Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
INDIGO
The music blares from the speakers, rattling the bottles on the back of the bar as the night crowd surges through Crimson’s doors. Bodies press against the polished bar, waving bills, voices clamoring for attention. The scent of whiskey, perfume, and sweat thickens the air, mingling with the glory of liquor bottles under the dim overhead lights.
I work the room like a well-rehearsed actress, flitting between customers, flashing teasing smiles, leaning in just enough to keep their eyes—and their wallets—on me. It’s all a game. And I play it well.
I twirl a cocktail shaker above my head, catching it with a dramatic flourish before pouring the mix into a glass, barely looking at the guy ogling me from across the bar. He’s the type who thinks if he stares long enough, I’ll crawl over the counter and suck his soul out through his dick.
Not tonight, sweetheart.
I slide the drink toward him with a wink just to be mean, then turn away before he can get the courage to say something stupid.
I’m halfway through flipping a bottle of Jameson when a shift in the air prickles the back of my neck. Something… different.
Not a threat. But something else.
I glance up, and oh, fuck me sideways.
Malik.
Standing near the entrance, looking big and solid and devastatingly out of place in this den of bad decisions.
He’s got that quiet, self-assured stance, broad shoulders stretching the hell out of a plaid shirt like he just walked off a lumberjack calendar. Jeans hugging his thick thighs. Boots scuffed from actual work . A walking monument to stability.
A man like that doesn’t belong here.
But then again, neither do I.
He’s holding a gift bag in one of those massive hands, his eyes scanning the crowd, and when they land on me, my stomach does some embarrassing, fluttery bullshit I want to stab.
I slam the Jameson bottle down harder than necessary.
He starts walking toward me, and I swear to God, it’s like the crowd just parts for him. Either because of his size or because people instinctively sense that this man isn’t the kind you fuck with.
"Malik?" My voice comes out a little breathless. Ugh.
"Told you I might stop by." His lips twitch like he’s amused, but doesn’t want to encourage me.
Yeah, and I might have a healthy coping mechanism, but here we fucking are.
He extends the gift bag, the tissue paper crinkling in his grip.
I take it, ripping into it like an animal, and then?—
Oh. Oh, holy shit.
I squeal . Loud and completely unhinged.
"NO FUCKING WAY."
I yank the skull out of the bag and clutch it to my chest like I’ve just been handed the Ark of the Covenant.
It’s a deer skull, painted matte black with delicate silver inlays swirling like veins of obsidian. The antlers sparkle with tiny gemstones, catching the dim bar lighting like shattered starlight.
I jump up and down, shaking the skull in Malik’s face. "Do you have any idea how much I fucking love this?! I could kiss you right now—WAIT, no, I should marry you. This is a marriage-level gift. I swear to God, you just put a ring on my soul."
Malik lets out this deep, amused chuckle, and it makes my brain misfire. "Figured you’d like it."
"Like it? This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever given me. If someone gave me this in high school, I probably wouldn’t have turned out so fucked up." I tilt my head. "Actually… no, I’d probably still be a menace. But I’d have had a head start on collecting bones."
His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—something quiet, something knowing. "You’re really that excited over a skull?"
"Malik." I stare at him, gripping the deer skull like it’s my firstborn. "Look at me. Look at what I’m into. You knew who you were giving this to."
He does look at me. And it feels… different.
There’s no hesitation. No judgment. Just… acceptance.
And that scares me more than anything.
I hurry around the bar and press a quick, impulsive kiss to his lips before I can talk myself out of it.
Malik doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t even hesitate. Instead, he lets out a quiet chuckle against my mouth, one big hand settling against my hip like it’s second nature.
I smirk up at him as I pull back, still clutching the skull to my chest. "Too late to take it back. I’m keeping the skull and the kiss."
"Didn’t plan on taking either away from you."
The way he says it—calm, assured, like he means it—sends something sharp and dangerous skittering down my spine.
I roll my eyes, fighting the way my stomach flips. "Ugh. Stop being sweet. I’m trying to pretend this isn’t a rom-com."
"Good luck with that," he murmurs.
"Go sit at the end of the bar. I’ll get you a drink before I start planning our wedding."
Malik, to his credit, doesn’t argue. Just shakes his head, muttering something about me being too much as he makes his way to the quieter end of the bar.
I set my new prized possession beside the register, pausing to stroke the skull reverently. "We’re gonna be best friends, buddy."
Then, I grab a glass, pour his usual—VO and Sprite, no ice—and slide it down the bar to him.
"On the house."
"You don’t have to?—"
"Shh." I put a finger to my lips. "Take the free drink and let me continue pretending we’re in a horror movie meet-cute."
His deep chuckle makes my stomach do that thing again.
I fucking hate it.
Something’s different tonight.
I flirt, I tease, I work the room like I always do, but there’s a weight to Malik’s presence that I feel no matter where I go. A gravity that tethers me to this spot, to him , no matter how many times I try to float above it.
He watches me.
Not like the drunk idiots who mistake my smiles for invitations to ruin my night. Not like the cocky ones who think if they tip me enough, I’ll suddenly find them fuckable. Not even like the occasional psycho who stares too long, waiting for me to slip up, waiting to catch me off guard.
No, Malik watches me like he knows me. Like he’s dissecting every move, collecting every glance, cataloging every breath.
Like he’s learning me.
And that should probably freak me out.
Instead?
It thrills me.
There’s hunger in his gaze, slow-burning and devastating, and it follows me like a second shadow as I pour drinks, as I laugh too loudly at bad jokes, as I lean in close enough to let men think they have a chance. But now? Now there’s an edge to it. A sharpness that makes my skin prickle, and my pulse trip over itself.
I tilt my head at him from across the bar, lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.
