0018

0018
  We pulled up outside a bar in the Bronx. The place had an old, worn-down feel—flickering neon signs, scratched wooden floors, and the lingering scent of whiskey and regret. A slow, bluesy tune hummed from the jukebox, setting the mood.
    Behind the counter, a guy in a denim apron and nothing underneath, moved with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen too much. Braxton. Candice’s long-time, on-and-off boyfriend. The moment he spotted her, she gasped dramatically and launched herself at him.
    “Baby!” she squealed, arms wrapping around his neck.
    Braxton caught her effortlessly, chuckling. “Skipped work again, huh?”
    I rolled my eyes and let them have their moment, absently twisting the ring on my finger. A silent reminder of everything I’d signed up for.
    But tonight, I was off-duty.
    Slipping the ring off, I ran my thumb over the slight indent it left on my skin. As if on cue, my phone vibrated inside my purse.
    Again.
    Orbot.
    A long list of missed calls filled my screen, my jaw tightening at the persistence.
    Damn him.
    With a decisive tap, I switched on flight mode.
    By the time the bar pulsed with neon lights, pounding music, and a sea of moving bodies, I was grateful my dress fit the club scene—tight but not too tight, with a high slit running up my thigh. My curls were slicked back into a high ponytail.
    Candice, on the other hand, had disappeared—now perched on some guy’s lap, giggling a little too loudly.
    Wait. Wasn’t her boyfriend the bartender?
    Classic Candice.
    I settled at the bar, stirring my cocktail absentmindedly. The moment I switched off airplane mode, my phone vibrated violently in my purse.
    A flood of messages.
    All from an unknown number.
    But I knew exactly who it was.
    Who else would be demanding to know where I was? It was barely 9:30 PM. Not like I was going to stain his pristine Blackwood image.
    Rolling my eyes, I tossed my phone back into my purse and took another sip of my drink.
    That’s when I heard him.
    “Having trouble, sweetheart?”
    The voice was deep, unfamiliar, and way too confident.
    I turned, blinking up at the man beside me. Dressed head-to-toe in black leather. Leather. In a crowded, overheated club. His dark hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead. Under the flashing lights, his brown eyes gleamed.
    He was cute in a rough, scruffy way. But he was nowhere near Alex.
    I offered a polite, practiced smile. “Hi.”
    He slid onto the stool next to me, leaning in. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
    I caught the sharp scent of smoke on his breath.
    I arched a brow. “I live here.”
    A lie. Sort of.
    He smirked. “No, you don’t.” His fingers brushed a loose curl near my temple without permission. “You don’t look like you belong here.”
    I huffed, pulling away. “I’m here with a friend. And I used to live here.”
    “Oh, a big shot now?”
    “Not even close.”
    His chuckle was low, easy. He swirled a drink I hadn’t even noticed. “Want to dance?”
    “No, thanks.”
    “I’ll pay for your drink.”
    “That won’t be necessary.”
    “Come on,” he grinned. “I like you.”
    That was new.
    He hadn’t even told me his name.
    “What’s your name?” I asked.
    He smirked. “Guess.”
    I resisted the urge to groan. “Paul?”
    He laughed. “Try again.”
    “I’m not in the mood for games.”
    “Alright, alright,” he relented. “It’s Jake.” He extended a hand, and I took it, noticing the ink creeping from beneath his leather jacket. His grip was warm….. too warm.
    “So, what’s your name?”
    “Isla.”
    He repeated it slowly, like he was testing the taste of it. “Sexy name.”
    Of course. Because men always had to make everything about sex.
    I must’ve made a face because Jake laughed, shaking his head. “Relax, princess. I didn’t mean it like that.”
    “Sure,” I muttered, finishing off my drink. The alcohol was finally kicking in, making the room tilt slightly. The flashing lights sent a sharp pang to my skull.
    “You okay?” Jake asked.
    “I’m fine.”
    “You don’t look fine. Need some air?”
    “No, I just—” I stood up, and suddenly, the world spun.
    Shit.
    I grabbed onto the barstool for support, but everything felt off-kilter. My stomach churned, and the music pounded against my skull.
    “I think you should sit down,” Jake suggested.
    “No,” I mumbled. “I just need to—”
    “Come on.” He offered his arm, and without thinking, I took it. My purse and phone were forgotten on the bar stool as he led me through the crowd, past sweaty bodies. Someone smacked my ass in passing, but I was too far gone to react.
    The next thing I knew, cold water was hitting my face.
    I gasped as Jake ran his fingers through my hair, loosening my ponytail, massaging my scalp.
    “Better?” he asked.
    I nodded weakly. “I need to go home.”
    I blinked, taking in my surroundings. Drunk bodies littered the sidewalk, the flickering neon sign casting long shadows. Smoke clung to the air.
    “I can drive you,” Jake offered. “I have my bike with me.” He gestured toward a sleek black motorcycle parked across the street.
    Of course, he was a biker. That explained the leather jacket.
    I hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    “Why? Strict parents?” He smirked, closing the lid on a Voss water bottle.
    I snorted. “Not exactly.” I leaned against the cool brick wall.
    Jake studied me for a moment before sighing. “You’re not getting on my bike like this. I’ll call a cab.”
    That sounded like a brilliant idea.
    Except—
    “My phone,” I blurted, sudden panic spiking through me. “I left it—”
    “I’ll get it,” Jake said, disappearing back inside.
    I exhaled in relief—just as Candice stumbled out of the club, completely wasted.
    She giggled, looping an arm around me. “You’re gonna be in sooo much trouble,” she slurred.
    I frowned. “What?”
    She snorted. “Your husband is gonna kick this guy’s ass.”
    The world stilled.
    Jake, who had just returned with my purse in hand, froze. “What?”
    Candice cackled. “You didn’t tell him? Oh my God. She’s married, bro!”
    My stomach dropped.
    “Candice,” I shrieked, elbowing her. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not married!”
    Jake looked between us, then let out a laugh. “Your friend is drunk.”
    I groaned. Kill me now.
    Before I could do damage control, a voice sliced through the night.
    A deep, familiar voice.
    “I am the husband.”
    Jake went rigid.
    Slowly, he turned.
    I followed his gaze—and my blood ran cold.
    Alexander stood a few feet away, his towering frame cast in shadows, his silver eyes burning with contempt.
    Oh.
    I was so dead.