His Demure Mate

The alley stinks of stale beer and burnt cigarettes. I shove the last trash bag into the rusted dumpster, the heavy weight of exhaustion settling into my bones. My arms ache from the cold, and my hands are raw from scrubbing dishes all night. I push the cart away, its wheels squeaking over the cracked pavement, and glance toward the back entrance of the hotel, hoping I can slip inside unnoticed. But my heart sinks when I hear heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. I know that sound. “Mishy,” Brandon’s voice snakes out of the shadows, low and dangerous. “Where do you think you’re going?” Every muscle in my body tenses, but I keep my head down and pretend I didn’t hear him. Maybe if I just act like I’m in a hurry… The footsteps quicken. Then, rough hands grab me by the collar of my uniform and yank me backward. “Not so fast.” I stumble, slamming into the wall with a gasp. His grip shifts to the back of my neck, fingers squeezing hard enough to make me flinch. “You ignoring me now?” Brandon’s breath brushes my ear, sharp with the scent of whiskey and cigarettes. “That’s not very smart.” He spins me around, slamming me against the brick wall. My head knocks back, and I blink, trying to steady myself. Brandon’s face is inches from mine, his blue eyes cold and predatory. “You know better than to run from me.” I bite my lip to keep the tears at bay, knowing he’d only enjoy seeing them. “I wasn’t running,” I whisper, hating the weakness in my voice. “I was just—” “Just what?” Brandon cuts me off, his hand sliding down my arm. His fingers curl tightly around my wrist, pinning me against the wall. “You think you can sneak away without saying hello?” “I—I just needed to get back inside.” His smile is slow, deliberate, a predator playing with prey. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.” His grip tightens, and I feel the bruises forming already. It’s not just the pain—it’s the way he looks at me, like I’m nothing more than a possession, something he owns. “You know,” he murmurs, dragging a finger along my jawline, “you’ve been acting a little too bold for my taste lately. Like you forgot what happened last time.” My stomach twists into a knot as the memories flood back—his hands, the humiliation, the way he left me broken and alone, unable to tell anyone. He knows I remember, and the glint in his eyes tells me he enjoys every second of my fear. “Do you need a reminder, Mishy?” he whispers, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “You know I don’t mind teaching you some manners.” I squeeze my eyes shut, every nerve in my body screaming at me to fight back. But what’s the point? There’s no winning with Brandon. There never is. When I don’t answer, he laughs—a soft, mocking sound that sends chills down my spine. “That’s what I thought.” He steps back slightly, but his hand stays on my wrist, his grip unrelenting. “Now, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you. Understand?” I nod, the motion small and defeated. “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “Yes, Brandon.” “Good girl.” He yanks me away from the wall, dragging me toward the back entrance of the hotel. My legs feel like they’re moving on autopilot, each step heavier than the last. As we pass through the kitchen doors, Brandon leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re going to be real nice to me tonight, Michy. No attitude, no smart mouth. Got it?” I swallow hard, nodding again. “And if you mess up…” He chuckles softly. “Well, you know what happens.” I do. I know all too well. Inside the kitchen, the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh glow over the grimy countertops and piles of dirty dishes. My father stands by the sink, his hands buried in soapy water. He glances up, his eyes narrowing when he sees Brandon’s hand on me. But he doesn’t say anything. He never does. “Don’t be late with the drinks, Mishele,” my dad mutters, as if that’s all he has to worry about. Brandon smirks, tightening his grip on my wrist for one final squeeze before letting go. “That’s right. Be a good little waitress, Mishy.” I watch as he strolls out of the kitchen, whistling to himself like he hasn’t just ripped the ground out from under me. The door swings shut behind him, leaving me alone with the suffocating silence. My dad glances at me once, then turns back to the dishes. “You need to stop making him angry,” he says quietly, scrubbing harder. “We can’t afford to piss him off.” I bite my tongue to keep the words from spilling out—the things I want to say, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. But what would be the point? My dad’s made his choice. And I don’t have one. Taking a deep breath, I grab the tray of drinks waiting on the counter and head back out to the dining room, my heart pounding with every step. The restaurant is eerily quiet as I approach the table where Brandon sits, surrounded by his crew. They watch me like a pack of wolves circling prey, their smirks sharp and full of malice. Brandon leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table as I set the drinks down in front of him. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension. I force a smile, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Brandon grabs my wrist again, just as I start to turn away. “Actually, Michy,” he says, his grip tightening. “Why don’t you sit with us for a bit?” I freeze, my pulse thundering in my ears. “You don’t want to be rude, do you?” he asks, his smile widening. I glance toward the kitchen, hoping—praying—that my dad will come out, that someone will intervene. But the door stays shut. Brandon’s eyes glint with amusement, and he tugs me down into the chair beside him. “See? Was that so hard?” The rest of the table laughs, their voices low and cruel. I sit stiffly, every muscle in my body screaming to run, to escape. But there’s nowhere to go. Brandon leans in close, his breath hot against my neck. “You know the rules, Michy,” he whispers. “You play nice, and maybe I’ll let you go home tonight.” I nod, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. And so, I sit. Trapped. Powerless. Waiting for the nightmare to end. Balancing a tray of drinks on one hand, I weave through the crowded tables, trying not to stumble. Every step feels heavy after what just happened in the alley. I force myself to breathe, to move, to pretend everything is normal. It’s all I can do to get through the night. The buzz of conversation fills the restaurant, but I can still feel Brandon’s eyes on me from the corner of the room. His presence weighs on me like chains I can’t shake off. I know he’s watching—he always is. I have to be perfect. Flawless. Or else. As I reach a table near the back, I turn too quickly, and before I can catch myself, I collide with someone. The tray slips from my hand. Glasses shatter on the floor, ice and liquid splashing over my shoes. I let out a small gasp, panicking as I crouch down to gather the broken pieces. “Are you alright?” The voice is smooth, deep, and oddly soothing. I glance up—and that’s when I see him. He’s… breathtaking. Tousled black hair falls over his forehead, and his hazel-green eyes glow under the dim restaurant lights, catching the flicker of gold in their depths. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and so stunningly handsome that for a second, I forget where I am, forget that Brandon is watching, forget everything except the stranger standing in front of me. Something strange stirs inside me, like a jolt of electricity running through my veins. It’s not just attraction—it’s something deeper, something I can’t explain. My heart races, and the air between us shifts, heavy and charged, as if the universe itself is holding its breath. “Here, let me help.” He crouches down beside me, brushing his fingers against mine as he picks up the shattered glass. The moment our skin touches, my breath catches in my throat. The world tilts. It’s like time slows, and everything else—Brandon, the restaurant, the noise—fades into the background. All that exists is this stranger and the way his touch sends a warmth spreading through my chest, a warmth I’ve never felt before. I should pull away. I know I should. But I can’t. A/N: For more of my books please search in F A C E B O O K for Author Meg Elly Gerena to support my books and if you want to give your input even help me decide better what’s coming next search in the group sections for Meg’s Sunflower Pack. Please know you need to answer the questions to be approved and follow my You-Tube for more creative videos on my books 📚