One

Olivia:

"Hey, where's my drink!"

A man, already dead drunk, yelled at me for his large beer.

This was my new life. I could barely keep up after turning my back on everything and moving to this city. I had to survive.

I worked here at a biker club, Devil's Gear, for the meantime. I wanted more for myself, even though part of me believed I didn't deserve a better life or a better future.

I had run away from Little Elm and left everything behind. Some nights I woke up swearing I could hear his voice, that same guttural laugh that used to rattle my bones. But it was impossible.

And his debts... his debts were still haunting me like ghosts I couldn't shake off. Every paycheck went toward paying off what he owed gambling debts that became mine .

So I had to take whatever I could find and work with it.

"I'm asking for my drink, you bitch!" the drunk repeated, slamming his empty glass on the counter hard enough to make my shoulders shiver.

"I heard you," I muttered, grabbing a bottle from the shelf. Before I could pour, his hand shot out, rough and wrinkled fingers grabbing my wrist.

"Do it faster, sweetheart," he smiled mischievously, his breath sour against my face.

Something in me snapped.

Three months in New York, and I was still letting men put their hands on me without permission.

"Let. Go." I snapped at him, dangerous, nothing like the scared girl who'd run from Little Elm.

"Oh, come on, don't struggle with me, let's have a little fun. You know, a pretty thing like you shouldn't be hiding behind a bar anyway," he said, leaning closer to my chest, his other hand reaching for my ass.

I didn't think. I just acted.

I grabbed the beer bottle I'd just set down and slammed it on the counter hard enough to make everyone within earshot turn. The crack echoed through the noise, silencing nearby conversations.

"I said," I leaned forward, my voice dropping to something cold and sharp, "get your hands off me."

His grip loosened, surprise flickering across his drunken face.

"You think you can just touch people without permission?" I kept my eyes locked on his. "Try it again and this bottle won't be hitting the bar next time. It'll be hitting your face."

The drunk's friends shifted uncomfortably. One of them muttered, "Come on, man, let's just go."

"You heard your friend," I said. "Get. Out."

He stumbled back, trying to save face with a nervous laugh. "Crazy bitch—"

Before he could finish, a tall, handsome man wearing a leather jacket with nothing underneath, showcasing his abs and jet-black hair, appeared beside him. He placed a heavy hand on the drunk's shoulder and pressed down hard.

"I believe the lady asked you to leave," he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made the drunk freeze.

"Ow, ow!" the drunk yelled, tapping his shoulder, trying to break free, but it was no use.

"Let go, you bastard! Who are you to come between me and this whore?"

The stranger's jaw tightened. "She's not a whore. She's a woman who just told you no. Now get out of here before I make you regret more than just a bruised shoulder."

The drunk held his shoulder in shock, stumbling back with a nervous laugh. "Hey, man, relax. I'm just playing around." He scurried out of the bar with his goons trailing behind.

The stranger turned to me, and I finally got a good look at him.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair that looked like he'd run his hands through it too many times. And his eyes—God, those eyes—that looked at me like he was actually seeing me, not just another bartender in a shitty club.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I nodded, my heart still racing with adrenaline. "Yeah. Thank you for stepping in, but I had it handled."

A slow smile spread across his face. "I saw you. That was impressive."

"Then why'd you intervene?"

"Because I couldnt stand that guy."

Heat rushed through me at the honesty in his voice.

He slid onto the bar stool, his eyes never leaving mine. "Besides, you looked like you might actually use that bottle. I was saving him, not you."

I couldn't help but smile.

He gestured to his empty glass. "Can I get a refill? Whiskey, neat."

I poured the drink, hyperaware of the way he watched my every movement. When I set the glass in front of him, our fingers brushed, and electricity shot up my arm.

"You know what?" I said, sliding it back toward him before he could pay. "This one's on me. For saving that asshole from getting a bottle to the face."

His brow arched, and a smirk tugged at his lips. "You're buying me a drink?"

"Yeah. Don't look so surprised." I tried to sound casual, though my heart was hammering. "Just consider it a thank you."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar, his gaze locked on mine. "Interesting. Most people want something from me. You're offering instead."

I laughed nervously, grabbing a bottle. "Relax. I'm just offering to pay for your drink, not giving you anything flashy or serious."

Still, the way he watched me pour the whiskey, his eyes dragging over every little movement I made, made me feel like I'd just stepped into dangerous territory without realizing it.

