The bar cracked up, but not in a friendly way. It was the kind of laughter that means someone’s about to bleed. I felt the muscles in my neck go tight. My hand drifted to the knife at my hip, but Melissa beat me to it. She was upand on her feet, glass raised, ready to bring it down on the guy’s skull. He flinched. For a second, nobody moved.
“Jesus, sit down,” I muttered.
She did, never breaking eye contact with her would-be challenger. He shuffled off, muttering under his breath.
I leaned in. “If you’re trying to get killed, you’re doing a hell of a job.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” she said. “I’m afraid of you.”
That landed. I didn’t know what to do with it. I took a pull of her beer, ignoring the flecks of blood on the rim. “What did I ever do to scare you?”
She looked at me with something close to pity. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re worse than they are. At least they don’t pretend to be anything else.”
I wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the words died on my tongue. Maybe she was right.
The jukebox cut out. For a second, all you could hear was the buzz of neon and the wet sound of someone puking in the men’s room.
“I’m not a Leatherback,” I said. “You’re not my problem.”
Her voice was so quiet I had to lean in to hear it. “But I am your problem. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’ll get yourself killed over a girl who can’t even stand the sight of you.”
I laughed, short and mean. “Is that what you think?”
“I know it,” she shot back. “You think I’m just some pawn in your little club war? I don’t belong to anyone. Not you, not Cutler, not Saint.”
A few heads turned at the name. Melissa didn’t seem to care.
I set my jaw. “You keep saying you’re not a pawn, but you sure as hell act like one. Running into bars, starting shit, waiting for someone to rescue you. If you want to be your own woman, act like it.”
She bristled. “What do you know about women, Augustine? You ever met one you didn’t try to fix?”
“I never tried to fix you. Just stop you from getting yourself killed.”
Her hands balled into fists. “Maybe I want to get killed. Maybe that’s easier than living with the bullshit. Did you ever think of that?”
I didn’t answer. I felt every eye on us, waiting for the next explosion.
She leaned in, so close I could taste the smoke on her breath. “Go ahead. Say what you’re really thinking.”
I did. “You’re the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met. And if you keep pushing, I’m gonna drag you back to theclubhouse myself.”
She grinned, but there was no happiness in it. “You and what army?”
And then she did the last thing I expected: she grabbed me by the front of my cut and kissed me, hard.
Everything stopped. The bar, the music, even the slow burn in my chest. Her lips were split, hot with blood, and the kiss tasted like iron and spite. She bit down, just enough to hurt, and when I didn’t pull away, she kissed me again, deeper this time.
When we finally broke apart, half the bar was staring. Nobody said a word.
She wiped her mouth, still smiling. “Congratulations. You just made yourself the most wanted man in Los Alamos.”
I shrugged. “Story of my life.”
***
The bathroom door didn’t have a lock, but that didn’t matter—she slammed it shut with a boot, then went for my belt like it was a ticking bomb. She kissed me again, harder this time, biting at my lip until I tasted blood.
I should have stopped her. Should have said something, anything, about timing, about the fucking crowd outside.But every nerve ending was on fire, and I’d never been good at denying pain or pleasure.
