“Sorry!”A woman’s voice, apologetic and embarrassed.“I’m so sorry, it just slipped --”
I forced air into my lungs.Forced my hands to unclench.The woman stared at the broken glass near her feet, face flushed, while people around her already laughed it off, cracking jokes about needing another round.Normal.Completely normal.Just an accident in a crowded bar.
I bent down and grabbed the towel, hands trembling slightly.
“It’s fine,” I called out, my voice coming from somewhere far away.“Happens all the time.”
I grabbed the broom and dustpan from behind the bar and moved toward the mess.My legs felt disconnected from my body, but I made them work, made myself walk normally, made myself smile at the woman who kept apologizing.“Really, don’t worry about it.”
She thanked me, relief plain in her voice, and moved away alongside her friends.I swept up the broken glass in mechanical precision, dumped the pieces in the trash, and returned to my position behind the bar.My hands finally stopped shaking, adrenaline fading into the familiar background hum of anxiety I’d learned to live beside.
When I looked up, Ace was watching me from across the room.
His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held mine for a beat too long.He’d seen it.Seen me freeze, seen the fear I hadn’t been able to hide quickly enough.I waited for him to come over, to ask questions I couldn’t answer, to tell me I wasn’t working out.
But he just nodded once, then turned his attention back to the customer he’d been helping.
I exhaled slowly and got back to work.
* * *
The rumble of motorcycles cut through the music around ten-thirty, a sound drawing half the bar’s attention while the rest suddenly focused on their drinks.I restocked beer in the cooler when the noise reached my ears -- deep, throaty growls from engines shutting down one after another, followed by the heavy tread of boots on gravel.
I straightened, bottles still in my hands, and watched through the window as four men dismounted from their bikes.Leather vests caught the parking lot lights, and even from a distance I saw the patches.A bird of prey, wings spread, talons extended.Words too blurred to make out, though unnecessary -- the cut alone delivered the message.These men belonged to something, claimed territory, answered to rules far different from civilians in the bar.
The Savage Raptors.I heard the name when I asked around aboutThe Broken Spoke, heard it spoken in equal parts respect and wariness.Ace’s club.Which meant these were his brothers.
They pushed through the door in a wave of leather and swagger, and the atmosphere in the bar shifted instantly.Not fear exactly -- more a collective pause, a silent recognition of new energy settling over the room.Conversations continued in lowered tones.People created space without anyone saying a word.
The four men claimed a corner booth like they owned the place, which maybe they did.I couldn’t stop myself from cataloging details the way my brain always did -- tall, broad-shouldered, every one of them moving in a manner shaped by experience and readiness.One carried dark skin and tribal ink curling over his forearms.Another had a thick beard and sharp eyes sweeping the room in steady patterns.The third looked leaner, a scar cutting through his eyebrow.The fourth appeared strong enough to snap someone in half without effort.
They were looking at me.
My stomach clenched.I set the last beer in the cooler and closed it, forcing my hands to move normally as I straightened.Don’t stare.Don’t react.Just do your job.
“Need another Jack and Coke,” someone said at the bar, pulling my attention back.
I made the drink on autopilot, aware of the weight of those gazes still on me.The Raptors had settled into their booth but they kept glancing over, curiosity obvious in the way they tracked my movements.New girl.Stranger in their territory.Of course, they’d want to know who I was.
Ace appeared at the bar so smoothly I almost didn’t see him move.He had been across the room a moment ago, yet now he stood beside me, body positioned to shield me from the Raptors’ line of sight.“How you holding up?”he asked, voice lowered so only my ears caught the words.
“Fine.”I slid the Jack and Coke to the waiting customer and took his money.“Busy night.”
“Yeah.”He didn’t move, didn’t look toward the corner booth, but I could feel his awareness of them like a physical thing.“You need anything, you let me know.”
“I will.”
He stayed there for another moment, a solid presence between me and the rest of the bar, before moving away.But not far.He drifted toward the Raptors’ table, his path casual enough to look like coincidence.Except nothing about Ace ever came across as coincidence.
One of them -- the man sporting a beard -- stood and headed toward the bar.I tensed, readying myself for whatever was coming, but Ace intercepted him halfway, a hand on his shoulder and words I couldn’t hear over the music.The bearded man glanced at me, then back at Ace, and nodded.They talked for maybe thirty seconds before the Raptor returned to his booth and Ace continued his circuit of the room.
My hands were shaking again.I shoved them in my pockets until it passed.
The rest of the shift unfolded under the same strange tension.More customers came and went, drinks were poured, money changed hands.Beneath the noise and motion, I stayed hyperaware of Ace’s movements.The way he always remained within eyesight whenever I gathered glasses from tables.The way he redirected a drunk who grew too friendly, guiding the man away with a hand on his back and quiet words.The way he positioned himself between me and anyone approaching the bar in an aggressive stride.
He protected me.Subtle, careful, never demanding attention, yet impossible to miss once my eyes learned the pattern.A part of me relaxed every time he stood close, body angled just enough to block danger.Another part tightened painfully under my ribs, pulled toward him without permission.Confidence radiated from him, steady and unshakeable, and something in me wanted to lean into that strength even though I knew better.
I had no idea how to process any of this.No clue whether gratitude or fear made more sense now that he decided I needed protection.People who protected you usually wanted something in return.Usually carried motives far from kindness.And yet… every time his presence brushed mine, the attraction hit just as hard as the warning in my pulse.