Shortly after, another man dressed in a neatly tailored navy-blue suit walked up to him. They greeted each other like old acquaintances, clinking glasses of whiskey before settling into an easy conversation.

I kept moving around the bar, serving drinks and clearing empty glasses, but my attention kept drifting back to the man in the leather jacket.

But it wasn't just me either. Every so often, I'd catch him stealing quick glances my way, his eyes lingering just long enough to make my heart beat faster before he looked back down at his drink.

And each time, he'd take a slow sip of his whiskey, as if he wasn't in any rush.

After an hour or so, the man in the navy-blue suit eventually checked his watch, muttered something I couldn't catch, and pushed back his chair. He tapped the man in the leather jacket on his shoulder before heading out, leaving him alone at the table with half a glass of whiskey and an unreadable expression.

I tried to distract myself with the other things to be done at the bar, collecting the empties and wiping down tables, but the air between us kept pulling me back. Every time I glanced over, his eyes were already on me, like he was measuring me and almost waiting for me to make the first move.

By the time customers started leaving the bar and the music quieted, I couldn't pretend anymore. My hands were busy, but my mind wasn't. Suddenly, it felt like it was just the two of us in the whole bar.

I walked over, my heart beating way too fast. His glass was nearly empty, and before I thought twice, I reached for the bottle behind me.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked.

He looked up at me and hesitated before he responded, and for a second I thought he was going to tell me no. But instead, he tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving in that infuriating almost-smile.

"Go ahead," he said, sliding his glass closer to me.

I poured him another drink, then filled one for myself, even though I wasn't technically in the mood for a drink. My hands shook just a little, but I ignored it and sat down across from him.

"I don't usually sit with customers," I said, half an excuse, half a confession.

"Then why now?" he asked.

I met his gaze, forcing myself not to look away. "Because you're hot."

That earned me a real smile this time, quick and gone just as fast. He raised his glass to me, and I clinked mine against his.

The whiskey burned on the way down, but not half as much as the way his eyes stayed on me, watching every reaction.

"You've got guts," he said finally.

"Or maybe I just don't know better," I muttered.

He let out a soft chuckle, and it sent a shiver through me. "Either way, I like it."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. If anything, it felt charged. I couldn't stop looking at him—his jawline, the way the leather jacket stretched over his shoulders, the roughness in his hands when he set his glass down.

My mind was racing, and before I knew it, I was thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about. About how those hands would feel on my skin. About what it would be like to let go for once, to stop being the girl who was always running, always afraid and alone.

I wanted to feel something other than scared, other than trapped.

I wanted to feel alive.

And then, before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

His brows lifted slightly, but he didn't look shocked. If anything, he looked like he'd been waiting for me to say it.

"Well, do you?" he asked back, his voice low, testing.

My mouth went dry. Every logical part of my brain was screaming at me to take it back, to laugh it off, to walk away.

But I didn't want to be logical tonight.

Tonight, I wanted to be reckless.

"Yes," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us crackled with something electric, something inevitable.

Then he leaned forward, one hand sliding to the back of my neck as his lips crashed against mine.

The kiss was nothing soft or tentative. It was raw, consuming, like he'd been holding back the entire night and finally let go. I gasped, clutching at his jacket as the taste of whiskey and heat filled me.

My mind went blank. All I could focus on was the way his mouth moved over mine with hunger, the way his hand tightened in my hair, the way every nerve in my body lit up like I'd been shocked back to life.

We didn't stop when the chair scraped, when the table rattled, when my glass nearly toppled. His mouth moved over mine with a desperation that matched my own, pulling me out of every thought except the way he made me feel.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless. His forehead rested against mine for a second, his voice rough when he whispered, "Let's get out of here."

He stood, tugging me with him, and I didn't hesitate when he led me toward the back hallway. My pulse was racing so fast I could barely hear the fading music behind us.

We finally got to the hotel across the street and headed inside. He booked us a room quickly, and before I knew it, we were making out in the elevator, unable to take our hands off each other.

The desire kept eating me up inside. He picked me up and I wrapped my legs around him before he slammed me against the opposite walls. His hands had a mind of their own, feeling every inch of my body before he finally settled on my ass and the other on my breast, underneath my crop top that did a terrible job at hiding it.

His grip was firm, almost desperate, like he couldn't believe he finally had me in his arms.

God, when was the last time someone touched me like this? Like I was something precious and dangerous all at once?

His mouth moved over mine with a hunger that matched mine, rough and demanding, and every groan from his chest only made me weaker.

