Chapter 22 Definitely Not Taking It #3
Breathing. In one piece. Scowling in her sleep 10/10
Elias:
We’ll talk after your shift.
Translation: he wants details. I’ll give him the PG-13 version and keep the rest where it belongs—in my head and between my sheets.
Before I leave, I stand in the bedroom doorway for another second.
“Hey,” I say softly, even though she can’t hear me. “Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone, yeah? I like my stuff.”
She doesn’t move. I smile anyway and slip out, locking the door behind me.
The bar is slow at first. Wednesday nights usually are.
A couple of regulars at the far end, nursing beers and watching the game.
A pair of girls at a high-top taking selfies.
Some guy in a suit pretending not to check his phone every thirty seconds.
It’s easy to fall into routine. Wipe, pour, ring up, pretend I’m not checking my phone more than usual to see if Raine’s texted yet.
She hasn’t.
Which I'm fine with, because it means she’s still out.
About three hours in, things pick up—more bodies, louder music, someone starting a tab big enough to make the owner happy. I’m halfway through making a round of whiskey sours when the air shifts subtlety. I glance up, frowning when I spot him.
Bash walks all confident, in the same kind of sleek black suit I saw him in last time. His presence drags the room’s attention without him even trying, and it grates me more than it should.
He’s not alone, of course. One of his guys is with him, the same broad, silent slab of muscle from the garage, eyes doing quick sweeps while Bash struts toward the bar.
What really snags my attention, though, is the bruise.
Faint, but there—on Bash’s cheekbone, just under his eye.
Blooming purple beneath porcelain skin. My fingers curl tighter around the shaker.
“Everything okay?” the girl at the high-top asks, watching my expression.
“Peachy.” I give the mixer one last shake, sliding her drink across the bar. “Flag me if you need anything stronger.”
I force my posture loose, lazy, like I don’t give a shit who just walked in, just as Bash takes a seat dead center at the bar. His guy stands a few feet back, close enough to jump in if needed but far enough back to look casual.
“What can I get you?” I ask, already knowing I’m going to hate the answer.
Bash looks me up and down, amused. “You serve anything decent here, or is it all sugar and cheap alcohol?”
“I can probably find you something that burns on the way down if it’ll make you feel at home.”
His mouth curves, slow. “Tequila. Neat.”
“Coming right up.”
I pour the good stuff, wanting him relaxed. He takes the shot when I slide it over without breaking eye contact as he tips it back. He swallows slowly, savoring, then sets the glass down with an appreciative little tap.
“At least you’re competent. That’s something.”
“Wow,” I drawl, bracing my hands against the high-top and holding tight to keep from doing something stupid. “High praise from a man whose suit costs more than my bike.”
“It should.” He glances around the bar with mild disdain. “I work harder.”
“Yeah. Breaking kneecaps, stealing, really grueling stuff.”
He chuckles. “You’re funny.”
“I get that a lot.”
The air between us goes still as he realizes I'm not shaking in my boots just cause he's here. He toys with the empty glass, rolling it between his fingers. The bruise on his cheek catches the light again.
Oh, I just can’t help myself.
“What happened there?” I nod at his face. “Walk into a door? Trip over your ego?”
His gaze sharpens, clearly no longer amused. “No. Your girl hit me.”
Everything inside me goes quiet as I wrap my head around that.
“My what?” I ask, tone still easy, like he just commented on the weather.
“Raine.” His tongue rolls the name like it amuses him. “She’s scrappy. I like that about her.”
“Why did she hit you exactly?” I ask, unable to bite my tongue, knowing she wouldn't risk his wrath for no good reason.
It takes effort not to reach across the bar and wrap my hand around his throat at the thought of him doing something to her. He leans back on the stool, legs crossing at the ankle, settling in like this is story time and not the part where I consider murder.
“I stopped by the shop. Wanted to check on her progress. Offer a little… incentive.”
My jaw tightens. “Incentive.”
He ignores me as he goes on. “She’s stubborn, that one. Always has been. I told her I was willing to be generous, considering how much I’ve invested in her. Offered to cut this month’s rent if she’d… entertain me.”
My fingers curl around the bar so hard my knuckles ache.
“And?” My voice scrapes, doing my best to hold myself back.
“And she kissed me.” His eyes glitter. “First.”
Something in my chest cracks, knowing with absolute certainty she wouldn't.
I'm going to fucking kill you.
“That so?” I ask, my mouth still working on autopilot.
“She came in close, put her hands on me, and gave me something sweet.” He taps his bruised cheek with one finger. “Then when I went back for more, she changed her mind and put her fist here instead. I’ll give her credit. She hits hard.”
He smiles, slow and cold, like she's only playing hard to get.
“Didn’t expect that from her. I thought she was smarter.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice so tight it hurts to speak. “She can be a real disappointment.”
He studies me, trying to decide how much I know, how much I care. He doesn’t see all of it, but he sees enough.
“You don’t like hearing that, do you?” he asks, amused again, studying me closely.
I smile back, all teeth. “I don’t like men who don’t understand consent. But maybe that’s just the bleeding heart in me.”
He lifts a shoulder, eyes glued to my own. “She’s attracted to power. She can pretend otherwise, but in the end, people like her? They always crawl back. I’m patient.”
“Good for you. Maybe put that on a tote bag.”
He laughs. Actually laughs. “I see why she keeps you around. You’re entertaining.”
“You’re not exactly boring yourself. In a ‘human oil slick’ kind of way.”
His eyes cool another degree.
“You’re very sure of yourself for someone in your position.”
“What position is that?” I ask. “Middle of a double shift, tips relying on whether or not I smile at people?”
He leans forward, elbows on the bar, voice dropping.
“A man Raine cares about. Standing in front of me with no backup, and no idea how far I’m willing to go when someone gets in the way of my investment.”
I force a smirk. “You’re really into this whole ‘I own her’ thing. It’s weird, man. You ever tried therapy?”
“Why would I pay a stranger to hear me talk when I have people like you for free?”
He straightens, taps the empty glass again.
“Another.” He taps his glass.
“No,” I answer, before I can stop myself.
His brows climb. “No?”
“That’s your limit.” I slide the glass away. “House policy. A shot, then you switch to water, or you go bother someone else.”
He studies me for a long stretch, narrowing his eyes when he finds something he doesn't like.
“You’re not afraid, are you?"
“That’s not true,” I answer. “I’m terrified. I just don’t respect you enough to act like it.”
Something mean and pleased flickers across his face.
“You’re going to get yourself hurt.” His voice is gentle, almost ironically. “Or worse, you’re going to get her hurt. She owes me more than she can pay. And I've given her options. Maybe she’ll decide it’s easier to be mine for a little while than to watch the people she loves struggle.”
My pulse spikes so high all I see is red.
“Don’t keep her from crawling to me when she finally does,” he adds, sliding off the stool. “It won’t end well for you.”
He tosses a couple of bills on the bar, cash for the drink, like this is just a normal night out and not a loaded threat.
His guy falls into step behind him as he heads for the door. And by some miracle, all I do is watch him go, every cell in my body screaming to jump the bar, to break his nose, to make his other cheek match, to drag him outside and let Betty Bop finish the job.
I stand there, not trusting myself to move while I can still see him. Once he's out the door and I can no longer feel the night air bleed in, I pull my phone from my back pocket, and open the group thread—the one without Raine—and type with fingers that don’t feel entirely steady.
Jax:
We need to handle bash. TODAY.
Then I look back up at the door, at the space he just walked through, and make myself a quiet little promise.
You think she’s going to crawl to you.
You have no idea what’s coming.