Page 35 of Deadly Knight

He winced in a good-natured kind of way. “I did the courier thing for a few months before I got into bartending,” he said. “I got mugged twice and had my bike stolen.”

I shrugged and tried to relax, but it was hard when I was so obviously out of place in my brown Bermuda shorts and matching ugly polo shirt with the company logo on the front and the sleeves. “You just need to keep your eyes open…and bring your bike in at night.” At the hitch in his eyebrow, I added, “I once caught a kid cutting my bike chain. I had to chase him off with a broom.”

The bartender looked impressed. “You’re lucky he didn’t have a gun.”

I scoffed. “He was just a kid looking to score a bike.”

A look passed over his face that was hard to read. “Sometimes a kid isn’t just a kid,” he said.

“Is that paranoia part of the ‘living in Florida’ package?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Or are you, like, a New Yorker or something?” He blinked and then burst into laughter. His eyes flicked over my face and down over my body, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the attention. It wouldn’t lead anywhere — it never did — but the flirting was fun. “What made you want to go into bartending?”

“Well,” he said, slicing into an orange, “I only get punched occasionally and hardly anyone ever yells.” He glanced at me and waggled his eyebrows, and I laughed. “In all honesty—” He looked up, and the color drained away from his face. I turned, following the direction of his gaze, and saw a man standing on the balcony above us.

My stomach dropped into my shoes. He was…hot was not a good enough descriptor. Gorgeous didn’t cover it either. He had dark eyes, dark hair, broad shoulders — classic features of a man who was Tall, Dark, and Handsome — but it was the way he moved that made my heart pound in my ears. He reminded me of a predator stalking its prey; his presence filled the space with this aura of danger.

“That’s him, right?” I asked, almost dazed, as I tracked his movements down the stairs. “Angel Castillo?”

The bartender sneered but when I glanced back, some of the color had come back to his cheeks. “That’s him,” he said, going back to chopping the fruit garnishes. His movements were agitated.He’s going to cut his finger off if he doesn’t watch out. “Don’t get too infatuated over him, okay? He’s not worth it.”

A retort was on the tip of my tongue, but Angel Castillo was crossing the empty space, eyes trained on me. I stood up and tried to keep a composed look on my face, even as a thrill went up my spine. As he got closer, his eyes flicked over me, but his face remained painfully neutral. Cold, even. I drew my shoulders back, inviting him to look at me even as I told myself not to. Nothing good could come from getting the attention of a guy like this.

Angel stopped in front of me; those intense eyes still on my face. “My brother said you had a package for me,” he said, sounding utterly bored, and held out his hand.

I was supposed to ask for an ID, but I was already handing over the manila envelope before I could think about it. “I need your signature,” I said and took the company-issued smartphone out of my pocket. He reached out and signed with the tip of his finger — the name Angel Castillo was barely legible. “Thank you, sir. If you ever need anything picked up or delivered—”

He was turning away before I could finish my spiel about using the courier service. It was an obvious dismissal, and if I had ever questioned my place in society, it was clear to me now. I was barely worth the notice of a guy like this.Guess I’m not getting a tip, I thought.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and leaned back against the bar. If I tried to take the same route back to the office — I couldn’t get paid until I returned the phone with the confirmation signature — I wouldn’t be able to get my bike around all of the traffic. I’d be stuck.

As I started mentally mapping out my trip, movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. The bartender put down the small paring knife he’d been using, and he reached behind him. I thought he’d pop his back, do something logical, but then I saw black metal. A gun.

My heart began to thud in my ears.I can’t actually be seeing this, I told myself. That wasn’t a real gun…but then he was raising it.

No, not raising.Aiming. With his eyes, hard and angry, trained on Angel Castillo.

For a split second, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing, but then everything came into sharp focus. The bartender was going to kill Angel Castillo…or, in the very least, he was going to try. Was I going to stand by and let this happen?

I opened my mouth to scream, to warn him, but nothing came out except for a high, squeaking sound. I had seconds to do something if I was going to. There was some kind ofclick— the safety on the gun — and there was no time to consider anything.

I leaped at Angel Castillo’s broad back, propelling myself hard enough that we both tumbled to the ground. As I hit the ground with a hardthud, a gunshot rang out above us, and my ears seemed to fill with cotton that I couldn’t shake away.

Someone screamed, but it seemed to be coming from far away. Hands grabbed at me, roughly, and I was suddenly staring up at a very pissed-off Angel Castillo. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he spat at me.

I didn’t get a chance to answer. The front door of the club flew open, and hell rained down around us.