Eris
The outside air is damp enough to make my skin feel sticky by the time we reach Spire, but the humidity carries with it the familiar scent of gardenias.
Roo purchased this bar on a whim last year. She’s turned it into the perfect hangout with low lights, high ceilings, and a playlist dangerous enough to incite riots in the streets of the Bay. The drinks that taste like sin, dressed up in citrus garnishes and an expert-level mixologist’s confidence.
It’s the kind of place that remembers you even when you pretend you’ve moved on.
The bouncer lets us in with a chin jerk the second he spots us. He grins as if he already knows tonight is going to be expensive. Roo winks at him, sliding a wad of cash and a note onto his clipboard. It’s her guest list for the night.
I follow in a high-slit skirt I only wear when I need the freedom to move. Glitter catches the light on my eyelids, and my mascara feels heavy on my lashes. But my pulse is steady and my attention is sharp.
I don’t intend to behave tonight.
Not that I ever do when we’re here.
Inside, the bass hits first, rattling in my chest so deeply that it loosens something tight behind my ribs. Bodies move in close proximity until sweat and perfume and intent blend into something alive.
Something familiar.
Blood-soaked.
It feels the same way it did a few months ago.
Before Daniel and the hit and the poor decision that won’t stop harassing me.
And it feels just like it did a few weeks ago, too.
Before stalkers and cameras and surveillance. Before apps with glowing hearts and men who orbit me like I’m gravity.
I can breathe here.
“Two of the usual,” Roo calls to the bartender, sidling up to the bar with a smile that could start wars.
“Still causing problems, Sokolov?” he asks, already reaching for the bottles.
“Always,” she says sweetly.
I raise a brow. “Regular friend, or friend friend?”
“He wishes.” She snorts. “You know I don’t fuck the employees.”
The drink she hands me is red and fizzy, probably illegal in at least three states. I don’t even ask what’s in it.
I never do at Spire because the cocktails are always divine.
We claim our favorite corner booth, velvet worn soft by a thousand bad decisions and better stories.
Roo claims déjà vu and laughs at something I said two years ago, in this exact booth, before she bought the business.
I laugh back and shake my head, recalling that particular night ending with bloodshed, a stolen motorcycle, and someone’s parrot we had to re-home.
We’re in totally different places in our lives right now.
For one reckless minute, it feels like everything might actually be okay.
At least on the surface.
I don’t check my phone. I don’t need to. My HimLock guys have weighted gazes. I feel them the way you feel a storm before the rain breaks. Pressure on my temples. Static against the back of my neck. They’re unseen, but very much present.
I glance around, casually taking in the patrons as I spy my guys.
One near the entrance where it meets the end of the bar. That’s Silas, probably, posture calm, liquid blue eyes cutting through the room like a blade.
Another by the dance floor. Watchful. Jace, maybe, pretending he isn’t cataloging every hand that drifts too close.
And Kieran would be above us on the mezzanine, if I had to guess. Near the stairs, watching the exits and calculating angles. Accounting for things that haven’t happened yet.
They don’t approach us or interfere with mine and Roo’s plan.
They hover.
Protective hovering. The you can play, but we’ll kill anyone who touches you kind.
And weirdly?
I like it.
It’s hot.
I sip my drink and lean back into the booth while Roo scans the crowd for someone to maim or make out with… Or both. I wouldn’t put it past her to stab someone while she’s kissing them.
“Remind me why we stopped doing this?” she comments.
“Because we had a job that I took too far, and then there were stalkers,” I say lightly. “And before that, you fell into a two-month situation-ship with a man who thought NFTs were a personality trait.”
She gags. “Don’t say those letters. I’m still recovering.”
I smirk into my glass. “And he’s still my favorite of your exes.”
And then Roo’s hand shifts ever-so-slightly, catching my attention and pointing me toward the bar.
The atmosphere of Spire feels wrong now that I know he’s breathing the same air as me. He feels like bugs crawling down the back of my neck. And I know I’m not the only one who gets the ick from him when the woman to his left looks at him and leans away.
Daniel.
He doesn’t enter like a villain; he oozes in like smoke from the vents.
The biggest red flag isn’t his appearance, though.
He’s objectively a handsome man with a thick head of perfectly styled hair and immaculately ironed clothes.
But so goes a narcissist, yeah? It’s that practiced confidence most read as charm instead of the test or threat it really is… That’s the biggest red flag.
He takes his drink, turns his back to the bartender, and scans the crowd as if he’s shopping.
I cant my head, facing Roo as I watch him in my peripheral vision.
And then he sees me. I clock the exact moment, his grin growing as he stands a little prouder. It’s the look of confidence melting into satisfaction.
His demeanor says, There you are.
As if I ran from him and just came back like an obedient dog.
I set my glass down. “Roo?”
“I see him,” she replies, sliding her purse into her lap. “Do you want loud or subtle?”
I stand from our booth, smoothing my skirt as I hold out my hand to Roo. “Let’s wait and see what flavor of stupid he picks tonight.”
Daniel starts toward me, but I don’t acknowledge him. It’s not time for me to step in yet.
What he doesn’t see is the way the surrounding shadows adjust on cue.
A man near the bar straightens, gripping his bottle of beer tighter, ready to use it as a weapon.
Another peels off the back wall, stretching his neck as he stiff-arms his way through the crowd like he’s been waiting for a fight.
A third appears at the top of the stairs, casual in his descent near the side exit.
Mine.
And if Daniel doesn’t realize he’s just walked into a den of wolves…
He’s about to.