Carlos POV
I had one job and that was to pour the drinks, keep my head down, and get the hell out of this death trap of a scene.
Well, since you're clearly stuck with me whether you like it or not, let me introduce myself.
I'm Carlos Everett, the one and only sassy bitch who puts other bitches in their place. Twenty-eight years young, dangerously attractive, and probably sexier than anyone else walking this sorry planet. If you think I'm lying, go ahead and argue with your keyboards.
Oh, and before you ask? Yes, I'm straight. Straight as they come. Because who said a sassy bitch can't be straight?
I like boobs and pussies, you get what I mean. Though I'm still a virgin, don't ask me how I figured out I was as straight as a stripper's unbendable dance pole. People mistake me for gay all the time and honestly, I don't blame them because I've got the ass, if you get what I mean. Soft and bouncy, a pretty face, and hair as long as a girl's.
Oh my! And did I mention I'm an author? I write dark romance, unhinged novels where the MMC is either a psychopath or a morally gray obsessive motherfucker who doesn't take no for an answer. It's either you're his or you die in some pathetic way.
I always make sure my FMC and MMC belong to each other by hook or by crook. Because ain't no way I want my MMC burning the world down on me.
All I wanted was to take a nap after finishing a draft of my novel 'Unhinged Psychopath.' The MMC is dark and unhinged, the epitome of danger. He's ruthless and cold but soft only toward the FMC. In this draft, they'd just had their first ever fight, a screaming match where the FMC yells at him to break up. He's left angry and bitter, goes to his clubhouse to cool off, and then the FMC comes back, they make up, and have angry sex so intense my readers would blush to the roots of their toes.
And don't tell me toes don't have roots. You can't take my opinion from me.
In my dreams, I was already celebrating, imagining my readers devouring every dark, twisted chapter. I woke up with a smile on my face… only to realize I wasn't in my room but in a club.
I knew exactly where I was, Cedric's private nightclub, Inferno, on the very night he and his girlfriend had already had their first first in which I think I've mentioned to you already but then, I'm sure you have probably forgotten so, praise me for reminding you duh. I wrote this scene myself and every detail was burned, no imprinted and etched into my memory. The strobe lights that flared like lightning, the bass hammering against ribs, the smell of whiskey, sex, and desperation clinging to the velvet couches.
And me? I wasn't supposed to be anyone. Just a faceless bartender with a tray and no dialogue, background filler to give atmosphere. Deliver Cedric's scotch, watch the lovers argue and reconcile, and fade into obscurity like a good little NPC who had no business in this little world.
"Hey Carlos! Take this drink to Mr. Cedric. You don't wanna keep him waiting. You know how he gets when the drinks are not delivered on time" the manager I created with my own hands said.
According to the script, I'm supposed to be a good little boy and take the tray and move my ass towards Cedric's table but ain't no way in doing that shit. Cedric is unpredictable, meaning I can just go and try to serve him his drinks only for him to kill me just because I'm in his presence. Yeah, I made him unhinged like that. So, yeah, I'm not taking his drinks to him.
"Sir! Can I just go to the washroom first? I promise I'll be back in a second. Why don't you let Taylor take it to the table" I tried convincing him. I'm so desperate to get out of this.
"Everett you've got to be kidding me. You just came back from the bathroom. Don't tell me your urine tank is full again. Don't joke with me boy. And you know he hates Females serving him his drinks. If you outright refuse, I'm gonna fire you right now. And also, don't get me started on the fact that you won't get a job anywhere" The manager bellowed in anger.
Ah well! I really wanted to smash the manager's head on the table because how dare he talk to me, his creator in such a rude manner. But then, I can't risk getting fired because I don't even know my living conditions.
I don't even know what came into my mind when I used my name for the bartender just because I couldn't think of any name at that moment and just because I was lazy, I settled for my own goddamn name.
So, since I had no other choice. I took in a deep breath, balanced the tray, hands trembling and made my way towards my destination like in the movie final destination. I carefully weaved through the crowd without daring to look at the infamous booth at the far end. I didn't need to because I could feel him from here without even looking at him. I knew exactly where he was because I'm the one who decided the location. Cedric Jareth D'Angelo, my creation, my monster, lounging like a dark god while his golden eyes dissected the room.
"Just… don't mess this up," I whispered under my breath. "Don't die before the plot even starts."
After giving myself a pep talk and making sure the trays were perfectly balanced with me gripping it like a satan's heirloom. It made me more confident because I knew everything was going to be perfect but, o think the Gods were not on my side either. Because one second I was smiling, the next second I was being pushed.
And then, CRASH.
A drunk idiot who can't even possibly know the difference between his asshole and ear slammed into me from behind, shoving me forward. If it wasn't for the fact that I wanted to keep a low profile, I would have kicked him where the sun doesn't shine. The tray tilted and then, my heart stopped all together.
The glasses tipped in slow motion, as if it were mocking me because I couldn't stop it. Dark liquid arcing through the flashing lights before landing with perfect precision on Cedric's lap.
Silence.
Utter, bone-deep silence. Even the music hiccupped like the DJ knew better than to keep playing.
Everyone froze. Everyone knew what happened when someone inconvenienced Cedric. No one survived it.
My stomach plummeted. This was it, it was a game over for me before it even started. My hearts were pounding like a chimpanzee fucking hit me straight in the heart. I wanted to scream, to sprint, to throw myself off the mezzanine, but my body wouldn't obey. If someone gave me a bazooka right now, I would shoot myself in the brain with it. Shut up bitch I know I can't hold a bazooka with one hand but that is how desperate I am for this to end.
My knees gave way instead, ready to collapse in pathetic surrender. Me, the most sassiest bitch crowned in my entire life, was giving up without a fight. But again, it's either my pride or death.
Before I hit the floor, a strong iron hand which was terrifyingly real clamped around my waist pulling me onto his lap. Another caught my chin, forcing me upward, dragging me into the snare of those predatory golden eyes.
My breath hitched. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. This scene wasn't written like this.
TAKE ME BACK TO MY GODDAMN WORLD.
Cedric leaned in, and the heat of his body pressed against me. His voice, low and velvet-dark, brushed my ear and scraped down my spine.
"Hmmm," he purred, inhaling like I was a glass of the finest whiskey. "You smell so good."
My brain short-circuited. What?! No, no, no. He was supposed to be fighting with the heroine right now, not whatever this was. And he was as straight as he came.
Then his lips ghosted over my ear, his words a threat and a promise wrapped into one.
"I'm going to wreck you so bad."
The crowd gasped in unison, the club collectively holding its breath.
And me? My inner scream could've shattered glass.
Oh no. Oh, no no no no. THIS WAS NOT IN THE SCRIPT!