Mr. Dark 2 (Tamed #2)(4)

"But you don't respect me," Sophie countered, zipping the bag closed angrily. "If you did, you wouldn't be lying to me right now. So let me ask again, who were those men?"

I was tempted to tell her about my work, but I knew if I answered her question, her life was in danger, and it'd likely push her away even more. "Sophie, I can't.....there are things about my life that I just can't tell you. I'm not trying to lie, I just can't." I didn't know what else to say. I felt defeated, laid bare, and there was nothing I could do about it. My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water for a few seconds, before I just sighed. "I'm sorry."

Sophie looked at me, her anger softening, but she still took her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. "Me too. But until you can tell me more.....I need to go."

Chapter 3

Sophie

By the time I got to the Shamrock that early evening for my shift, I was still in a downright shitty mood. The whole time going back to my apartment and then changing for work, my mind was whirling. Tabby had been disappointed that Mark wouldn't be at the pub, but told me she'd still come by around nine that night. In the mean time, I spent half my time calling myself a damn fool for walking out on Mark. He was more than a great lover. We enjoyed spending time together, whether we were hanging out and watching movies or having dinner he prepared for me, to just sitting around talking.

The other half of the time, I was telling myself I did the right thing. He kept secrets from me, that was obvious. I'd overlooked it for most of the month we'd been together since it was never in my face and as obvious as it was earlier. After all, every business has certain things they don't want other people to know. I'd dated a guy when I was an undergrad on and off for three months that worked at a Chinese restaurant. He told me that even though he'd worked there for five years, ever since high school, he'd never been allowed to learn what the chef used as his Mongolian barbecue sauce. Until Louis Lefort showed up at Mark's doorstep, I figured it was something as insignificant as that. But there was something about those two men, an almost palpable aura of danger and evil that made me feel uncomfortable the whole time they were inside. They looked like two men who really didn't care if I were alive or dead.

Also, what was up with Mark and that leather jacket? I'd never seen him wear it before, and the way he reached for the sleeves before stopping told me he had something in there, something he didn't want me or Lefort to see. It was just another thing that worried me, just like the worried expression that was on Mark's face the whole time they were there. I'd seen Mark confident, I'd seen him restful, I'd seen him thoughtful. But I'd never seen him worried or scared before.

All of these thoughts swirled through my mind as I entered the Shamrock and slung my backpack onto my coat hook in the back room. Taking a deep breath, I pulled my hair back into my work ponytail while knotting the Shamrock t-shirt near my left hip. It had taken me a while to catch on, but the tighter I made my shirt, the bigger the tips I got. I don't care what my feminist classmates might say, sex sells.

The bar was still pretty quiet when I clocked in, with a few folks enjoying early dinners. The Shamrock is a pub in the true Irish sense, so it had a chef in the back, a guy named Juan who turned out pretty good fish and chips, in my opinion. That an Irish pub had a Hispanic guy working the kitchen was just good irony. "How's the chips tonight, Juan?"

"Hola Sophie," he said. "You look down. You okay?"

"No buena," I said in reply. "But don't worry about it, I'll get through it all."

"Cool. Well, you know it's Saturday, so be on your toes."

"Comprende," I replied, going out behind the bar. The afternoon bartender, a nice older guy named Liam who was also the co-owner of the Shamrock along with his brother, gave me a smile and a nod before drawing a beer for a customer.

* * *

I was soon caught up in my work. After Liam got off, I was the main bartender, working with two others who shuttled beer and food out to the fifteen tables that dotted the area. About seven o'clock I was drawing a beer when I heard someone call out my name. "Hey, barkeeper?"

"Just a minute," I said, finishing off the pint of Guinness and drawing another of Kilkenny Red. I set the two pints on a tray and rang for Dave, the waiter working that table, for service. Wiping my hands on the towel I kept near my waist, I turned towards the voice. "What can I get you?"

The customer was one whose face I'd seen pretty often over the past three weeks. She was Asian, although I couldn't really tell you which origin. She'd been coming in almost every shift I was on, and I'd placed her as a new office worker in the area. She always wore a business suit, and she spoke with a bit of a British accent. I'd assumed she was a transfer from an overseas office, Royal Bank of Scotland had a regional office nearby. "I'll take a Porterhouse Oyster Stout, if you have them tonight," the woman asked, "I'm knackered."

"Good choice," I replied, grabbing a bottle from the cooler chest and popping the top. "Bottle or glass?"

"I'll take a glass if you don't mind," the woman replied. I poured carefully, making sure to get just the right amount of head, and set it along with the rest of the bottle in front of her. "Thanks. By the way, I'm Becky. Been seeing you around a lot lately."