Chapter 3 — The Stranger
Emily pushed through the bar door and immediately wished she had picked somewhere quieter.
It was louder than Hallow’s Bar had ever been, with music coming through bad speakers and enough people crowded around the counter that she had to turn sideways to get through.
She found an empty stool near the end and ordered whiskey. The bartender set it down without asking questions.
She drank too much of the first one at once and felt it burn all the way down.
Seven months without alcohol had apparently lowered her standards along with her tolerance.
For a while, she sat there and let the noise happen around her. Nobody knew where she had spent the last seven months. Nobody knew Dean Ashford’s name.
By the middle of her third drink, she noticed a man near the wall in a dark hoodie. He was standing far enough away that she couldn’t see his face properly.
Emily stared, and the man looked away.
Maybe it was the same man from outside the courthouse. Or maybe she had spent seven months locked up and was now seeing suspicious men everywhere.
She turned back to her drink.
“Hey,” a voice came from beside her.
A man had moved onto the empty stool next to hers. Late twenties, maybe. Red around the eyes.
He smiled at her.
“You here alone?”
“No.”
“You waiting for somebody?”
“Yes,” Emily lied, but the man seemed to take that as encouragement.
She took another drink.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She turned away.
A minute later, his hand landed on the back of her stool. Then his knee touched hers.
Emily shifted away.
He followed.
“Can you not?”
“Can I not what?”
“That.”
He laughed and looked toward his friend farther down the bar.
Emily felt irritation climb up her neck.
She should have left, so she slid off the stool, but the man caught her wrist.
“Where you going?”
Emily looked down at his hand. “Take that off.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed. Let go.”
He squeezed instead.
Something changed in Emily, which was a sudden hot anger she had spent seven months trying not to examine too closely.
She yanked her arm back.
He held on.
Emily swung. Her fist caught him somewhere near the mouth. There was a second of silence around them before everything went bad. He shoved her hard enough that she hit the edge of the bar.
Someone yelled.
After that, the fight escalated. Somebody knocked over a stool. The bartender shouted for everyone to get the fuck out.
Emily remembered hitting someone again. Then a pair of arms locked around her from behind.
She twisted. “Get off me.”
“Stop fighting.”
“Fuck you.”
She drove her heel backward. She heard a man swore.
Then the room disappeared. There was no falling and no slow fading. One second she was fighting somebody she couldn’t see clearly. The next, nothing.
Then Emily woke, staring at a stained ceiling. A lamp burned beside the bed. The curtains were closed. The air conditioner rattled beneath a window.
She figured immediately that she was in a motel room.
Emily sat up too fast and looked down. Her shoes were still on, her jeans buttoned, and her shirt intact. She looked around and saw a man sitting in the chair near the door. Dark hair, lean, and young, maybe mid-twenties.
A dark hoodie on the dresser.
He looked up. “You’re awake.”
Emily’s stomach dropped. “What the fuck did you do? Where am I?”
“A motel.”
“I can see that.”
She got off the bed and immediately had to grab the mattress when the room shifted. The man stood. She threw up one hand and shoved the man back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Aw.” The man winced, the expression flashing across his face. “I wasn’t.”
“You brought me here?”
“Well, you passed out.” He tried to straighten, but another wince tightened his features. For a second, his hand drifted toward his side beneath the white shirt.
“So you took me to a motel?”
His jaw tightened. “I didn’t know where you live. And the bartender told me you told him you were staying nowhere.”
Had she? Emily couldn’t remember.
“And so you kidnapped me.”
He stared at her. “Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“I dragged you out before three guys put you through a table.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No. You were busy punching everybody.”
Emily opened her mouth, but her lip hurt. She touched it and found a split near the corner.
The man picked up a bottle of water from the dresser and put it down closer to her.
She didn’t take it.
“How long was I out?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“And you just sat there?”
“Yes.” He looked tired now. “I was making sure you woke up.”
“Were you following me?”
His eyes sharpened. That was enough of an answer to make her uncomfortable.
“You were outside the courthouse, weren’t you?”
He didn’t deny it.
Emily stared at him.
“You are very bad at making the kidnapping accusation go away.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t kidnap you.”
“Well, fun fact－I don’t know you.”
“Why would I kidnap you? I mean, look at you.”
Emily’s mouth fell open. “Fuck you.”
He looked away and winced. “Yeah.”
He reached for the hem of his shirt.
Emily tensed. “What are you doing?”
“Checking something.”
He pulled the shirt over his head.
Emily forgot what she was about to say.
His body was lean and hard, bruising already along one side of his ribs. There was another dark mark near his shoulder, and a thin scrape ran across his stomach.
He looked down at himself.
Emily kept looking too. And that was unfortunate because he was very attractive.
Tired-looking and rough around the edges, with dark hair falling over his forehead and a body that made Emily suddenly aware of how long it had been since she'd with a man—let alone one this attractive. She couldn't tell if it was still the whiskey in her bloodstream, but she was damn sure of one thing—it had been months since she'd looked at a man and actually wanted him.
The man glanced up and caught her staring.
Emily did not look away fast enough.
His eyes moved over her face. Then lower.
Emily felt it happen and hated that she liked it.
He picked up his shirt. “You should go.”
“What?”
“You’re awake. You’re fine. And instead of thanking me, you accused me of kidnapping you. Just so we’re clear, you’re free to leave. Your stuff are on the chair.”
Emily looked and saw Bethany’s coat, and her phone. She collected them slowly and slowly walked.
But at the door, she suddenly stopped.
The sensible thing was to leave. She knew that.
But then she looked back.
The man was standing beside the bed putting his shirt back on.
Emily’s body made the decision before the rest of her caught up.
She crossed the room. He barely had time to look surprised before she grabbed the front of his jeans and kissed him.
