Carmen
"…Now!" he snapped as he dropped heavily onto a stool.
I found it almost laughable as I sat there without the slightest intention of moving. A second later the microwave beeped, announcing that my food was warm and ready.
Slowly I stood and walked straight to it, pulling the plate out before shutting the door with a soft click. I didn't even glance at him as I turned to leave. The atmosphere in the kitchen had already soured—hardly the place to enjoy a meal.
But I had barely taken a few steps when the bulky man jerked off the stool so abruptly that it clattered to the floor behind him. In two strides he stepped directly into my path.
Anger and pure condescension burned in his gaze as he looked down at me.
"…Are you deaf?" he demanded. "I asked you to make me a plate."
His voice rolled with irritation and pent-up fury, the kind that made it obvious he was looking for an excuse to unleash it on someone.
I had known men like him in my father's territory. They were the most dangerous—not because they were stronger, but because they couldn't be reasoned with.
"…I asked you to make me a plate!" he seethed again.
I calmly shook my head as I met his gaze, too hungry and too irritated to even consider doing it out of kindness for an ungrateful idiot.
"I'm not a chef. And I'm not a maid," I replied, unable to keep the sharp edge from my tone.
"…You can make yourself a plate."
I stepped to the side to move past him, but he immediately shifted again, blocking my path.
He flicked his nose with his thumb and stepped closer, towering over me as the threat of violence thickened the air. Slowly he rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arm muscles as if that alone should intimidate me.
Up close, he smelled like cheap beer with a faint hint of weed clinging to his clothes.
"Get out of my—" I began.
"You look nice," he interrupted suddenly.
His gaze dragged slowly over me.
"You one of Nico's girls?"
The hunger in his eyes had nothing to do with food anymore.
"High-end girls for VIP clients," he went on casually, lowering one hand to cup himself as he rolled his hips forward.
I stepped back immediately, disgust tightening my chest.
"…I can make it worth your time. Unlike your usual clientele, my big cock can satisfy you in minutes," he boasted, licking his teeth as he advanced again, clearly trying to corner me against the counter.
But I was already angry.
The kind of anger that created a faint ringing in your ears.
The kind you had to talk yourself down from before you did something reckless.
The exact kind my father used to warn me about.
Carmen, you gotta think—think—and then maybe don't act.
A small laugh slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
Nothing humbles men like him faster than mockery.
"Satisfy me?" I repeated with a sneer. "If your cock looks anything like your face, I'd have better luck with a pig."
The words had barely left my mouth before he reacted.
His hand lashed out, knocking the plate from my hands and sending it crashing to the floor.
Ceramic shattered across the tiles.
My dinner scattered in a useless mess.
For a second I stood there gripping the spoon that had been in my hand, staring down at the ruined food.
"Fucking whore," he snarled. "You think you've got a mouth on you? I've got something here you can choke on."
That was enough.
Before he could say another word, I grabbed the stack of plates sitting on the counter and slammed the first one straight into his face.
The crack echoed through the kitchen.
He staggered, stunned.
I didn't stop.
Another plate.
And another.
Ceramic shattered against his forehead and cheek, slicing his skin as blood immediately started to run down his face.
Ignoring his shocked grunt, I lifted my leg and drove a sharp kick straight into his face.
He stumbled backward with a curse.
"I hate idiots who think they can bully anyone just because they're bigger," I muttered under my breath.
For a moment I thought that would be enough. That maybe the pain would knock some sense into him.
But the look on his face told me otherwise.
With a roar of pure rage, he charged.
Too stupid to stop.
Too stupid to learn.
My leg shot out again.
This time my foot connected squarely between his legs.
The sound he made was somewhere between a howl and a strangled scream as he folded over instantly, clutching himself.
"Good," I thought coldly. "Would've been embarrassing if I missed."
I turned back toward the fridge, already planning to make another plate. After everything tonight, I was still starving.
But before I could open it, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Not one pair.
Several.
Heavy. Purposeful.
I glanced toward the doorway just as a group of men appeared.
Most of them were unfamiliar faces.
But Nico stepped forward ahead of the rest.
His suit jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His expression looked irritated, almost bored—but when I looked closer I noticed the bruising along his knuckles.
Fresh.
Clearly he had been using his fists tonight more than his words.
His gaze moved slowly across the kitchen—the shattered plates, the bleeding man on the floor, and finally me standing by the counter.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
But the faint, knowing curve of his mouth made it obvious he already knew.