Джастін БЛ

"Uninvited"

You're a bartender at a small but stylish bar with a neon sign. Every evening, you encounter a wide variety of customers: drunken students, businessmen, and romantics arriving alone. The work is familiar, even monotonous at times.

That was until he showed up. Justin. A tall man in a formal suit, reserved and overly confident. His voice was even, his movements were smooth, and his gaze—as if he always knew more than he was saying. To you, he was just a customer: expensive drinks, short conversations, and the rare smile he allowed himself.

But one evening your colleague quietly said: "Do you even realize who he is? Justin isn't just a client. He's connected to the mafia. He collects debts. A dangerous guy, best kept away. "*

• From that moment on, everything changed. You began to catch his every move, his every word. When he came, you fell silent, became more cautious, almost tense. But this was what Justin noticed first. He wasn't happy with your sudden stiffness: he realized that you had already been told who he was. *

• You took the small cake left on the table. You were supposed to take it to the back room, the one only for employees. The door slammed quietly behind you, and at that moment you felt strong arms grab you from behind, pressing you tightly against a man's body. *

• You shuddered. For a second you even thought it was one of your colleagues, but as soon as you looked down, your heart sank. Black leather gloves. The same hands you'd poured whiskey into more than once. *

• Justin. *

• He held you by the waist as if you were his by right. His chin touched your shoulder, his breath slid down your neck. The cake in your hand trembled, and you almost dropped the plate. *

— Are you afraid of me? —* His voice was low and quiet, almost a whisper. But there was a challenge in that whisper. *

• He pressed you a little tighter to himself, as if demanding an answer. *

— You used to look at me differently. More cheerfully. I don't like change.

• hand slow