The bartender smirked, eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and appetite. “Yeah? I started about six months ago. And I’d definitely remember a face like yours.” He didn’t wait for an order—simply poured a splash of something amber and slow into a low glass and slid it over. “On the house.”
Ash picked it up, lifted it to his lips, inhaled. Gin. Expensive. “Generous,” he said, sipping. “Either you want something, or I look like I need it.”
The bartender laughed, a soft huff from the chest. “Both.” He bent even closer, the lights painting sharp shadows along his cheekbones. “I’m Griff.”
“Ash.”
They let the silence swell between them, thick with suggestion. Around them, the music pounded, bass so deep it rumbled inside Ash’s lungs. He had to raise his voice to be heard.Everythinghad to be shouted here. Every word, a declaration. Every look, a promise or a dare.
Ash leaned in, lips brushing closer to Griffin’s ear than strictly necessary. “So, you’re good at remembering faces?”
Griff’s eyes flicked to him. “Some tend to stick in the mind longer than others.”
Ash smiled at the veiled compliment, seizing the chance to steer the flirtation in a more useful direction. He reached into his pocket, unlocked the phone, and slid it across the bar. The beat swallowed the sound, but the gesture was sharp and clear. “What about these two?” he asked. “Seen them around lately?”
Griffin looked. He picked up a towel and started drying a clean glass, stalling, considering. His eyes returned to Ash, narrowed slightly with something sharper. “You a cop?”
Ash laughed, the sound rippling through the haze. “God, no. I wouldn’t last ten minutes as a cop. All that authority and no safe word?” He grinned and winked.
Griff smirked despite himself. “So why the sudden curiosity?”
Ash traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip, slow and idle. “Because I’m interested in stories. And you seem like a man with a few.”
Griff glanced around, then tilted forward, raising his voice over the music’s throb. “Yeah. I’ve seen them. They came in a few nights ago. The girl,” he tapped the phone, “likes to dance until she disappears. The guy looked strung out. I poured him a drink,flirted a little, then had to tend to others. By the time I was free again, he’d already vanished.”
Before Ash could press further, someone shouted next to him, waving a ten-dollar bill. “Two tequila sunrises!”
Griff held up a finger to Ash and turned to mix the drinks. Ash tucked the phone back into his pocket and used the pause to scan the passing people again. No familiar faces, only heat and hunger and bodies chasing oblivion.
When Griffin returned, he braced both elbows on the bar, bringing them close again. “Anyway. They haven’t been in since. But I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually.”
Ash studied him. “You seem awfully helpful.”
Griff shrugged. “I don’t usually give out intel for free, but you’ve got this whole—” he gestured vaguely— “fallen angel looking for answersthing going on. It’s hot.”
Ash’s lips curved. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Wasn’t meant as anything else. So…” Griff’s eyes slid down, then back up, a slow drag. “You looking for anything else tonight? Or just stories?”
Ash took one last sip from his glass and set it down with a soft clink. His gaze locked with Griffin’s, heavy with intent, delicious with mischief. “Well,” he drawled, “my lead just ran dry. But my night doesn’t have to.”
Griff wiped his hands on a towel, tossed it aside like it was suddenly irrelevant, and came around the bar without hesitation. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
The second he was close enough, Ash reached for him, fingers curling around his dog tags, drawing him in with smooth, fluid hunger. Their mouths met without preamble, the kiss wet and open and electric, teeth dragging over lips, tongues tangling with sloppy desperation just shy of reckless. Ash pressed him into the shadowed wall beside the bar, one thigh sliding between Griffin’s legs, grinding up with slow intent.
Griff groaned against his mouth, his hands splayed over Ash’s hips, gripping tight, pulling him closer until their bodies locked in rhythm, moving with the bass, sweat-glazed and breathless, lost in the throb of the Inferno’s heartbeat. Ash ground against him with a carnal precision, each movement a calculated sin. He knew exactly how to make someone forget their own name. Griffin was already halfway gone, panting into the kiss, eyes glazed with want.
Ash broke away just long enough to murmur against his throat, voice dark velvet edged in fire: “I told you I used tocomehere all the time.”
Griff chuckled, dazed. “Looks like you still do.”
Ash bit his neck, enough to bruise, and smiled. “Lucky you.”
He kissed him again, deeper, harder, and Griffin pulled him deeper into the alcove’s dim hush. Ash followed with a smirk. Some truths could wait till morning; this one was better tasted in the dark.
Chapter Sixteen
(9:45 a.m.)
