Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The door shuts behind me with a bang that makes my skin crawl. Heat rushes up to meet me—beer, sweat, leather, smoke, whiskey sharp enough to scrape my throat from across the room. Music slams into my chest, bass line steady like a heartbeat I don’t trust.
This place isn’t mine. Not the bar, not the neighborhood, not the men who fill it like wolves lazing in the den. But when you’ve got a shadow breathing down your neck, you go where shadows are bigger, meaner, and more likely to bite back.
My heels click too loud against the floorboards, but I don’t slow. Chin up, shoulders back, fake it till the lie sticks. If he followed me in here… No. Don’t give him that. Don’t let him win twice.
The bar stretches in front of me, long and battered, the kind of wood that remembers every fight it’s seen. Three of them sit right in the middle like they own it. Leather cuts. Saints. I clock the patches even though I don’t know what half the symbols mean.
The one in the middle is chewing a toothpick like he’s daring someone to knock it out. His friend on the far side doesn’t move, but his eyes track like a sniper’s. And then—him.
The one leaning on his elbows, grin already curling like he knew I was coming.
Dark hair damp at the temples, skin bronzed, eyes glinting sharp even in the dim light. He’s got cheekbones that look carved, a mouth made for wickedness, and a stare that makes my insides squeeze tight.
He looks me over slowly. Not polite slow—hungry slow. Like he’s peeling me open to see what color I bleed.
“Lost?” he drawls, voice lazy and thick, like he’s in no rush for the answer.
I cock my head, smirk sharp. “Do I look lost?”
His grin spread. He drags his gaze over me again—heels, hips, coat too expensive for this block—and back up to my eyes. “Storm, you look like a diamond dropped in a sewer.”
I bark out a laugh, leaning one hip against the bar. “Wow. Do you practice lines like that in the mirror, or are you just naturally bad at it?”
The toothpick guy nearly spits his drink. Even the calm one’s mouth twitches, like he might be holding in a smirk. Joker doesn’t flinch. He tips his chin, eyes glittering, grin cutting deeper.
“You walked into Blacktrope Blood in heels.” He gestures lazily at me with his beer bottle. “Either you’re lost, or you’ve got a death wish.”
“I said neither.” I keep my voice steady, let my smirk sit pretty. My pulse is a jackhammer under my skin, but he doesn’t get that piece of me. Nobody does.
“Then you’re shopping,” he says, tone smooth and mocking. “So what’s on your list, Storm?”
I let my eyes drop to his mouth for just a second—long enough to make him notice—before I answer, “Boyfriend. Temporary one. Maybe two hours.”
His laugh bursts out, rough and raw, making half the bar turn their heads. He leans back on his stool like I just threw gasoline on a fire. “You offering to pay?”
I lift my chin. “Depends. You offering to be worth it?”
Toothpick guy whistles. Joker tilts his head, slow grin curling like he just found his new favorite game.
“Careful, Storm,” he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, “a mouth like that… a man might wanna keep it busy. Put it to better use.”
Heat licks down my spine, but I snort and flip my hair back, meeting him blow for blow. “Mouth’s not the only part of me that needs to be kept busy. Think you can keep up?”
The toothpick guy chokes on a laugh. “Rook, she’s gonna eat you alive.”
“Not unless I eat her first,” Joker shoots back without missing a beat, his eyes locked on mine.
I press my lips together to keep from grinning. Smart-ass. Cocky. Exactly the kind of trouble I should stay away from, but here I am, practically feeding myself to him.
“You’re cocky.”
“Correction.” He taps his chest with two fingers. “I’m Rook. Cocky’s my cousin. He gets less pussy.”
The calm one at his side shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, you’re unbearable.”
Rook winks at me, full of sin. “But I’m fun.”
My laugh slips out before I can stop it, too quick, too honest. I mask it with a roll of my eyes. “God, you’re exhausting. What do you even charge for two hours?”
He leans closer, the grin sharpening. “Depends. You got cash? Or are we negotiating in orgasms?”
My cheeks flame, but I bite my lip and narrow my eyes. “Two hours. Fake boyfriend. That’s it.”
“Fake boyfriends don’t kiss like I do.”
“Oh, so you’re bragging already?”
“Not bragging,” he says, slow and sure. “Promising.”
Something hot sparks low in my belly, but I straighten my shoulders, smirk in place. He doesn’t get to know how close to the truth he is. Not yet.
The door creaks behind me, a cold gust slicing through the heat. My stomach twists, but I don’t turn. Not here, not now. Because right now, all I’ve got is the act. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone in this place see me scared.
Rook watches me too close, too sharp. His grin never fades, but there’s something else in his eyes. Like he sees past the sass, right into the crack in my armor.
And the bastard likes it.