cold Sweat (Mafia Romance) Girlxintersex

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Charlotte POV

Walking to the square table booth, I noticed that just one man was sitting while the rest were simply standing there. The table was covered with blue-colored paper, and I noticed it was a blue print of a structure.

Hmm.

Just as I was about to approach the men, two tall and gruff men stood in front of me, leading me away from the men's request to converse. A small smile spread over my lips. I felt little as two sets of steely eyes stared down at me. "BEAT IT."

Oh I want nothing but to beat on out of this place. But, one way or another, I have to take his menu orders. Nobody can simply go into a restaurant and not eat.

"I need to take his order."

"She doesn't need anything?"

She? I attempted to wave my hand around the two muscular bodies that obscured this woman. I swear a man walked right by Nadine and me. I was convinced she also spotted a male. One of the males extended his tattooed hand; even his palm was tattooed. Who are these guys?

"Move it." He commands. However, I remained still.

"Can I take your order, or could you take her order?" I questioned the two dark-haired males. Different from their menacing demeanor and steely glance. They were remarkably attractive, and now that I think about it, I haven't seen many gorgeous men in a long time.

Kyle used to be cute, but he lost control of himself and damaged his appearance, ruining my decision to sleep with him—what a jerk.

"We don't want anything." Their powerful arms grip the Ak-47 rifle tightly. It shines and gleams with the fading light. I could tell with their fingers tensed over the trigger that they were only seconds away from scorching my body to a crisp.

I noticed a tattooed arm moving between the men, breaking through the wall. She didn't appear like a lady at all when I finally got to glimpse her face. Women, like me, dress professionally in skirt suits rather than men's suits.

There were several qualities that did not identify her as a woman, but rather as a guy. Her Asian facial structure was robust, sharp, and made of hard steel. Instead of embracing long hair, she preferred short, spiky hair that was thick enough to cover her scalp.

"What do you want?"

Just as I could tell by her appearance and the presence of numerous terrifying guys with firearms that she was a Mafia member, she probably wouldn't know if I was a waitress with a notebook, a white blouse, a black skirt, and a sleepy expression. She has 'I don't give a fuck' all on her face. Heck!

She seemed like the dictionary definition of "I don't give a crap."

"I would like to take your order please." I grinned. Being a waiter was a seam procedure that required abilities. (I just don't want to be setting tables and standing on my feet for the rest of my life.) You have to smile, despite the customer's rudeness, and believe me, that takes a lot of practice in the mirror or going out back to smoke a cigarette and imagine you sucking their life out through each and every precise drag.

I believe I could feel my body disintegrating under the slashing gaze of her oval-shaped eyes.

Her eyes were bright and focused. Her little pink cherry lips curled into a grin. She lifted a pale brown brow. I could see her eyes moving over my name tag, which was fastened to my shirt. I informed Mr. Milestones that I despised it. Customers do not need to know our identities or any other information about us.