“You okay in there?” It was Heather.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just needed a break.”
She lingered. “You want me to call someone?”
I almost laughed. “Who? Ghostbusters?”
She didn’t push it. “You know they’re trouble, right? The frat boys.”
“Everyone’s trouble,” I said, softer now. “That’s the only reason anyone comes here.”
She left, and I sat there for a while, counting the cracks in the paint and the stains on the floor. I wasn’t scared of the boys. I was scared of myself, and of the way the world seemed to shrink down to nothing when someone like Axel was in the same room.
When I finally came out, the bar had gotten louder. The college boys were gone, maybe outside, maybe plotting. Axel was still at the end, nursing a beer and watching the world with dead eyes. I slid back onto my stool, and he didn’t look away.
It was like a game of chicken. Who would blink first? Who would do something stupid enough to ruin everything?
I ordered another vodka cranberry, and this time Heather poured it strong, almost overflowing. She slid it to me, whispered, “Careful, sugar,” then went back to polishing glasses that would never get clean.
The music changed. Someone put on “Highway to Hell,” and the whole place seemed to lean into it.
Cap Guy returned, this time with Blondie and Pink Face in tow. They were drunker, louder, and less interested in playing nice. They boxed me in at the bar, one on each side, hands already roaming. I tried to ignore it, but then Cap Guy grabbed my chin, forced me to look at him.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice thick. “Now.”
I considered my options. Scream? Throw the drink? Knee to the balls? None of it would work. They’d just laugh, or worse.
Instead, I smiled and decided to leave.
I made it three steps from the bar before I felt the clamp on my wrist. Not a friendly tug, not even a horny, "let's go make out in the parking lot" pull, but a full-on chokehold for my hand, and I knew, with a sickening snap of clarity, that I had officially left the land of “flirt” and crossed into “crime scene.”
The music was so loud it almost covered the little gasp that slipped out of me. The crowd didn’t notice; why would they? I wasn’t the first girl to get manhandled in this place, not by a long shot.
I twisted, tried to yank free, but Cap Guy’s grip only tightened. “Come on, don’t be a bitch,” he said, face too close, breath thick with peppermint schnapps and desperation. “We just wanna talk.”
I tried to pull back, tried to remember what Heather told me once—elbow, then knee, then scream if you have to—but my body just went cold and useless, a puppet with strings tangled. Blondie blocked my exit, smirking, while Pink Face hovered behind, waiting for his turn.
My heart was punching holes in my chest, but my voice sounded steady. “Let go of me.”
Blondie laughed. “She’s a feisty one.”
I was about to escalate—maybe throw a drink, maybe just lose my shit and bite his arm—when I caught the shift in the bar’s gravity. It was subtle, the way a dog senses a thunderstorm before the clouds even roll in. The crowd parted, and over strode Axel, not in a rush, but with the same certainty that rain will eventually fall. He looked bigger than I remembered, or maybe it was just the way his jacket hung off him, like a wolf pelt stitched to his shoulders.
He didn’t look at me. His eyes were on Cap Guy, who still hadn’t let go.
“The lady said she’s not interested,” Axel said, voice flat and impossible to ignore.
For a half second, nobody moved. Then Blondie barked out a laugh, high and fake. “What’s it to you, Santa? Last call isn’t for an hour.”
Cap Guy squared up, not letting go of my wrist. “Why don’t you mind your own business, trailer trash?”
Axel smiled, but there was nothing warm in it. “I am.”
Blondie moved first, shoving me back into Cap Guy and turning his full attention on the incoming threat. Axel never broke stride. He just stepped forward and, in a blur, drove his elbow into Blondie’s throat. The sound was like a tree branch snapping. Blondie dropped, clutching his neck, eyes bulging.
Cap Guy tried to let go, but my arm was still tangled in his. Axel grabbed him by the collar, jerked him off his feet, and buried a fist in his stomach. Cap Guy puked. Literally puked. It hit my boots, warm and sour. I would’ve laughed if I could breathe.
Pink Face tried to hit Axel from behind, but Axel spun, caught the punch, and twisted Pink Face’s arm behind his back until something popped. Pink Face screamed, but Axel shoved him into the nearest table, sending drinks flying and three regulars scattering.
