Chapter 1. Wet His Touch

I’ve never had business with the Bloodhound Redheads. Not until I watched Damien punch a man to death...

But why do I feel so tight inside?

The night started like any other night, with dozens of customers coming in for dinner at Cheesy Matt. And I’ve been bone busy with six tables that never seemed to go vacant.

I noticed Damien walking in with some other red-haired guys, and that was the last I saw of him until closing hour.

Charlie was supposed to take the trash out. But like always, I had to help her do it.

The night has grown quiet, and the hassle of the day has died off. If not, I wouldn’t have heard it.

A low groan that quickly followed a soft thud.

Honestly, I thought it was that goddamn cat eating out of the dumpster in the alleyway again.

So I rounded the corner to investigate.

It wasn’t the cat that made the noise, it was Damien.

Two men lay motionless around him even as he sat atop the third, raised his fist, and delivered a skull-cracking blow. And then another, then another. Again and again, until his fist was sleek with blood, and the man couldn’t make any more grunts of pain.

I just watched a man get punched to death...

My heart thumped with a violent intensity as I watched in wide-eyed horror. Damien just killed a fucking man with his bare hands.

I wanted to sneak back around so he wouldn’t notice me. But of course, I had to step on a soda can, and now...

Now Damien is standing two feet in front of me.

His ruby red hair was disheveled, his white shirt ruffled and torn with stains of blood all over him. His chest contracted and expanded as he breathed.

He has a black eye, bloody lips, and a very bloody fist. And all I can do is stand there.

He is easily two heads above my 5ft 4” height, with his broadness overshadowing my petite hourglass frame. And he has that darkness about him like I’ve never seen before, but he isn’t doing anything.

I mean, he just killed three men his own size; what’s stopping him from snapping me in half like a chopstick?

And what is stopping me from running back into the restaurant for help?

It’s silly, you know.

How you see someone every day throughout your life, and never have a second thought about said person, until you see them in a very specific situation.

I’ve known Damien since middle school.

And I can swear the only things I’ve ever noticed about him are his ruby red hair announcing him as a Bloodhound Gang member. And then the charming smile that plays on his face every time he says hi.

But now ... now I’m frozen in place under his sexiness.

Can I call it sexiness, though?

I mean, he just killed a fucking man, and now standing aimlessly before me.

His bloody fists clenched like iron vices, his muscles so tensed they seemed to be twice their original size.

It’s terrifying, and I find myself wondering why he hasn’t killed me yet.

I have no idea how long we both stood there staring at each other. Okay fine, I’ll say it properly.

I have no idea how long I stood there, hypnotized by his stare. And I didn’t even notice when he ran a bloody finger across my cheek.

All I know is that he said something - I have no idea what - and then he left.

Leaving me reeling from feelings I can’t explain. Missing the absence of his sleek finger on my cheek and the envelope of his dark aura...