Andrew just picked up Bash for the weekend, and the moment they pulled out of the back of the shop, the door cracked open, Demi peeking around it with the shameless timing of someone who might have been crouched outside waiting for her cue.
“If this is another half-priced Brazilian,” I warn, grabbing my bag where the gun Hex gave me now permanently lives, “I’m not interested.”
She raises a perfectly arched brow. “Not even if I hold your hand while you get yours?”
I blink. “Why would I get one?”
“Confidence. Smooth skin. Battle readiness,” she says, deadpan.
I squint at her. “You’re hiding something.”
She clutches her heart. “How dare you. I would never—okay, fine, yes, I’m absolutely hiding something, but it’s for your own good. And no, it’s not another waxing appointment. That counted as a one-time coupon situation. And trust me, lessonlearned. The rash I got definitely factored into the two-star rating I gave them on Google.”
“Does Hex know about this?” I prod her.
“Hexplannedthis.” She immediately squeaks and holds her hand up to cherry lips that match her hair.
I stop dead in my tracks. “He what?”
She grins. “Oops. Forget I said that.”
“Oh my God. Demi—”
“Shh. Lady Punisher,relax. Just trust me. If I were going to kidnap you for something reckless and entirely inappropriate, I would’ve brought tequila and a shovel.”
I stare at her. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“Then stop asking questions and get in the car. It’s not a far drive.”
I sigh, half-exasperated, half-suspicious. But there’s a flicker of warmth in my chest now. Something stirring beneath the anxiety, the rebuilding.
“Where are we going?” I ask again, trying to peek at her phone to see if she has GPS turned on.
She just grins. “Let’s just see if I’m really banned for fucking life.”
I blink. “Wait—Ruin's End?”
She shrugs. “I mean,you’re not. I’m the one who threatened to throw a chair at that bartender with the nice arms and emotional constipation. But who’s keeping score?”
“You’re definitely on some sort of list,” I mutter as we pull into the lot.
As soon as we round the corner, JT looks up from where he leans on the window checking IDs, that lazy, crooked grin tugging at his mouth.
“Well damn,” he says, smiling warmly. “Look who just made this place hotter by twenty degrees.”
I snort, cheeks flushing. “You always this smooth?”
He shrugs. “Only when I mean it.”
“Keep dreaming, kid.” I wink and pat him on the shoulder.
Demi loops her arm through mine, smug as hell. JT follows in behind us.
Inside, the bar hums with early-evening energy. The music is low, voices rising, and glasses clinking. We barely cross the threshold before Will clocks us and recoils, a full-body flinch, as though a bar rag just flew out of nowhere and slapped him.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he says, pointing dramatically. “Sable, you're welcome. But the pitbull has to go.”
Demi flips him off with flourish. “I missed you too, High Lord.”
