He won’t ever stay sober so this will buy me some more time.
Then I hang up before he can respond.My hands are shaking.I set the phone down on the bar and stare at the bubbles rising in my soda.
Two years.
Two years since I managed to walk away.Two years unsettled, looking over my shoulder constantly.The first few months the calls were daily threatening to find me and kill me.From going to northern Louisiana, to Mississippi, even into Memphis, Tennessee, I’ve tried to put miles between us.No matter what he seems to find me.Until he would find another woman to keep his attention I was tormented.A new girlfriend was a reprieve, giving me short bursts of peace.In between girlfriends, though, he tortured me.Which is why I went on the run with our daughter.
The life I have had isn’t good for a young child.She is in a good school.She’s excited.It’s the only reason I agreed to meet him and not just uprooting us once again.I don’t want to take her away from the friends she has made.
Two years of raising Quinn alone.
And now he decides he wants to play dad and coparent in a safe way.That was what he said to arrange this meeting.A meeting in a bar… I should have known better.This is another game to feed his ego.
A laugh bursts from the far side of the bar, loud and sloppy.I try to ignore it.I finish half my soda and tell myself I’ll leave in five minutes.Just long enough to calm down and get myself straight.I don’t want Quinn to see me rattled.I decide I’ll take the long way home to make sure he isn’t nearby to follow me.
The tension begins to ease as I let the cold liquid of my drink settle in my belly.That’s when I feel it.Someone standing too close behind me.The smell of whiskey hits my nose.
“Well now,” a man’s voice with a heavy southern drawl mutters.“Ain’t you the prettiest thing in here tonight.”
My shoulders stiffen.I glance over my shoulder.Big mistake.He wanted my attention and now he has it.The man looming behind me is huge.Thick neck, red face, eyes glassy from alcohol.His flannel shirt is half untucked and his beard looks like it hasn’t been trimmed in months.
He grins.And that smirk makes my skin crawl.
“Hi,” I greet politely, already sliding off the stool.“Excuse me.I’m headed out.”
His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.The world stops.“Aw, don’t be like that,” he says.“You just got here.”
My breath catches.Old instincts slam into place.
Freeze.Don’t make it worse.“I’m actually leaving,” I reply carefully.
He chuckles.“You ain’t leaving yet.”
My heart starts pounding.I try to pull my wrist free but his grip tightens.The bar noise keeps going around us—music, laughter, pool balls cracking.
No one notices.Or maybe they do.Maybe they just don’t care.
“Let go,” I whisper.
Instead, he steps closer.Too close.“You come here alone?”he asks, breath smothered with the scent of whiskey.
My body locks up.Memories flash like lightning behind my eyes.Another man.Another hand grabbing my arm.Another room where no one helped.I stop breathing.
“C’mon,” he coaxes, tugging my wrist.“Let’s go have a drink somewhere quiet.”
My feet won’t move.My voice won’t work.The old fear creeps up my spine like ice water.I hate this feeling.Absolutely hate it.I told myself when I left, this was it.I wouldn’t feel this frozen by fear thing again.
“Hey.”A voice cuts through the air like a knife.
Deep.Calm.Dangerous.The drunk man pauses.He doesn’t release me though.
“The lady asked you to let go.”
My head turns.And everything shifts.The man standing a few feet away is tall.Tall enough that the overhead light catches the top of his dark hair and leaves the rest of him shadowed.He wears a leather vest over a black T-shirt, jeans worn pale at the knees, heavy boots planted like roots in the floor.The vest is covered in patches.I can’t read all of it in the darkness of the bar.I know he’s part of the Kings because they are the only club in the area and they all wear those vests.Lindsey gave me a brief explanation about local biker lore when I started working at her ice cream shop.
His eyes move from the man gripping my wrist to my face.And something in them hardens.
“Let.Her.Go.”