My stomach flips.
Not in the run, bitch, someone’s watching you way I should be used to.
No, this is different. This is the kind of attention that makes my blood run hot. That makes me want to poke at him, test him, push just enough to see what he’ll do.
The worst part?
I think if I peeled myself open, if I let him see the things lurking inside me—the rot, the hunger, the things no one else gets close enough to touch?—
I think he’d still look at me like this.
And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.
I’m about halfway through my shift when the universe decides to remind me that I can’t have one fucking nice thing.
Because who the fuck struts into my bar like she owns the place?
None other than Elle.
Fucking Elle.
The blonde parasite who once sunk her manicured claws into my man, playing her little poor me games, bleeding him dry before tossing him away like garbage. The same chick who acted like she was doing him a favor by wasting his time.
My stomach clenches. I hope Malik doesn’t notice her. Hope she keeps her gold-digging, remorseless ass moving. After all, he won. He came out victorious in this game she played.
But luck?
Not on my side tonight.
Because Elle sees him. And the second she does, her blue eyes lock onto him like she’s got a goddamn sniper scope attached to her fake lashes.
I swear to fucking God.
She struts toward him, swaying her hips like some sultry predator about to sink her teeth into prey. Bitch, he's not prey. He's mine.
Her hand lands on his shoulder.
I’m already moving.
Not because I don’t trust Malik. But because if she hurts him again, if she so much as breathes the wrong way?—
I will make her hurt so bad, she won’t remember her own fucking name .
I slide a glass of ice water across the bar in front of her, my eyes never leaving Malik’s. I wink at him, a silent I got you, baby.
His lips twitch into a smirk, eyes dark with amusement.
Good. He knows I’m watching. He knows I’ll handle it.
I grab a pint glass and start making a drink for the couple next to him, pouring vodka, tequila, blue curacao, mango juice, orange juice, lemon, and a squeeze of fresh orange. I’m focused. Professional. But my ears?
Locked in.
Elle giggles. Giggles.
"Baby, don’t be that way," she coos, voice dripping in fake sugar. "I’ve been searching for you. We had a connection. Buy me a drink and we’ll talk."
I swear, my grip on the bottle tightens just a little too much.
"No thanks." Malik’s voice is flat.
Elle pouts. "Oh, come on, I’m sorry, sexy."
"I don’t care." His tone sharpens, clipped and unforgiving. "Go find some other poor sap to manipulate and drain. I’m taken."
Oh, that’s when she loses it.
The mask slips.
Water splashes across Malik’s face, dripping down his shirt as Elle screeches.
"You ungrateful piece of shit!" she snarls. "A man like you should be fucking thankful a girl like me even let you spend money on her. You think you stood a chance with me? Please. You’re fat and gross, and that’s why I gave you a fake number. You really thought I wanted you?"
Malik doesn’t move.
Doesn’t flinch.
But his face?—
I see the flicker of hurt before he smothers it, locking it away behind that quiet, unbreakable exterior.
And that?
That’s when I lose it .
I’m over the bar before I consciously decide to move, vaulting it like it’s a goddamn backyard fence. I land lightly on my feet, walk up, tap Elle on the shoulder?—
And the second she turns?
I smack the taste out of her mouth.
Hard.
Her head jerks to the side, a sharp gasp escaping her lips before she stumbles back.
She barely has time to react before I step in and drive my fist into her nose.
The crunch is delicious .
Blood spurts, running in rivulets down her perfect, surgically sculpted face.
I lick my lips .
Because fuck, that’s satisfying.
"You crazy fucking bitch!" Elle shrieks, clutching her face.
Good. Maybe now she’ll learn to watch her fucking mouth.
"What the hell is going on here?" Emil, the bouncer, strides over, his deep voice cutting through the chaos.
Elle’s eyes go wild as she points at me. "This bartender whore Hit Me!"
I tilt my head, smile slow and sweet. "You were bullying my patrons, Elle. We don’t tolerate that here. Throw her out, Emil." I pause, then add with a sharper edge, "Especially when it comes to my man."
Emil doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Elle by the arm and drags her toward the door, ignoring her shrieks and curses.
In the rush of the chaos, Elle’s card slips out of her hand and lands on the bar. I don't bother picking it up. I'll deal with that later.
And just like that—she’s gone .
I exhale, rolling my shoulders back, stretching out the last of my frustration. When I turn back to Malik, he’s staring at me.
Not with shock. Not with disapproval.
But with something dark.
Something hungry.
"That was hot."
My grin stretches, sharp and satisfied. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He licks his lips, eyes dragging over me. "You’re fucking insane."
"And you love it."
His silence is telling.
No, he hasn’t said it yet.
But I can feel it.
And fuck, I love it too.
The crowd thins. The music dies down. The scent of whiskey and sweat lingers in the air like the ghost of something reckless.
By the time I’m locking up, my nerves are a live wire under my skin. The high of the night, the gift, him —it’s all too much.
Malik is still at the bar, his glass half-full. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t wavered. Just sat there, watching, waiting.
For me .
"You sticking around just to make sure I don’t get murdered in the parking lot, or do you secretly enjoy my company?" I slide onto the stool next to him, tilting my head.
His lips twitch. "Little of both."
"Romantic."
"Practical." He leans in, his presence swallowing the space between us. "You wanna head home?" His voice is casual, but the heat in his eyes is anything but.
That look—it should make me run.
But I don’t.
"Yeah. Take me home, big guy."
I grab my bag, the deer skull, and let him lead me out.
And as we step into the night, I wonder if he knows he’s leading me somewhere far more dangerous than my house.
Because I’m starting to think Malik is the only thing in this world that could actually ruin me.
And I don’t know if I want to stop him.