The room spins a little as my blood runs hot from whiskey, memories bleeding through the cracks of my self-control. I shove away from the bar, feeling unsteady, world tilting beneath my boots.
Rev glances up sharply. “You good?”
“Gotta piss,” I mutter, stumbling toward the back hall, past the thud of heavy bass, leather jackets, and hazy smoke. I shove through the bathroom door, splashing cold water on my face once I'm done, trying to clear my head. It doesn't help for shit.
When I push back out into the crowded main room, noise and chaos slam into me hard. My vision blurs for just a second, then narrows dangerously when a flash of dark curls catches my attention.
Across the bar, a woman stands with her back to me, curves wrapped tight in denim and leather. A man next to her has one hand gripping her waist, the other sliding lower. She’s trying totwist away, clearly not into it, and something inside me snaps like a fucking tripwire. My pulse pounds violently. All I see is Bri.
I'm moving before I can think straight, whiskey and rage pushing me through the crowd. “Get your fucking hands off of her,” I growl, grabbing the asshole’s shoulder and spinning him around. I punch him in the jaw, feeling the crack in my knuckles as he drops, hitting the floor hard with a grunt. The woman spins, eyes wide in shock and fear, and my gut drops like a stone. She’s not Bri.
“Jesus!” she shrieks, stumbling back into the bar, knocking over a couple stools. “What the hell is your problem?”
Fuck. I step back immediately, adrenaline turning sour. “I thought you were someone else.”
She glares daggers at me, chest heaving, eyes wild with anger and panic. “You crazy asshole!”
Rev’s there suddenly, hand gripping my shoulder, pulling me backward. “Blade, what the fuck?”
“Thought it was Bri,” I mutter again, stunned, guilt clawing at my insides. “Fucking hell.”
Kimber leans across the bar, assessing the chaos with cool indifference. “Trouble again, Blade? Damn, honey. You need glasses or a leash.”
Rev shoves me toward our seats, voice low and tight. “Sit your drunk ass down.”
I collapse onto the barstool, my heartbeat racing in my ears. My hands tremble slightly, blood smeared across busted knuckles.I reach for my glass, gripping it hard, trying to anchor myself back in reality.
Kimber tosses a rag onto the bar in front of me, shaking her head. “Blade, you need to clean your shit up.”
I wipe my knuckles absently, barely feeling the sting. The room returns to normal, music filling the silence, crowd murmuring their way back into the rhythm of the night. My breathing slows, but my mind’s still a fucked up mess.
Rev watches me warily. “You’re losing your grip, brother.”
I glance at him and laugh bitterly. “Never had it to begin with.”
Kimber refills my whiskey silently, giving me a dark look. I toss it back, desperate for numbness.
Rev sighs, signaling Kimber to leave the bottle. “Guess we’re getting fucked up tonight.”
“Guess so.”
We drink in silence, the ghosts crowding closer. I let them in, too tired to keep them out. Ten years, and I’m still running from a past that never lets go.
TWO
BRIANNA “BRI” CALLOWAY
I wokeup this morning breathing hard, skin damp with sweat, my core still throbbing from a dream that felt far too real. I swear I actually came just from thinking about Blade. The way his hands moved over me, the way his mouth claimed every inch of my skin, the way he made me fall apart again and again in the dark corners of my mind.
Heat floods my face as I drag a shaky hand through my hair, trying to get a grip.Get it together, Bri.He’s not mine. He never will be. And yet, here I am, sitting at my desk in the middle of the morning, staring at a half-finished logo while my body still remembers the dream like it actually happened.
God, what is wrong with me? He’s practically family now, always around since Bella and Switch got together, sitting at our family dinners, my brother-in-law’s best friend. He shouldn’t be the first thing I think about in the morning or the last thought I cling to at night, but here I am, already aching for a man who will never be mine.
My phone lights up on my desk.
Bella:Dinner at our place tonight! Jax is one month old, and Switch insists we celebrate.
Brooke:God, please tell me he’s not cooking. My stomach still hasn't recovered from last time.
