Zeke's Eden: The Beginning (Zeke and Eden Book 1) (2 page)

Present

“T
onight’s going to be a busy one, man,” Grant huffs as he hoists up a crate full of glasses and carries them over to the far end of the bar.

“Every night’s busy here,” I grumble and begin rolling up the sleeves of my black button up dress shirt. “What do you want me to do?”

He starts unloading the glasses onto a shelf below the bar and glances my direction. His thick, dark brown beard peppered with silver streaks makes him look much older than our twenty-nine years. “Make sure the bathrooms are clean. Lock up the office too. And find your tie.”

I roll my eyes as I saunter off toward the bathrooms. I’m not wearing a fucking tie—too restricting. Four years in the pen has left me highly adverse to anything that restricts me. I wouldn’t be able to hold down this job if it weren’t for it being my best friend Grant’s bar. But he, better than anyone, knows my past and took me in without any reservations. And for the past week since I’ve been out, he’s been patient as I attempt to adjust to society.

“Hey Z,” Catherine purrs as she emerges from the women’s restroom. “Didn’t know you were working tonight. Doesn’t Grant ever give you a break? You’ve worked every night since you started.”

I lazily drag my gaze over her curves. She’s wearing a tight black skirt that I know from watching her bend over will show her panties from time to time. Her full tits are all but spilling out of her button up shirt. Chicks like her make a killing from tips from every motherfucker she serves.

“I need the money,” I clip out and shoulder past her toward the bathroom.

Her nails bite into my bicep and she halts me from passing. “Baby, everyone needs a break. Want to come over after we close?”

She puckers her blood red lips out in what she must assume is a cute pout. My cock agrees and twitches.

“Maybe,” I evade. “I have a lot on my mind right now. Not sure I’ll make for good conversation.”

A giggle escapes her and she stands on her toes, brushing her tits against my arm and breathes into my ear. “Nobody said anything about conversing.”

It’s been so long. Too fucking long since I’ve been laid. And here, Catherine’s offering it up on a shiny damn plate.

I slide my fingers into her wavy brown hair and grip her tight. “I fuck hard and when I’m done, I’m done. I’m not about to become some chick’s boyfriend.” Sad thing is, that’s a fucking lie. I have issues. I obsess over shit, especially people. And as much as I’d like to think I would fuck her and leave her, my conscience knows better.

She laughs and leans into me, giving me a whiff of her perfume which makes my head throb. “I have a boyfriend but he’s out of town. I only want a good time tonight.”

Shaking my head, I release her and step away. “Call me when you’re not attached.”

I may be horny but I’m not stupid. If I fucked her and did end up liking her, it wouldn’t end tonight. Plain and fucking simple. The boyfriend would have to go. And I’m not looking to head back to prison anytime soon.

“Wow,” she scoffs, clearly offended, as I stalk off through the door, not waiting for more of a response.

I take a little more time in the bathroom even though it looks fine so I can avoid seeing her in the hall. The only reason I accepted a job working for Grant was because he had some space above the bar where I could stay at for free. Moving in with my parents was not an option, especially after everything I’ve put them through.

Once I’ve decided I have wasted enough time hiding from the hot chick who probably sucks cock like a champ, I set out to lock up the office. One would think Grant wouldn’t trust a convicted felon in his office but he knows me better than the sentence I was given. We grew up together and even attended the same college. At a certain point in our lives, he was considered the fuck-up and me the career man.

And oh how the tables have turned.

“Where’s your tie?” he grumbles from the bar once I make my way back over to him.

Rolling my eyes, I lean against the smooth, wood surface. “You know I hate wearing that thing.”

His eyes skim over to Catherine who’s opening the front door before he pins me with a stare. “If memory serves me correct, you’re the asshole who wore a suit and tie to work every day. Where’s that guy?”

I bristle at his comment. “Well, let’s see, he probably died the first time that stupid Mexican fuck broke his ribs in the pen along with his ability to give a shit. This guy…” I point a thumb at my hardened chest. “…Doesn’t wear a tie. End of fucking story.”

Rage blooms in my chest at the memory of that dickhead who thought he’d pick on the clean-cut guy. It only took one time for him to catch me off guard. After I healed, he never caught me off guard again. He has the shank scar in his belly to prove it.

“Fine, whatever man. It isn’t worth getting my ass beat over.” He laughs and tosses a wet rag at me.

I grin back but my smile falls as the bar begins to fill up. Several men in suits commandeer an empty table and begin barking orders at Catherine.

Four years ago, I was one of them.

Some asshole wanting to have a drink with his buddies after work. Many nights I would lie on that thin mattress in my cell and try to ignore the snores of my cellmate—imagining a life where I’d followed my dreams and became someone who amounted to something. Eventually though, I gave up wishing for something that would never be. It all ended that night when I almost ended
him
.

Robert Forrest.

Just thinking about his arrogant ass causes my blood to boil over with rage. One would think that four years later I’d be over this shit.

I am far from fucking over that shit.

“Three Coronas with lime, five shots of Jäger, and two tall boys on tap,” Catherine snips out as she rips a page from her booklet. “Make it quick.”

Grant has already begun making drinks for some people who have sat down on one end of the bar so I grit my teeth and snatch up the order.

“Looks like I’ll have to go home with one of them tonight,” she says in a bored tone as she taps her acrylic nails on the bar surface.

Ignoring her whore comment, I slam down two overfilled glasses of our house brew in front of her on the tray, and glare at her. “I don’t care who you fuck,” I snarl as I release the glasses. “As long as it isn’t me.”

She purses her lips together and scurries off with the tray filled with drinks. Her ass jiggles as she shimmies away and despite the fact that I’m sure she’d have been a great lay, I’m glad I have standards.

