Chapter 13
Alexis
It’s Saturday, and ever since Dex helped me through my father’s anniversary the other day, he’s been kind of… distant .
I’m polishing glasses, the bar not that busy, while Dex and Stephen move tables in the back, making more room for the band that will be playing live in a few days.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
I look up from the glass in my hand and find a man with brown eyes and a thick mustache staring at me. Two others stand beside him, watching me the same way.
The way their eyes move over my body makes something twist uncomfortably in my stomach.
“Hello,” I say evenly. “What can I get you?”
“Can I have you?”
The other two laugh.
So this is how tonight’s going to be.
I swallow the irritation crawling up my throat.
“Beer? Something to eat?” I ask, ignoring him.
“Three beers to start,” he says with a smirk. “And maybe I’ll have you later.”
I fight the shudder threatening to run through me and turn toward the taps, pouring their drinks while my eyes search the room for Stephen or Dex.
They’re both near the stage, making room for the band’s equipment.
Too far away.
I carry the beers back and set them down one by one.
As I place the last glass in front of Mustache Man, his hand shoots forward and grabs my wrist.
Every muscle in my body locks, my chest tightening as cold floods my veins so fast it steals the air from my lungs.
“Let go,” I whisper.
But I’m not here anymore.
I’m back in my old bedroom, summer heat pressing against my skin, the window open because the air inside felt too heavy to breathe. Russell is there, and his friend…
The grip on my arm makes me feel small again. Fragile again. My legs start to shake, my body folding in on itself as the past crashes into the present.
Air won’t come.
“Come on, darling,” he says. “I just want to get to know you some.” His friends laugh.
Pain shoots through my wrist as his grip tightens, tears blurring my vision until suddenly…
I’m free.
A loud crack echoes through the bar.
I stumble backward into the beer taps, blinking hard as the room snaps back into focus.
Dex is there.
One hand wrapped around Mustache Man’s neck, forcing his face down against the bar.
His voice is low. Deadly quiet.
“You want to keep your hand?”
The look in his eyes makes something inside me go still.
“I was just…”
Dex slams his head against the bar again. “I said,” he repeats, even quieter now, “do you want to keep your hand?”
Mustache Man starts shaking. His friends are already stepping away like they don’t know him.
Dex like this is lethal. This is the MC he used to be.
“N-no,” the man stammers.
Dex jerks his head up and forces him to look at me. “Apologize.”
“I…I’m sorry,” the man says quickly.
Dex slams his head down again.
“No,” he growls. “Say it like you mean it.”
The entire bar has gone silent. Every single person is watching.
“I am so sorry,” the man says, his voice shaking.
Dex releases him and shoves him straight into Mike, the bouncer.
“Get rid of him,” Dex says. “And make sure everyone knows he doesn’t set foot in this bar again.”
Mike drags him toward the exit while his friends scramble after him.
Then Dex is in front of me.
His green eyes search mine, the anger gone as fast as it came. “Tinker?”
His hand comes up gently, brushing my cheek. “You okay?”
I nod, even though my heartbeat still hasn’t slowed, my chest still tight, like my body hasn’t caught up to the fact that it’s over.
His gaze drops to my wrist.
Red fingerprints bloom across my skin.
His jaw tightens.
“Motherfucker’s lucky there’s a full bar and too many witnesses.”
His thumb brushes lightly over the marks, careful, like he’s afraid he might hurt me too.
I should still be shaking. Still be panicking.
But his scent surrounds me again, and something inside me settles, the edges of the fear softening just enough that I can breathe again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He studies me for one more second, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
Then he steps back. “Take a break,” he says quietly.
And just like that, he turns and walks away.
? ? ?
Dexter
I slam the door behind me and brace my hands on the desk, my head dropping forward as I try to steady my breathing, but it’s coming too fast, too sharp, like something inside me hasn’t caught up yet, like it’s still back there at the bar, still wrapped around that moment I can’t seem to shake.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling hard, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to quiet what’s clawing its way up inside my chest.
I can’t do this.
I can’t go off like that every time someone even looks at her wrong, can’t let that part of me take over like it never left, like I didn’t spend years learning how to keep it locked down.
But when I saw his hand on her arm… when I saw the look in her eyes…
That panic.
That wasn’t about him.
That was something older, something buried deep enough that it came out before she could stop it, before she could even hide it, and the second I saw it, something in me snapped so fast I didn’t even think.
Didn’t hesitate.
All I knew was that I wanted to hurt him.
Bad .
Wanted to make sure he never touched her again.
Wanted to make sure no one ever did.
I push off the desk, pacing once across the room before dragging both hands through my hair, the tension sitting too tight under my skin, like I need to burn it out or it’s going to spill over again.
Fuck .
This is exactly what I don’t need.
She’s getting under my skin in a way that doesn’t make sense, in a way I don’t like, and in a way I definitely don’t trust, because I don’t do this, don’t get attached, don’t let someone who’s only been here a few weeks matter more than my own control.
And the worst part?
