Page 3 of Ravaged By a Devil

Brendan snorts into his beer, and even Lachlan lets out a quiet chuckle.

Nolan’s hand hovers in the empty air for a fraction of a second before he slowly retracts it, resting his chin on his palm. He laughs, but his eyes don't lighten for a second. They stay fixed on me, possessive, and entirely unbothered by the rejection.

"Feisty as always," Nolan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his whiskey without breaking eye contact. "I like that about you, Alexis. Never make it easy."

First of all, ewww. Second of all, ewwww.

I want to gag right into his two-hundred-dollar tumbler.

Instead, I flash him another tight, rehearsed smile that reaches nowhere near my eyes and turn on my heel.

My gaze sweeps across the dimly lit room, searching for an excuse to get as far from the Devlin booth as humanly possible, when a corner table catches my eye. It’s tucked all the way at the back of the restaurant, swallowed up by deep shadows.

The table is still marked as open on my roster, which means no one on the floor has attended to the person sitting there yet.

I know who sits there.

It’s him.

I’ve noticed him several times over the past few weeks. He always chooses the exact same dark, secluded nook, orders a random drink, and spends the evening silently watching the entire restaurant, especially Nolan, without saying a word to a single soul.

Nolan hasn’t noticed this. Well, I’m certainly not going to tell him. Ever.

Over and over, I’ve caught myself looking at this man far more than I should.

I always see him come in. And gosh—well, if I were ever going to be interested in a man again, it would be him. But as it stands right now, men disgust the absolute shit out of me.

As I cross the floor and step directly into his line of sight, I catch him staring intently right at me.

My breath hitches, and for a terrifying second, I almost forget how to walk. My knees go soft under the crushing weight of his gaze—intense, unyielding, and heavy with a dark hazel hue that seems to pierce straight through the dim amber lighting.

He doesn't look away. He doesn't even blink. He has this unsettling habit of staying completely, eerily still, like he was carved out of the night itself.

Every instinct in my body tells me to spin around and walk the other way, but I force my feet forward anyway. I close the distance between us, pulling up to the side of his table.

"Good evening," I say, keeping my voice smooth as I look down at him. "What can I get started for you tonight?"

His gaze washes over me, but it isn't the slimy, cheap leer Nolan usually gives me. This strange man’s eyes are absolute fire, sending a sudden, electric shock of awareness straight down my spine. When his dark hazel clashes directly with mine, a subtle shiver ripples through me, pulling every nerve ending to attention.

I clear my throat, forcing my professional composure back into place.

"What would you like?" I ask again, leaning in slightly.

"Surprise me."

The words roll out of him—a low, gravelly baritone of pure heat. How could anyone have a voice that sounds like dark velvet and absolute sin?

I blink, steadying myself before offering a fast rundown of the top shelf. "Well, if you're feeling bold, we have a twenty-year small-batch bourbon with a heavy oak finish that usually does the trick. Or, if you want something smoother with a bit of spice, our Japanese single malt is exceptionally good tonight."

He hums—a low, quiet vibration in his chest. I get the distinct, prickling feeling he hasn't heard a single word about the drinks; his eyes are locked onto my face, tracking the movement of my lips with an intensity that makes my pulse spike.

"So," I say, tilting my head slightly. "Which one?"

"Surprise me," he repeats, his voice unchanged.

I nod, taking half a step back. "Surprise it is, then."

I turn on my heel and head back toward the main bar, my mind spinning. So, aside from everything else he has going on, the stranger has a deep, filthy-hot voice.