The men who usually spark my fancy are toxic.

Like nearly-kill-me toxic.

“You got a cure for cheating motherfuckers?” I say as I flip my orange hair over my shoulder.

I was wearing a brown wig earlier. This is my boss’s wedding reception, and I was going for demure. Trying to blend in with the rest of the guests. Angel, my boss, is marrying into a family like the Kennedys. The guest list was high end, so I was trying not to stick out like an orange thumb.

Not that I’ve ever been great at that. But today, for once, I didn’t want to bring attention to myself.

That was until my world crashed in. The guy who I thought might be the love of my life…

He was, unbeknownst to me, also a guest at the wedding. And he was there for another woman. Yeah. It sucked.

And since I was a kid, my pain response is to get loud with my choices.

“As a matter of fact…” the guys says. And that’s when the deep timbre of his voice penetrates the fog over my brain.

I blink, turning toward him, my eyes focusing as they collide with the blue-gray depths of his, and then I audibly gasp. I know…smooth.

But he’s just so much…

In a good way. Even folded onto the backed bar stool next to me, I can tell he’s tall, and don’t even get me started on the muscles.

He’s got the sexiest tattoos peeking out from under his T-shirt and up his neck.

His square jaw flexes, the strong cords of his neck moving with it, as his eyes hold mine.

His dark hair is salted with gray, but it only makes him sexier.

“As a matter of fact, what?”

“I might know the cure for a cheating motherfucker.” That’s when I pick up the accent. Eastern bloc, maybe Russian.

I lean closer, abandoning the drink I was nursing and grab my water glass instead. I want to be fully present for this conversation. Things are about to get interesting. “What’s that?”

One corner of his mouth turns up, an eyebrow quirking. “You really want to know?”

“I do,” I answer, my breath catching in my lungs, because this guy is…thrilling. I mean, like panty-melting exciting.

He chuckles. “There is only one thing to do with a guy like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Kill him,” he says with a shrug as he leans back in his chair.