I don’t want her to stop.
I shove that thought down hard, like I can crush it before it takes root.
No .
Not happening.
I grab my phone before I can think too much about it and call Jude, already moving toward the stairs because I need out of here, need distance, need something to hit before I start thinking too clearly about the way she looked at me.
He picks up on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“I need the ring,” I say, not slowing down. “You up for it?”
There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough that I know he’s already figured out this isn’t about a workout.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
He hangs up, and I don’t waste time. Upstairs, change, hoodie, sweats, boots, a quick text to Stephen to close up tonight, no explanation, no room for questions, and then I’m out the door before I can second-guess it.
Before I can think about her.
About the way her body locked up under someone else’s touch.
About how close I came to doing something I wouldn’t take back.
Jude’s barn sits at the edge of the property, dark wood against a sky heavy with snow, the light inside spilling through the cracks like a quiet invitation, and the second I step in, the smell hits me. Hay, cold air, leather, sweat. All of it grounding in a way nothing else is right now.
The ring sits in the middle, ropes worn but solid, canvas marked from years of use, and Jude is already there, of course he is, moving with that same quiet precision he always has, his fists hitting the heavy bag in slow, steady strikes that don’t waste energy, don’t show off, just land exactly where they’re meant to.
He doesn’t look at me when I walk in.
Just keeps going.
Like he already knows.
I strip off my jacket and toss it aside, grabbing the wraps and winding them around my hands, tighter than necessary, like if I pull hard enough I can hold everything in place, keep it from slipping.
Jude finally glances over, eyes dark and unreadable, then jerks his chin toward the ring.
No questions.
He never asks.
I climb in, rolling my shoulders as I wait for him, my body already tight, already coiled, like it knows exactly what I came here for.
He finishes with the bag and joins me, adjusting his gloves with that same quiet focus, and the second he’s ready, he comes at me without warning.
Fast.
His fist connects with my ribs before I fully settle, the impact knocking the air from my lungs in a sharp rush that feels like punishment, like he’s not easing me into this, not giving me a second to think.
Good .
I hit back, harder, letting it all out in the first swing, then the next, falling into the rhythm of it as we move across the canvas, boots shifting, breath coming faster, heavier, the sound of gloves hitting flesh echoing through the barn.
He doesn’t go easy.
Never has.
Every hit lands with purpose, with weight, like he’s trying to knock whatever the hell is wrong with me loose, and I give it right back, swinging harder, faster, letting the anger, the frustration, the confusion bleed into every punch.
But my head’s not in it.
Not really.
Because it keeps pulling me back.
To her.
To the way her breath hitched like she couldn’t get enough air in.
To the way her body froze under his hand.
To the way she looked at me after, like I was the only thing keeping her from breaking.
I take a hit straight to the face, hard enough that my head snaps to the side, copper flooding my mouth as I taste blood.
“Focus,” Jude mutters.
I wipe my lip with the back of my hand, shaking it off, but the truth is I can’t.
Because every time I close my eyes, I see that moment again.
That look.
And I feel it.
That urge.
That need to break something, to make it right in the only way I know how.
I go at him harder, faster, letting it all out, pushing until my muscles burn and my lungs feel like they’re tearing open, until the edge starts to dull just enough that I can breathe without feeling like I’m about to snap.
Time blurs.
Everything narrows down to movement, impact, breath.
Until finally, I slow.
My arms heavy.
My chest heaving.
The tension not gone, but quieter.
Contained.
Jude lowers his hands slightly, watching me in that same silent way, like he’s already pieced it together.
“Her?” he asks.
Just that.
One word.
I let out a rough breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Yeah.”
He nods once, like that explains everything.
Because it does.
I lean back against the ropes, staring up at the wooden beams, trying to ignore the way her face keeps slipping back into my head.
“I don’t like it,” I admit, the words coming out rougher than I expect.
Jude doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
“She looks at me like…” I trail off, jaw tightening, because I don’t even know how to say it without it sounding like something I don’t want to admit.
“Like she needs something.”
A beat passes.
“And you want to give it,” he says.
Not a question.
I huff out something between a laugh and a curse, shaking my head.
“Yeah,” I admit. “And that’s the problem.”
Jude shrugs slightly, like it’s simple, like it’s nothing. “Then don’t.”
I push off the ropes, grabbing a water bottle, because if it were that easy, I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be trying to beat this out of my system like it’s something I can just shake loose.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s the plan.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s already too late.
Because I’ve never wanted to break my own rules this badly before.
“But, Dex?”
I look up and find him staring at me, really staring this time, not just watching the fight, but studying me like he’s trying to figure something out I don’t even understand myself.
“Why don’t you want that?”
The question lands heavier than it should, like it hits somewhere deeper than I expect, somewhere I don’t have a clean answer for.
I look away, jaw tightening.
“I don’t fucking know.”
Jude nods once, like that’s answer enough, like he wasn’t expecting anything clearer than that.
Then he steps forward, lifting his hands again.
And we start all over.