Chapter 4 #2
“You,” he confirms. “You’ve… you’ve completely undone me, Soraya. There’s no other way to explain it. It’s fast, I know, and we’ll take things as slow as you want. As long as you know–”
Stryker is cut off by someone shouting for the President. I wonder who that is. To my shock, Stryker sighs heavily and says, “Duty calls.”
“Wait. Hold on. You’re the President? Is that like… a big deal? It sounds like a big deal.”
He chuckles and begins to untangle himself from me. “It just means I’m responsible for this pack of wild animals,” he says wryly. I know there’s more to it than that, but I’ll just have to add that to the stack of questions piling up in my brain.
Stryker gives me one last peck, then heads out of his apartment. There’s something so domestic about it, like he’s off to work and kissing me goodbye for the day while I clean up after a shared breakfast.
Later that afternoon, after a nap and finding some more appropriate clothes, I decide to continue my exploration of the clubhouse.
The bar area is quiet, which is a welcome change from the last time I was in here.
Dim amber lighting casts long shadows across the wooden floor, and I hear the soft clink of glass.
The sharp smell of citrus polish mixes with the heavy, lingering scent of draft beer.
A classic rock song plays low from a glowing jukebox in the corner.
As I step up to the chipped bartop, the bartender turns around.
She’s an older, tough-looking woman with thick, gray dreadlocks.
A full sleeve of colorful tattoos catches my eye, and I follow the designs down to her wrists, which have about a dozen woven bracelets and charms. Her sharp, calculating eyes lock onto me instantly.
"Well, look who finally came up for air," she says with a knowing smirk. "Spending the whole morning locked away with the President. That must be exhausting."
Heat rushes straight to my cheeks, and I blush intensely under her gaze. My mind flashes right back to the deep, intimate kiss Stryker and I shared on the couch just a few hours ago.
The bartender watches my reaction. Her tough exterior drops completely. Her sharp eyes soften into something warm and almost maternal. She introduces herself as Cierra and slides a cold glass of water across the polished wood.
“Thank you," I whisper, taking a slow sip of the cold water. The quiet atmosphere of the empty bar makes it surprisingly easy to breathe.
Cierra leans against the polished wood bartop. She watches me with those sharp, calculating eyes. "You’re a long way from home, aren’t you? Port Royal doesn’t usually attract bright girls like you unless they’re running from something."
"I’m not running," I say softly. "I just needed a fresh start."
"Where did you start from?"
"Denver." I trace the condensation dripping down the side of my glass. "A dilapidated trailer park just outside the city. It wasn’t exactly a place you’d want to stay forever, you know?” Cierra nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“It was… chaotic. My parents fought constantly, mostly with each other, but sometimes with me. It got really bad and…” I realize I’ve overshared to a stranger who is probably just trying to make small talk.
“Anyway. I’m not on the run, I’m just… I guess I’m trying to find out who I am away from all of that. ”
I let out a winded breath, absolutely positive I’ve scared her away. Cierra nods slowly. "I recognize the survivor look in your eyes,” she tells me. “It takes a lot of fucking strength to leave everything you ever knew behind.”
“Y-yeah. I guess… I guess it does.” I’ve been in survival mode for so long, I never stopped to appreciate what a big step it was to escape that fate.
"Damn right it does. But I have another question. Why did you pick the foggiest, wettest corner of Washington State?" Cierra asks. A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
"I saw a job listing for the floral shop," I explain. "It felt like a sign. I just wanted a quiet place where I could grow something beautiful out of all that dirt."
Cierra listens intently to every single word. She leans forward across the bar and places a warm, calloused hand firmly over mine.
"You have survived hard places, Soraya," she says quietly. "Trust is hard to build when you’re used to the ground falling out beneath you. But you need to know something about men like Stryker. They don’t play games.
When they claim something, they protect it with their lives.
Learn to read his actions, not just his dark moods. "
Tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them away quickly. I feel completely seen and deeply validated for the first time in… Well, for the first time.
Cierra gives my hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.
She tells me about the donation boxes full of clothes one of the guys keeps forgetting to drop off at one of the shelters, and gives me permission to shop around for whatever looks comfortable.
I thank her before she moves down the bar to serve another customer who just walked in.
I sit alone at the bar, tracing the wet rim of my glass with my finger.
A newfound sense of confidence settles deep in my chest. I actually feel a strange sense of belonging within these gritty club walls.
The dark mysteries surrounding Stryker and his dangerous business still remain.
But for the very first time in my life, I don’t feel the desperate urge to run away.