Even after four years in prison, I still won’t fuck a stupid bitch, no matter how pretty she is.

The hours drone on and I manage to stay as far away from Catherine as possible. Eventually, I need to take a piss and holler at Grant.

“I’m taking my break.”

He nods and waves me off with a wet rag in his hand. Striding toward the hallway, I ignore the stares of everyone along the way. I’m a sight, I know this.

Four years ago, I was the clean-cut asshole like those guys who are bellowing from laughter as Catherine flirts with them. Four years ago, I went in every three weeks for a haircut and knew the dry cleaner workers by name. Four years ago, I was a suit and tie with a desire to conquer life.

But then when my whole world came crashing down around me and I landed in prison, everything changed.

My dark hair grew out, despite the prison haircuts we were required to get. Phil, the prison’s barber, bent rules and nobody seemed to mind. As long as nobody was walking around with a fucking Mohawk or a bitch’s hairstyle that would get them raped the second they were alone, we got whatever the hell kind of cut we wanted.

I let my hair grow into my brooding green eyes and over my ears. Without gel or styling products, I looked like a fucking psychopath. The moment I moved into the apartment upstairs, I noticed Grant had stocked the bathroom with the shit. So, not to be the asshole, I have now been styling my overgrown hair into a style which looks like a chick ran her fingers through it while fucking me.

Too bad that isn’t the case.

The old me would have fucked someone—anyone with a fucking pussy by now. This new, rougher version of me almost doesn’t give a shit though. Sure, it’d be nice to sink my cock into someone hot like Catherine. But, I can wait for someone a little fucking nicer than her bitchy two-timing ass.

I take a quick piss and while I wash my hands, I glare into the mirror. Grant thinks he can contain me in a button up shirt but my tatts can’t be hidden, as they reach up beyond the collar of my shirt. I swallow and my Adam’s apple moves along my throat. Smirking at my reflection, I shake my head. If I don’t take someone home tonight, I might as well marry my goddamn hand.

Stalking over to the door, I swing it open and step into the hallway. When I look up, a woman gapes at me—her sexy blue eyes cool the anger that tends to always ebb and flow beneath my surface. She’s leaned up against the wall with her arms crossed against her chest, denying me the view beneath.

“Can I help you?” I blurt out. My feet are carrying me over to her, not giving a fuck about her personal space. As I approach, her eyes widen.

In fear.

The slicing reminder is one that cuts deep. I’m the tattooed, badass—not the suit in the other room that this chick is clearly used to seeing.

“I, uh,” she stammers and jerks her head toward the ladies’ restroom, “I’m waiting for my friend. It’s her birthday.”

I stop in front of her, inches from her quivering frame. Her scent is one that intoxicates me. Flowers and fruit. So fucking sweet.

“I work here,” I grumble and lean in toward her, needing the air that surrounds her much more than the air on the rest of this damn planet.

“Oh, I don’t need anything,” she mutters.

I drop my eyes to her lips and know without a doubt that this will be the woman I’ll take home tonight. Her full lips are perfect for sucking a cock which hasn’t received the attention of anyone besides my fist in a really long time.

Dragging my eyes over her, I devour every feature of her face. Small, pert nose. Wide, unsure sapphire eyes. Quivering, bitable lips. Her cheeks redden and my cock twitches.

When I reach a finger toward her jaw, she shakes her head and puts her palms on my chest to keep me at a distance. The touch jolts through me like a strike of lightning.

I want her tentative fingers touching me everywhere.

“I said I don’t
need
anything,” she tells me with a more firm bite to her tone but her hands don’t leave my chest.

Her jet black hair is cut in an oblong blunt manner, just under her chin and it bounces every time she speaks. The hairstyle, so brave and bold, doesn’t fit her shy demeanor, pale skin, or bright blue eyes.

Ignoring her attempt to keep me away from her, I brush a strand of hair away from her face that somehow had become stuck to her shiny Barbie pink lips. “You
need
me,” I tell her in a smug tone which only serves to redden her cheeks further.

A small breath escapes her and her attempt to keep me away from her weakens. If it weren’t for Grant killing my ass, I’d toss her over my shoulder and haul her upstairs. Pushing toward her, I grin when her palms slide down to my sides and her chin lifts to regard me. I rest my palms on either side of her head against the wall and dip my mouth to her ear.

“I get off at two,” I breathe into her hair that hangs over her ear. “You should come upstairs. I would be more than fucking happy to entertain you all night long.”

She gasps and I grin but a squeal from beside us grates at my nerves, ruining the moment.

“E—I mean, Michelle.” The woman giggles. “You sure didn’t waste any time. What a hottie!”

The annoying woman is bouncing up and down in stilettos nearly as tall as she is. Long, red waves hang down her front framing her ample tits which are spilling out of her top. She’s pretty, but the one I still have caged in front of me is much more beautiful.

“I, uh, Romy,” Michelle whines from in front of me. “He works here. We were just talking.”

Romy
laughs some more and I reluctantly step away from Michelle. Her hands fall to her side and her lips purse together in a pout. I’d like to think that she feels just as disappointed as I do about having to step away from her.

“Come see me at the bar,” I tell them both. “I’ll give you the hook-up on some free drinks.”

My eyes lock on Michelle’s blazing blue ones. “And don’t forget about what I said.”

I take pride in the way the red from her cheeks spreads down her neck toward her chest. It makes me wonder where else she turns red. Before I do something regrettable like drag her upstairs to see, I wink and turn on my heels.

By the end of the night, I’ll have that woman eating out of my hand. And then later, I’ll take my turn eating.