Page 13 of Savior
Her dark eyes lift and meet mine as she turns from replacing a bottle of Tequila on the shelf behind the bar. Her lips curl up into a sweet smile as I approach.
“Hey there, American Girl.” I grin back, taking a seat at the bar nearest her.
“Hey there, yourself.” She flirts with me, grabbing a beer and cracking the top off. She swipes a napkin from behind the counter, placing it down in front of me with the beer in a quick, smooth motion, like a pro. I give her a little wink as I lift the bottle and take a swig.
She’s still my Vanna.
I’ve never confessed aloud, my slight worry that she’d change somehow, after the threat of Jack was removed from her life. That once the dark cloud of his existence was swept away, her freedom to now live a life of her choosing, would be what actually separated us. The night I proposed to her, I was beyond elated she accepted. Hell, I’m still elated. I didn’t propose in order to lock her down, however. Not like that. I truly love her. Nearly dying has a way of putting shit into perspective. Vanna’s it for me. The ring on her finger is a comforting reminder to myself, that she’s chosen me as well.
The phone behind the bar rings and Cherry answers it. After a moment, she places the receiver down on the back counter and walks up beside Vanna.
“There’s a call for you.” She says, a curious note in her tone as she tucks a bright red strand of her bob behind her ear, closely watching Vanna’s reaction.
Vanna looks surprised. “For me? Who would be calling me here at the roadhouse, at almost ten o’clock at night?” she glances at me as if I might know. I haven’t the slightest idea, but I’m sure as hell curious myself.
“You want me to take it, baby?” I offer. “Could be another goddamned reporter. I’ll tell them to fuck off.” I’m not in the mood for any bullshit tonight. And I thought they’d had given up by now. I’m about to get up and step behind the bar, when Vanna says she’ll see who it is. I watch her expression intently as she answers the phone, pressing a few fingers to her other ear to better hear over the noise of the bar. After a moment, she goes completely rigid. In the mirror behind the liquor shelves, I see her eyes widen in shocked surprise.
The fuck now?
“You’re here?Now?” She twists around to face me, slightly nodding her head as if whomever is on the line can see her. “All… Alright… Just a minute, let me come to you.” She says almost hastily, before abruptly hanging up the phone. She fumbles with the ties of her apron behind her back and manages to get it off, tossing it on the back bar. Returning to me, she places both of her hands on the lower counter, as if bracing herself.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Who called you?”
“My father… My parents are outside. In the parking lot. Right now.”
“Oh… Shit.”
“He sounds pissed.” She seems a bit distraught by this.
I try not to frown. I couldn’t care less what he feels about anything. Not after the way he and his family have treated her for years. Taking Jack’s side at every fuckin’ turn. Leaving their daughter in the hands of an abusive psychopath, that not only tried to kill her once, but twice. Terrorized her for years. Made her feel like she had to run and hide and find a lucky bastard like me, to protect her.
I growl, “Fuck him.”
Her entire body goes tense at my words, the anxiety she’s clearly feeling is written all over her pretty face. She looks at me pleadingly, silently begging me not to escalate the situation. Which I’m already sure, is going to be awkward and uncomfortable as fuck for everyone.
I suck in a sharp breath through my nostrils and let it out in an irritated huff. “I’ll follow your lead, Vanna.” I promised her the night of our engagement, that I’d let her call the shots regarding her family. I intend to keep that promise. And every promise I’ve ever made to her. Every promise I have yet to make to her. My happiness is firmly rooted, in hers.
“Maybe I should go out there alone, first?” Her suggestion sounds more like another plea.
I simply nod. As you wish…
The steel door of the Twisted Throttle creaks open, and a dark-haired couple enters as Vanna ducks under the bar. They look way out of place in here, draped in their country club like attire. I don’t need to read the anxious expression on Vanna’s face to know that these are my future in-laws. And apparently, let me come to you, was Vanna asking too much of them.
Getting up from the bar stool, I trail behind Vanna as she hurries over to them. She’s about her mother’s height, though she certainly didn’t inherit her lust inspiring curves from this woman. When Vanna hugs her in greeting, she seems to do so with noticeable restraint, as if she’s afraid to fracture her mother’s slender frame.
Vanna’s father looks past them, towards the man lingering behind his daughter, with a look of what I can only describe as disdain. He already doesn’t think much of me. I can feel it. See it, in the way his dark eyes narrow at me, attempting to stare me down. When he can’t, his angry gaze shifts back to his daughter. She releases her mother and moves on to another awkward, seemingly reluctant hug, from her father.
“I thought you were going to wait for me outside.” Vanna says, a level of timidity in her voice I haven’t heard in a while. It… bothers me.
“I can’t believe you work in a place like this.” Her mother says, glancing around my bar quickly, as if she’s afraid to make eye contact with any of the ruffians here. She brings her focus back to Vanna, a slightly contorted look on her face. She gives her daughter a once over. “What are you wearing, Giovanna?” her words drip with disapproval, as if her expression needed that reinforcement. I bite my tongue, realizing Vanna’s insecurities about her looks, aren’t all Jack’s doing…
“It’s a bar, Mom.” Vanna sighs, folding her arms across her abdomen, attempting to hide herself in a subtle way. “This is appropriate attire.” She gently insists.
“Perhaps… but should you be wearing such tight, revealing…” Her mother begins to go in on her, and I’m not fucking having it. Vanna’s dressed like a goddamned Nun by comparison to some of the women that hang around this place. And her body is bangin’.
Her mother reaches as if she’s going to hook a finger into the slashed fabric across Vanna’s chest, which only gives a little glimpse of her ample cleavage…
“Dean Keegan.” I immediately interject, stepping forward to thrust my hand at her mother. “You must be Mrs. Vettriano.” I force what I hope comes across as a friendly smile. Her mother seems surprised by my abruptness, abandoning her attempt to pick at Vanna’s top and accepts my handshake. Strictly on autopilot, I’m sure. An ingrained act of proper etiquette, when one offers a handshake in greeting. I slip my left arm around Vanna’s shoulders and carefully grip her mother’s dainty hand.
