Chapter 7
Alex
Mia looked me dead in the eye as we threw back a shot of vodka.
We hadn’t had a drop all night, but I could see it in her face—she needed this to put up with Sam. Hilarious. A woman who looked like Mia shouldn’t have been desperate, but Sam was easy. Safe. And when a woman looked like her, there weren’t many safe options out there.
Slowly, the club emptied. Flannel Shirt came up to order one last round, the tall guy firmly by her side this time. I charged them for all three pints with a purposeful, neutral look. Flannel Shirt seemed a little disappointed by my lack of flirting.
I didn’t realise I was staring until her gaze met mine. She locked onto my eyes, then nervously tucked her hair behind her shaven ear. Cute. Definitely bi. It could have been fatal if I’d pushed it.
“Last call!” Mia shouted, ringing the massive brass bell.
The last fifteen minutes were a blur of absolute hell—a desperate tidal wave of drunks scrambling for a final fix. To my surprise, Flannel Shirt and her crew left without ordering. She came up to the bar just to place her empty glasses down, offering a soft smile. “Thanks.”
Then, she reached out and squeezed my forearm before turning to leave. And what, Flannel, was that?
I watched them head up the stairs. The taller guy threw a possessive arm around her shoulders, looking back to shoot me a glare as if I’d just groped his girl. She touched me, dude. Chill out.
Finally, Steve kicked the last drunks out, and the newbies were strapped with brushes to clear the destruction on the floor. At exactly 1:30 a.m., I threw my bag over my shoulder and walked up the steps with Mia.
Outside, the street was slick with fresh rain. Down the road, I heard the distinct, obnoxious growl of an exhaust. Sam. He pulled up in his stupid sports car right on the double yellow lines, rolling down the window like he thought he was James Bond. He nodded at me with a sickening grin. “Alex.”
“Dickhead,” I greeted him. He chuckled as if I was joking and not just openly insulting him.
Mia finished locking up, turning to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. She looked at Sam, then back to me. “We can give you a lift. You can sit on my lap.”
I rolled my eyes. “No amount of money could get me in that car.”
“Not even if I sit on your lap?” she teased.
Before I could reply, Sam shouted, “Fuck yeah!”
Urgh, straight men. I shot Mia a judgmental look, and she just shrugged, kissing my cheek again. “Next time,” she winked, sliding into the passenger seat. Sam sped off like he’d happily mow down any pedestrian in his way.
I sighed, taking a final glance at the street before turning the corner toward home.
Without warning, I was violently thrown straight into the brick wall. The impact knocked the wind right out of me. I staggered, my vision spotting as I tried to pull myself up.
“What the fuck?” I yelled out blindly into the darkness.
A tall figure lunged forward, slamming me hard back against the brick. As the dim streetlight illuminated his face, my blood ran cold. It was the tall guy—Flannel Shirt’s boyfriend.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he growled, stepping so close his hot, beer-laced breath brushed against my cheek.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d been jumped before, but this guy was massive. The top of my head barely reached the middle of his chest, my neck craning as I tried to meet his eyes. Trying to sound calmer than I felt, I gripped his wrists. “The fuck are you talking about?”
He spat at my feet. “You think a dyke like you can steal my missus?”
I fucking hated when men used that word. I tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. “I’m not trying to steal anyone,” I snapped, tightening my grip. “Seriously, let go of me.”
He grinned, a sickening look in his eye, and raised a heavy fist.
It happened so fast I barely processed it. One second his fist was coming at me; the next, he was slamming hard onto the wet pavement.
My head spun. I stared, wide-eyed, as a familiar voice cut through the dark alleyway like broken glass. Cold, sharp, and utterly commanding.
“Run, or I break your arm. Choose.”
I stumbled along the wall, my breath ragged. My vision finally cleared to reveal Dr. Carter, draped in her dark trench coat, standing over the towering clubber. She had his arm locked behind his back in a brutal, clinical grip that looked centimetres away from dislocating his shoulder.
The guy sputtered, pinning his face to the wet ground. “Who the hell are you? Get off me, you fucking bitch!”
Dr. Carter applied a fraction more pressure, eliciting a choked cry from him. “The correct answer was ‘Run.’ Do it now.”
She released him, shoving him roughly forward. The guy scrambled up, whimpering, clutching his shoulder, before sprinting blindly around the corner into the dark.
