I swirled my straw, not looking up. “Only when I’m desperate.”
He laughed, not getting it. “We’re new in town.”
I gave him my best deadpan. “Congratulations.”
The one with the backwards cap leaned in. “You got a name?”
I glanced at him. “Nope.”
That slowed them, but only for a second. The third, beefy and pink-faced, whistled and told Heather to “hook the lady up with whatever she’s drinking.” She shot me an amused look, raised an eyebrow for my approval, and when I shrugged, she poured the drink and set it in front of me with a flourish.
“It’s on me,” Cap Guy said, winking.
“Chivalry’s not dead,” I replied, knocking back half in a single gulp. “Just very, very stupid.”
Blondie edged closer. “What’s your deal, anyway?”
“Clinical depression,” I said, “but the pills make me boring at parties.”
They all laughed, and for a second I wondered if I’d gone too far, but no. They liked it. It made me seem dangerous, like I’d eat them alive and spit out the bones. They were used to girls who giggled at their jokes, not ones who went for the jugular on the first date.
It could’ve stayed harmless, but nothing in this life ever did.
I checked my phone. No new messages, not even from the church group chat. I wondered if Dad was praying for me, if Axel was still alive, if maybe I should just let these three take me apart and get it over with. I was about to order a fourth when the bar changed.
It wasn’t the music, or the lights, or the way Heather went stiff at the register. It was the air itself, pressure shift, animal warning, the kind of thing that says predator just entered the room.
The Royal Bastards MC weren’t subtle, and they didn’t need to be. When a prospect walked in, even the daylight got scared. I saw him in the mirror behind the bar, moving through the haze with a limp that said fuck you and a face that was barely stitched together after the last time he lost a fight with the world. Leather cut, hair slicked back, blood dried on his knuckles—Axel Martin, and every woman’s worst decision in one slow-motion package.
He didn’t look at me. He headed straight for the end of the bar, where the owner was counting out the register with shaky hands and two bouncers standing guard like it was a bank vault. You couldn’t hear the conversation over the music, but you didn’t need to. It was business, and business was always done with fear and the occasional threat of violence.
Axel leaned in, said something to the owner, and the man started nodding like he was at a revival tent. One of the bouncers handed over a white envelope, thick enough to make any man’sday, and Axel took it with a bored flick of the wrist. He peeled it open, counted the cash, never losing eye contact with the guy, then tucked it away and turned to the crowd.
That’s when he saw me. Or maybe he saw the three college boys, now circling closer, one hand already on my thigh, the other tracing lazy circles on the bar.
I waited to see what he’d do. I always liked men who were predictable in their unpredictability.
The boys were getting louder. Cap Guy started to brag about his frat, how they ran shit back at Louisville, how they once spent a night in the drunk tank but got off with a warning because his dad “knew people.” He didn’t notice my eyes were over his shoulder, locked on Axel’s reflection.
Blondie tried a new angle. “What are you doing after this?”
I shrugged. “Probably rehab.”
He laughed, then went in for the kill—hand on my waist, body pressing closer. It wasn’t offensive, just inevitable, like rain in April or Dad’s disappointment.
Cap Guy went for my hand, squeezing it like we were old lovers. His palm was sweaty, and I wanted to shake him off, but it was easier to let it play out.
Pink Face leaned in, close enough that his cologne made my nose sting. “Come party with us,” he said. “It’ll be fun.”
I thought about it. I thought about a lot of things—Axel at the end of the bar, his hands flexing as he watched, the envelope of cash, the way Heather was moving slow and careful now, like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.
“Maybe later,” I said, sliding off the stool. “I need to pee.”
They tried to follow, but I was already gone, weaving through the crowd toward the bathroom.
I locked myself in the stall and sat on the lid, breathing slow. My heart was running a race I didn’t remember signing up for. Ichecked my phone again—still nothing. I wondered if Axel would come after me. I wondered if I wanted him to.
A few minutes later, I heard the door open. Footsteps, then a knock on the stall.
