My Protector by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Seven

Becky

I can still taste Dillon on my lips, feel his hands on me long after he’s gone.

He’s only in the next lounge area, but he may as well be on another planet he feels so far away.

I figure he might be getting a dressing down for what we were doing in the basement, but nah. Sawyer would never join the dots.

In his mind, I’m like some sexual leper. Nobody would ever want to go near me.

In his mind. Has he seen himself lately?

Before I can talk myself into doubting anything or being worried about my own problems, the main door to the club starts to swing off its hinges as the regular crowd rolls in.

Saturday night too, which means we’ll be busy.

I’ll be busy.

The last security guy Sawyer had on the front door was an A-hole, but he’s been promoted to work the gaming rooms in the back.

It seems that if you want to get ahead with people like Charlie Sawyer, you need to be chiseled off the same block or cut from the same rotting branch.

I notice an absence of security on the door, but Dillon soon re-appears and he’s not looking pleased I’m surrounded by other men.

It’s alright, I try to tell him with my eyes.

It’s just my job. Our job to keep an eye on these shmucks for a few hours.

He seems okay after a few moments, slotting his mind into work instead of what I know he’d rather be doing with me.

To me.

I smile to myself, still unsure how or even why things have turned out the way they have, but I’m so relieved that it eclipses all the other problems I still have.

My heart palpitates when I see Dillon coming over, leaning all the way over the bar, which isn’t hard for him to do and reaching my ear.

“Password for tonight?” his deep voice murmurs, and I think for a second he means us but no.

There’s a password for each guest or member’s entry and that changes every shift.

No password, no entry. That’s the rule.

Except for Sawyer’s personal guests who we all know by sight.

“It’s ‘Lucky Luke,’” I inform him, noting his pained expression.

I’m trying to tell him about Sawyer’s friends too, but get called to the other end of the bar by a growing crowd of thirsty members who are regulars.

Sawyer’s probably told him anyway, I reason to myself.

I wish to god I had said more. If only I knew how much trouble could come from something so simple not being explained to Dillon beforehand.

The usual crowd grows, with a few unfamiliar faces turning up, but Dillon seems to have a handle on everything.

Those who know the password are let in, the few who don’t or can’t remember take one look at Dillon looming over them and leave without question.

Within the hour I can see he’s the best for the job.

Sawyer must be pleased with himself. But nowhere near as pleased as I am.

Getting to watch Dillon every chance I get isn’t like work at all.

And with the tall mirror running the full length behind the bar, I can watch him even when my back’s to him.

Watching him watch me. Feeling his eyes where I want his hands to be, having to look away when it makes me too hot and horny.

No bathroom breaks for a long time yet. Plus Dillon’s told me in no uncertain terms I’m not to play with myself without his say so.

I’ve never even touched myself like that, not ever. Never had any real reason to.

But it’s something the man does to me, just by existing.

The thrill is short-lived though because a few hours into our shift I can see how unsatisfied Dillon is with me talking to other men.

Innocently too, I might add. Just making small talk and serving drinks. It’s what I do as a barmaid.

I catch a few of his sour looks until he finally steps between a guy and his next drink.

“Think you’ve had quite enough for one night,” he snarls, gripping the glass and dragging it back across the bar away from the guy.

The man’s a regular. Comes in twice a week, drinks for a few hours then goes home. He’s been in the back a few times but knows when he’s had his fill.

I open my mouth to intervene, but the fella, Dave I thinks his name, seems to think it’s a bit of humor on the new doorman’s part.

“Yeah, I’ll make that my last I reckon,” he agrees, smiling with shining eyes up at Dillon while he reaches for his drink.

But his face falls once Dillon squeezes the short glass so hard in his hand it shatters, making me scream out loud.

“Dillon! Oh my god, your hand are you—” I try to get out, but it’s too late.

Dillon’s already got the guy by the throat and in less time than it takes me to get out from behind the bar, he’s got him outside.

