A creep

SALVATORE

I was here again, just as I’d been for the past week, nursing countless hard-ons and watching him do his job. It had taken everything in me not to leap at the drunk bastard that touched him three nights ago. Looked like my sexy interest had it under control though.

I sat in the shadows, the dark corner of the bar swallowing me whole, but my eyes were still locked on him. 

The amber glow of the lamp barely touched him, but it was enough to trace the lean lines of his body as he moved between tables, tray in hand, serving drinks to men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air. I’d been here almost every night for weeks, whiskey untouched, just watching. 

That lovely frame of his—wiry, sharp-edged, deceptively soft—hid a fire I couldn’t shake from my mind. Behind those hazel eyes clouded with pain, burned stubbornness and steel resolve that dared anyone to try controlling him. And fuck, I wanted to.

I wanted to see him bend beneath me, break, beg, his defiance shattering into gasps while I unravelled him. No one had ever hooked me like this, this no-nonsense boy who swatted off predators like flies and kept moving with his head high.

He wasn’t fragile, not some trembling thing to coddle. There was this fiery light in him, this raging fight. I wanted to snuff it out, twist it into something mine while soothing the hurt he carried like a second skin. I’d show him the pleasure in pain, the release in surrender, but every time I edged closer, he’d made it clear: he wanted nothing to do with anyone. 

It only made me burn hotter though, like a slow ache building in my chest while my hands itched to grab him, to hold him still long enough to see me. Tonight, though, I’d had enough of watching from the sidelines.

I caught the eye of a waiter drifting nearby, some lanky kid with a greasy smile. I crooked a finger, signalling him to come over. 

He sauntered towards me, hips swaying, already leaning in too close. “Hey, Daddy,” he purred, his voice thick with a flirty edge. “What’s a guy like you need in a place like this?” His eyes raked over me, lingering on my chest where my shirt parted, and I fought the urge to shove him off the stool.

“Cut the shit,” I growled, low and sharp, my patience wearing thin. “Get me the waiter moving the tables. Him.” I nodded toward my interest, who was weaving through the crowd, curls bouncing as he dodged a clumsy hand. The kid blinked and I fixed him with a stare that could’ve cracked glass. “Now.” 

I watched him scurry off before leaning back to adjust my jacket.

Minutes later, the beauty approached, tray tucked under his arm, his expression flat, guarded. Up close, he was even better. The apron did nothing to hide the beautiful shape of his torso and hips, and beneath his dismissing aura was a stubborn boy I wanted to do things to. 

“What do you want?” he asked, voice clipped, leaving no room for bullshit. I let my gaze deliberately linger as I drank him in.

“Whiskey. Neat,” I said, keeping my tone smooth, testing him. He wasn’t phased, just nodded and turned for the bar, his jeans clinging to his legs in a way that made my throat dry. He came back with a glass in hand, set it down with a faint clink, and turned to leave without even sparing me a glance. 

I couldn’t let him slip that easily.

“What’s your name?” I asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table, my voice dropping low. He paused and glanced back, and for a second, I thought he’d ignore me.

“Miguel,” he said, short and sharp, like it cost him something. Then he was gone, back to the grind, leaving me with a tightness in my pants that pulsed with every step he took. 

“Fuck, I’m hard,” I murmured to myself. I sipped the whiskey, the burn doing nothing to cool the heat coiling in me as I watched him work.

Then it happened again. Some half-drunk bastard at a table near the jukebox reached out, his fingers grazing Miguel’s ass as he owned it. Miguel swatted him off fiercely, a flash of that knife glinting as he warned the guy back. 

The man stumbled away, muttering slurs, and my blood roared with contempt for the prick. I was in a rage that he’d dared touch what I’d already marked in my head as mine. I’d seen this happen a lot more than it should, and I couldn’t take it anymore. 

I tracked the bastard as he lurched toward the bathroom. A plan formed before I even stood. He went through the door and I followed.

The bathroom door swung shut behind me, the stink of piss and bleach hitting my nostrils. He was at the urinal, swaying, unaware of my presence. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed his collar, yanked him back, and slammed his head into the ceramic bowl. 

A sickening crunch echoed as his skull met the edge, blood spurting, staining the white with red. He groaned and cursed out, but I hit him again, harder, the bowl cracking under the force, shards mixing with the pooling crimson. His nose split, teeth clattering to the tiles, and I drove my fist into his gut, making him double over. 

“You don’t touch him!” I snarled my voice a low hiss as I slammed his head one more time for good measure. He slumped to the floor, breathing hard. He was a bloody mess but was still alive.

The door creaked. I turned sharply and there was Miguel, eyes wide as a gasp slipped out of him. But he didn’t run. He stepped in and stared at the carnage. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. His voice was steady, no tremble, no fear. Blood smeared the tiles, the guy’s face a pulp, and Miguel didn’t even blink. Instead, he fixed me with that hard, hazel glare.

I straightened, wiping my knuckles on my pants, surprised but not showing it. “Did you a favour,” I said, nodding at the heap. “He was bothering you.”

Miguel’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, irritation making his shoulders tense. “I don’t need your fucking help!” he shouted, loud enough to bounce off the walls. “Stop coming around, glaring at me every damn night like some creep. I can handle myself!” His chest heaved, curls falling into his eyes, and damn, he looked even better pissed off.

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Clean him up,” he snapped, pointing at the guy, then turned and bolted, banging the door shut behind him.

I knitted my brows as I felt my pants tighten. I was hard again. Fuck!