I pushed through the crowd, letting my elbows clear a path. The guy next to her—six-four, hands like cinderblocks—turned as I approached. His eyes narrowed, and he planted a hand on the bar to block my way.
“You lost?” he asked, his voice pure gravel.
I didn’t bother with a warning. I hooked his wrist, twisted until I felt the tendons stretch, and dropped him to one knee with a simple, practiced move. The bottle in Melissa’s hand was up and cocked in a heartbeat, but she lowered itwhen she saw my face.
“You’re late,” she said, lips curling.
“Didn’t know you were waiting.”
“I wasn’t.” She tried to stand, wobbled, and caught herself on the bar. “But you showed anyway.”
The cinderblock guy was back on his feet, massaging his wrist and looking for an angle to make a play. I stared him down until he thought better of it, then nodded at the bartender. “Give the lady water.”
The bartender poured it, hands shaking.
I took a stool next to Melissa. Up close, she smelled like cigarettes and the faintest trace of shampoo from the clubhouse shower. Her knuckles were split and raw. She’d fought her way here, maybe even liked it.
“Ready to go?” I asked.
She sneered. “What, and miss the big show?”
“What show?”
She drained the water, slammed the glass down. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
I felt the stares from the rest of the bar, little knives in my back. I felt the weight of every bad decision I’d made in the last forty-eight hours. There was no way out except through.
She smiled then, a sad, lopsided thing. “You love a lost cause, Augustine.”
“You want to tell me why you ran?”
She stared at her hands. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted a drink?”
“No.”
She waited, then said, “I don’t do well with cages, Augustine. Even the ones made of good intentions.”
I nodded, let the silence hang. The tension ratcheted up with every breath, the kind of static that said someone was about to do something wrong.
Melissa turned to face me, her eyes sharp and bright despite the swelling. “You ever get tired of playing hero?”
“I’m not a hero,” I said.
“Could’ve fooled me. You got the whole white knight routine down. Even threw in a damsel and a deadline.”
“I’m not saving you, Melissa. I’m keeping you alive long enough to figure your shit out.”
She bared her teeth. “And what if my shit is figuring out how to leave? What then?”
“I don’t let you go.” I said it quiet, but it hit hard.
The guy with the broken wrist from earlier limped back over, this time with backup. They boxed me in on either side. “You two done with your lover’s spat?” he growled. “Some of us wanna drink in peace.”
Melissa turned on him with a smile so sweet it was venom. “You want my seat, you can fight me for it.”
He looked at me, then back at her. “I don’t hit women.”
“Lucky for you,” she said, “I hit everyone.”
