Den of Vipers

pushed behind pierced ears. Tattoos peek out of the top of his white shirt,
which is partially tucked into ripped, faded jeans and black boots. His arms
are huge and dotted with tattoos here and there, his skin golden and
glistening, but he seems like the type to be covered in grease and dirt. His
eyes are a bright blue and locked on me, but there’s something not quite right
about them.
His face is more angular than the first guy’s, but no less striking, and he
prowls around as he stares at me like a hungry panther.
“It is,” another one confirms. This guy’s facial structure is similar to the
first one, but no stubble. He’s clean shaven with a slightly squarer jaw. His
hair is longer on top and shaved on the sides, shoved back carelessly. He’s
taller than the first and more stacked, not as put together, but hot as hell.
The last one doesn’t speak, just stares at me from dark eyes. I spot his
long eyelashes from here, the type girls would be envious of, but that’s the
only girly thing about him. He’s massive, his arms are thicker than my whole
body, and his white shirt clings to his bulging biceps and veiny forearms,
indenting at his pecs and chiselled abs.
His jeans are tight, like he can’t find the right size, and his hair is brown
with blond streaks, styled casually to the side. Every single inch of him is
covered in tattoos, and a black lip ring glistens in the light.
I look back over them as the blond-haired guy flicks open the top of a
lighter again and again as he stares at me. “Who are you?” I snap, refusing to
be intimidated.
“Won’t you take a seat?” the first one offers, and I laugh.
“Why don’t you fuck off? Now tell me why the hell you’re in my bar or
get the fuck out,” I snarl.
The blond one chuckles. “Ooh, feisty, she’s so little though. Too easy to
break.” He pouts, sighing like I’ve put him out.
“I ain’t easy to break, asshole. I’ll smash in your pretty boy face before
you can blink, so answer my goddamn question.”
These aren’t the thugs from last night, no, these men are dangerous, and
I’m clearly their target. I swallow hard as fear winds through my body. The
man in the suit notices, since he’s watching me carefully, and his lips tip up
slightly in one corner at my show of panic.
“I like her,” the blond declares, and the big guy finally talks.
“Poor her,” he scoffs.
“Roxxane, please sit,” the first one suggests again, but I know it’s a