The whole front lounge and bar go so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

But it’s more than a pin Dillon’s gonna drop if I don’t stop him in time.

I rush to the door, heaving it open and throw myself between Dillon and the poor guy he has a balled fist drawn back on, ready to take his block off.

“Dillon, No!” I shout, putting my hands over my own head in case it’s too late.

But he doesn’t do it. Dillon stops, his whole body charged with tension as he loosens his grip on the man, who staggers away, shouting something about telling Charlie all about it.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shriek at him, looking up, my own hands balling into fists as I pummel his abs.

“You’ll get us both fired. That guy’s a regular. He wasn’t doing anything,” I explain, but Dillon’s shaking his head.

“I won’t have anyone looking at you like that. Not here, not anywhere.” He grunts, making me close my eyes and shake my head in disbelief.

“Like what?” I ask him. “Like someone who’s having a drink at a bar?”

I growl at him, unable to contain my own rage right now. The last thing I need is to lose my shitty job on top of everything else.

Maybe Mr. Perfect isn’t so perfect after all? I mean, he must have a screw loose to go off on somebody like that for no reason.

I make my way inside again, cheerfully announcing that the next drinks are on the house, trying to calm everyone down. Let them know it was a one-off thing, that everything’s fine.

But nobody’s cheering for a free drink.

People can afford their own, come here for their own reasons, and not to be manhandled by someone the size of Dillon.

“Better keep your boy on a leash,” somebody murmurs.

“A short one,” seconds someone else.

“Charlie’s not gonna like that,” another chimes in, making me gulp hard because I know they’re right. All of them.

Dillon saunters back in, eyeballing everyone in the place, daring them with his body language, begging to know who’s next.

I serve up a few free drinks to the regulars I know are most upset about it, then rush over to Dillon.

“You can’t do that,” I hiss, noticing his eyes narrow. His head shake.

“Why the fuck not?” he retorts.

“Because this place works differently. Didn’t Sawyer explain anything to you?” I ask him, pleading really.

Until I realize. I’m the one who is supposed to be showing him the ropes.

Remember?

But no. I don’t remember, because I was too busy trying to get myself off and then way too busy trying to play with his huge dick in the basement.

Oh yeah… That’s right.

Nice going genius.

You really have screwed yourself after all.

As if things couldn’t get any more awkward, the old front doorman, Marco appears from the back lounge. One of the Barbie doll look alike waitresses pointing at me and Dillon, murmuring as she gives me the stink eye.

“Just zip it for a minute, Dillon, okay?” I instruct him, looking up, begging him with my eyes to let me handle this my way.

He shrugs, sniffing through his nose and popping his neck.

I can tell he’s already sized up everyone in the bar and would be more than okay with taking them all on right now.

Truth is, he probably could and would be the last man standing.

That’s what worries me right now.

“What’s going on?” Marco says in a calming, genial tone. Smiling broadly at the members even when he lowers his voice close to my ear.

“I said, what the fuck is going on here, Becky?” he snaps coldly.

Dillon can’t hear, thankfully, but at a glance, Marco is about a foot shorter and narrower than Dillon, so I don’t think he’s itching for a fight somehow.

“Just first day jitters,” I say fake cheerfully. “I’ll take care of it. I promise,” I tell him. Mirroring back the smile he’s managed to hold onto for the sake of our precious members.

“Well, you’d better fix it. I don’t wanna have to tell Mr. Sawyer about this,” he threatens, but he doesn’t have to.

I know none of us wants Charlie Sawyer to hear about this, except maybe Dillon who doesn’t seem bothered by any of it.

I think that’s the end of it, but within minutes, Charlie sawyer himself comes into the front bar and lounge.

Fuming.

Barbie and Marco flank him, and with a jut of his double chins, he signals them to take our places.

“You two, with me,” he says addressing us both, turning on his heel and heading back to his office.

Called to his office twice in one day.

This is only going to end one way. Badly.