The music roared like thunder, echoing in her ears and vibrating down her spine like a tuning fork. She hated this shit. She had been dragged here; against her will mind you, with a group of people she worked with and all to celebrate something she wanted to completely forget. Her birthday. She hated celebrating it. She hated drawing the attention to herself, which was also why she hated nightclubs. The atmosphere and loud music tended to give her migraines. Sure, she enjoyed listening to her music loud, but this was rupturing your ear drums obnoxious. She gave a soft sigh as she placed her butt more firmly on the bar stool she had been occupying for the last half hour. Her so called friends had ditched her almost the instant they had all set foot inside. She gave another sigh before resting her chin in the palm of her left hand, elbow perched on the bar top as she watched the bartender over the rim of her glass of cranberry club soda. She almost never drank unless she was in a comfortable atmosphere, and here was far from comfortable.
"Excuse me?" A masculine voice came from her right. Amanda tilted her head almost lazily in its direction. This was another reason why she hated this shit, drunk men hitting on her. Inwardly, she was already running through the witty remarks she could brew up to turn him down, but that seemed to fizzle out when he leaned towards her almost aggressively, sliding his left arm around and over her to place his palm against the edge of the bar and effectively blocking her in.
"What's a beautiful woman like you doing alone sitting at the bar? Aren't you having fun? Did your man ditch you, darlin'?" The cheesy grin plastered across his dark complexion immediately made her stomach roll. This was a man that she knew almost immediately that hated the word no. It seemed to pour off of him in waves that instantly made her cringe. She felt his breath at the back of her neck just above the butterfly tattoo and it made her shudder. Certainly not in a good way either. Alarm bells were ringing like a mother fucker. She glanced up to give the bar tender a pleading look, but he seemed oblivious.
Fortunately, he wasn't oblivious. Laurent watched keenly, even as he stood beside his twin brother Larry.
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He could easily read the tension in the woman's body language. He could practically taste her unease. He grit his teeth, clenching his square jaw tight as the man crowded into her personal space. She looked small, but not fragile. Strong, but delicate. Her petite frame could have easily pegged her for being no taller than five foot one. Faded and ripped jeans clung to her legs and giving just brief glimpses of a scattering of tattoos. He couldn't tell what they were, but they immediately set his blood on fire. There as something about this woman that just simply called to him. He couldn't explain it. Her Aura, or whatever was intimidating, but in a good way. His dark gaze roamed over the curve of her hips where it met a form hugging black cowl neck sweater. On her feet were loosely laced Timberland boots, black suede that looked brand new. Rings littered nearly every finger on both hands, glittering silver in the dim light from the bar. Her dark hair was cut short and slicked back away from her face, revealing the closely buzzed undercut beneath. Her makeup was subtle but tasteful, the purple she seemed to favor besides the black showcasing the chocolate brown of her eyes. He wasn't sure how he had seen such detail with the lack of light, but it seemed like every feature of her face became sharpened while everything around her blurred to darkness.