My soft, breathy moans filled the entire elevator. He was loving it just as I was, and his cock pressed against me, making me feel how much I messed with him.

He wants me. Really wants me.

My pants were soaked right through. A louder moan escaped my mouth straight to his as soon as I felt him.

I bit on his lower lip, just the right amount of pressure to mix pain with pleasure. He growled low in his throat, his hands tightening like he was losing the battle to hold back.

My hips rolled and thrusted in sync with his while my fingers pulled on his hair. The sound of his harsh breathing against my ear made it feel like we were burning up the whole space.

This is what I needed. To feel wanted. To feel alive. To feel like something other than afraid.

We finally got to the bedroom and he immediately laid me down on the bed and took off his jacket, his chest rising and falling hard like he was fighting to keep control. He came closer to me as I was lying on the bed, his eyes roaming over me

Look at me like that. Like I'm not broken. Like I'm not running. Like I'm enough.

My hands gently ran through his waistline to his chest, feeling the hard muscle underneath.

And he whispered to me, his voice strained, "Are you sure you want this?"

No. Yes. I don't know. I just know I can't stop now.

I nodded my head immediately because I wanted this badly, desperately. My life was already a shit hole and having a one-night stand with a stranger wasn't going to cause me any harm, and I knew I was going to leave here with regret if I didn't fuck this stranger right now.

"I want words, miss. You nodding isn't going to cut it." His gaze was fixed on my eyes and his jaw tense, waiting for me to say yes desperately.

"Yes, I want this," I said, putting my hands behind his neck and pulling him to kiss me.

I want this. I want to forget everything for just one night. I want to feel like I'm not alone.

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed onto mine, harder than before, like my words had unshackled something in him. His hand slid under my crop top, caressing my breasts, rough against my skin, and I arched into him as if my body had been waiting for that touch all along.

More. I need more. I need to forget his voice, forget the blood, forget everything.

His kiss was wild, reckless, devouring. Every time his tongue brushed mine, I moaned louder, tugging at his hair until he groaned against my lips. The sounds shot straight through me, leaving me trembling.

He pushed my crop top higher, his palm covering my breast, his thumb grazing over my nipple, and put his mouth on it until I gasped into his mouth. He pulled back just enough to look at me.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, like he couldn't believe how badly he wanted me.

I reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. He let out a little laugh.

"Here, let me help," he said, now taking off his belt, unbuttoning his pants and taking off his jeans, letting them drop to the ground.

I was amazed by the size of his cock as I let out a large gasp and sized his body from head to toe, arching my hips backwards.

Oh God. This is real. This is happening. And I want it all.

He pushed me flat against the mattress, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, his weight heavy and demanding over me. The other hand slid down between my thighs, pressing against the damp fabric of my pants.

"Already soaked for me," he murmured, his tone dark with satisfaction. "You want me that bad?"

Yes. Yes. God, yes. Make me forget. Make me feel somethig different.

"Yes," I admitted, my voice breaking as he pressed harder, teasing me through the thin material. "Please..."

That word snapped something in him. He yanked my pants down in one motion, tossing them aside, and then he was touching me properly. His fingers slid against me, circling until my back arched off the bed and I cried out loud without meaning to.

"God, you sound so good," he rasped, kissing me again to swallow the noises spilling out of me. His hips ground down against mine, his hardness pressing right where I ached for him.

This is what freedom feels like. This is what it feels like to choose something for myself. To want something just because I want it.

"Condom," I gasped, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He reached into his jacket pocket without hesitation, tearing the wrapper with his teeth, his eyes never leaving mine.

He came prepared. Or maybe he just wanted this as much as I did.

When he slid into me, it was all at once, and I cried out, clutching at his shoulders. He groaned, dropping his head into the crook of my neck. "Fuck... you feel incredible."

His eyes roamed over me hungrily, taking in every curve, every line like he wanted to memorize the sight of me under him. The way his gaze darkened when it landed on my breasts and dipped lower made heat rush all the way through me.

The pace was rough from the start. Each thrust went deeper and deeper, he wanted to claim every part of me. My nails dug into his back, dragging across his skin, and his hips only drove harder.

Yes.

It was beautiful chaos, messy and intoxicating. Every sound, every movement, every desperate breath between us felt like something breaking open inside me.

"Say my name," he whispered hoarsely, his lips at my ear.

"I don't even know your name," I gasped between moans.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, a smirk on his lips even as sweat dripped down his temple. "Good." He thrust harder, making me whimper. "Then remember me like this.