“Come on, Hollywood. Let me buy you a drink.”
I lift my half-full glass, ice clinking. “I’m good.”
Eyes narrowing, he bites out, “No reason to be a bitch. Don’t dress like that if you don’t want the attention.”
I see Russ stiffen behind the bar in my peripheral as heat prickles my neck.
“Hey,” Rachel starts, but I shake my head, silently telling herI’ve got this.
“You’re going to want to walk away,” I warn with a glare aimed right at him.
“Nah,” he breathes in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I like my women with a little fight. Bet I can tame you.”
His hand drags along my thigh brazenly, his touch sticky like the floor beneath us. Revulsion flashes hot. Before I can think, I hurl the rest of my whiskey sour into his smug face.
The bar erupts. Chairs scrape, voices shout. Russ surges forward, ready to drag the asshole out by his collar—
And then, the air shifts.
Leather. Vanilla. Mint. And a hint of smoke.That’s new.
The scent slams into me like a fist of memory.
My pulse stutters as my mind flies back in time to stolen kisses, midnight drives, and the boy I once thought was my forever.
Jett Riggsby.
Older. Rougher. More dangerous than the boy I once loved. The boy who shattered me. The one I tried and failed to forget.
And before my brain can catch up, his fist connects with the guy’s jaw, the crack echoing through The Spillway like thunder. The asshole stumbles against the bar, clutching his face, before Jett drives him back again, grip white-knuckled in his shirt.
Chaos. Violence. And him. Always him.
Russ barrels out from behind the counter, shoving in and trying to pry them apart. Massive arms wrap around Jett’s shoulders, but even with Russ stacked like a brick shit house, he struggles. Jett is a storm barely contained. Every vein in his forearm ropes tight, teeth bared, eyes blazing blue fire as he shoves forward again.
Electricity laces through me. One second, I’m frozen, and the next, strong arms snake around my waist, yanking me back. I flinch as a dull ache erupts from my ribs.
A strangled gasp tears from my throat. My stomach plummets, lungs clamping shut. For a split second, I’m not in this bar—I’m back in LA, unable to escape the monster’s presence.
Panic claws at me. I shove at the grip, nails biting skin.
“Quite the scene you’ve started, Drummond,” a once familiar voice drawls in my ear.
Heath Pierce. Once my friend, but now, he feels more like a stranger.
My body goes rigid, but for a whole new reason. Guilt gnaws at me for leaving behind our group of friends. But Heath and the other guys always felt more like Jett’s friends, and they tolerated me. Maybe I’ve had it wrong this whole time.
I twist, heart hammering, and meet Heath’s sharp jaw, the telltale tic pounding like a pulse beneath his skin. He looks at me like my very return ruined his night.
I scoff. “Do you honestly think that was my doing?”
“No, of course it wasn’t your fault,Princess,” he adds, sarcasm dripping. “You waltz in here dressed like this…”
“Oh, no,” I snap, cutting him off and shoving out of his grasp. “A woman isn’t asking to be harassed based on what she’s wearing.”
His jaw clenches. “I know that, and it’s not what I meant, but the other idiots don’t.”
Before I can fire back, Russ’s voice booms across the chaos. “Enough! Trevor, you and your buddies have two seconds to get the hell out of my bar before I ban you for life.”