Dr. Carter didn’t spare him a second glance. She turned immediately to me, her composure absolute despite having just physically subdued a man twice her size in an alleyway after 1:30 a.m.
“Are you hurt, Alex?” she demanded, her voice low.
I shook my head, entirely stunned. “No. I—What are you doing here?”
She ignored the question entirely, her gaze sweeping over me as if conducting a rapid damage assessment. “Come.”
I followed her. Obviously. Her dark Mercedes was parked blatantly across the double yellow lines. She opened the passenger door without a word, and I slid in obediently.
With terrifying calm, she took off her trench coat, hung it on a small hook built into the frame of the car, and slid into the driver’s seat.
She was still in her usual heels, tailored trousers, and crisp white shirt, her hair perfectly pinned up.
Who the fuck was this woman? Supervillain vibes, for definite.
She pulled away from the curb smoothly. The silence in the car was thick, and I realised she was heading straight for Heeley Street. I couldn’t stop staring at her, my mind reeling. How did she just appear? Was she stalking me?
We pulled up to a red light, and her jaw tensed. “Don’t make me remind you it is rude to stare.”
I didn’t look away. “What were you doing around there tonight? How did you just appear?”
“That’s a strange way to say thank you,” she said, her eyes fixed on the road.
“Dr. Carter,” I said, a hint of annoyance creeping into my voice. Her lips twitched with a barely visible smirk. “What the fuck just happened?”
She slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a violent halt in the middle of the empty street. I threw my hands out against the dashboard, my heart leaping into my throat.
Before I could even process the sudden stop, she turned fully in her seat, her hand darting out to snatch my chin. She forced my face around, locking her eyes onto mine. Jesus Christ, her gaze was lethal.
“You do not get to speak to me that way. Ever.” Her voice was deep, low, and laced with a terrifying, cold authority. “You can swear all you like with your friends, but you never swear at me. Do I make myself clear?”
I thought I was going to pass out. The grip on my chin tightened fractionally when I didn’t answer immediately.
“Crystal clear,” I choked out.
She held my gaze for one more agonising second before releasing her grip.
She turned back to the wheel and resumed driving with a terrifying calm, as if the threat had never happened.
My skin was on fire. She scared the absolute shit out of me, and yet, right then, I desperately wanted her to threaten me again. Christ.
When we turned onto Heeley Street, she finally broke the silence. “Which house?”
I hesitated. None of them—because I didn’t actually live there. I gestured vaguely. “Anywhere here is fine.”
She stopped the car in the middle of the street, cocking an eyebrow. “Which house, Alex?”
I sighed. “Seriously, just here is perfect.” I reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. I looked back at her. She was smirking, shrugging as if to say, Tough luck.
I crossed my arms, turning to her with a sweet, dramatic sigh. “Dr. Carter, would you please open my door so I can leave?”
Her smirk deepened. She pulled over to the curb and turned to face me. “Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I answered, a sudden rush of butterflies flooding my stomach at the slight softening of her tone.
She breathed out slowly through her nose. “I’ll pick you up at 1:30.”
My eyes widened. “No, absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice hardened instantly.
I shook my head. “I appreciate the offer, truly, but you really don’t need to. I’ve worked there for years and walk home every night. I’ll be fine, I’m not a child.” I wasn’t about to take a pity handout from a lecturer.
“You were not fine tonight,” she said simply, her words utterly deflating my pride.
I stared at her, my arguments dying in my throat. She was right.
“I know you’re not a child, Alex,” she added softly, her eyes flickering over me.
There went my stomach again—a sharp, electric flutter of heat.
She gave me one last narrowed look, then got out of the car. I watched her walk around to my side. If she told me she owned this street, I’d believe her. She opened my door, and I stepped out into the cool air, grabbing my bag.
We stood there for a brief, loaded moment. I realised I had to fully look up to meet her eyes; my head barely reached her shoulder.
She raised an eyebrow at my silence, and I chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s rude to stare.”
She rolled her eyes, turning back toward the driver’s side. I couldn’t help myself. “You know you were staring too, right?”
She halted at the car door, casting an incredulous, sharp glance over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Alex.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Carter,” I replied.
I tightened the strap of my bag and started walking down the pavement. I didn't go far, not wanting her to see where I was actually heading. Pulling out my phone, I pretended to type. It had become a habit, until I heard the sleek purr of her engine drift away into the night.
***
Well, what a fucking month.