Bad Reputation

I show up at The Rusty Keg for my shift with my hair pulled into a high ponytail. Bobby Jay, the owner, guaranteed I’d make a shit ton of tips on Friday and Saturday nights.

Game days.

By the time I step onto the floor, the bar was buzzing with. TV’s blare from various corners. Fans shouting at referees who couldn’t hear them. Beer sloshes and orders flying.

I plaster on my polite smile and head to my section.

The night runs smooth—until the town’s wild card walks in.

Rhys Medici.

The bastard scares off half the new customers just by existing. Loud mouth. Short fuse. Started a fight last week because someone tripped over the damn stool he left in the walkway.

I watch him saunter to the bar and drop onto a stool with a dramatic sigh like he owns the place.

I roll my eyes and round the counter, fixing my smile into something pleasant.

“What can I started for you tonight?”

His dark green eyes drag over me, slow and assessing. Then he flicks his wrist at me.

“I’ll talk to Bobby, princess.”

Ugh. Fucking bastard…

“Funny,” I say sweetly, holding his gaze. “You don’t look like someone who waits well.”

His lips quirk into a smirk.

A damn smirk.

For a moment, the noise of the bar fades. It’s just him. Just that look, that challenge saying “try me.”

“The one and only, Rhys Medici,” Bobby calls, appearing at my side and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Better not be pestering my new staff. Hard enough to keep them after your antics.”

He nudges me gently. “Let my girl Adina get back to her tables. Table fifteen needs refills.”

Whatever spell he cast over me breaks.

I move.

But every now and then, I glance bat to the bar. At Bobby’s and Rhys talking low. At his Rhys’ eyes drift back to me.

I place food at table seven.

A had groped my ass.

I freeze.

My spine goes rigid before I even turn to look.

Oily hair. Missing teeth. Yellow smile.

Disgusting.

I force a smile and pry his hand off me. “Sorry, buddy. Not that kind of bar. Let me know if you need anything else.”

I walk away before he can respond and push through the bathroom door.

Cold water. Grip the counter.

One. Two. Three. Four. Four. Three. Two. One.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You’re here to make money.

You’re not here to cause trouble.

You’re not here to lose control.

I return to the floor and the night moved in like nothing happened.

But I can feel it.

Rhys is still at the bar.

Watching.

Mr. Handsy isn’t laughing anymore.

He’s lurking in the shadows.

And my instincts are screaming.

Bobby double-checks the money and smiles when the numbers match.

“Great work out there, Adina. I know we’ve got some rowdy guys out here, but you did good.” He hands me my tips for the night. “You sure you don’t need a ride home? Nights get pretty cold this time of year.”

I smiled at him and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m at the motel down the road. I’ll be just fine.” I zip my jacket and headed out.

The door shuts behind me.

The cold his immediately. Sharp. Bitter. I shove my hands into my pockets and walk faster.

Snap.

My steps falter

Don’t look.

I Keep walking.

Footsteps.

Closer.

I don’t think. I run.

Across the street. Shoes slapping against pavement. Breath burning in my lungs.

A hand clamps tightly around my arm and yanks me back.

“Look what I caught,” he sneers. “The waitress too good for me.”

He drags me off the road down an alley before I can scream. My nails rake down his arm, but he doesn’t even flinch.

My back slams into brick. The air punches out of my lungs.

“Get your filthy hands off me,” I spit.

The slap came quick and hard. My head snaps to the side. My cheek burning.

Tears sting, but I force them down.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

I drive my knee up.

He twists his hip and smiles sickeningly. I miss.

His laugh crawls over my skin. “Little miss waitress likes it rough?”

He licks my cheek.

My stomach churns with disgust.

I screw my eyes shut tight.

And then—

The weight lifts.

A sickening crack splits the air.

Rhys.

Mr. Handsy lay curled on the ground, arms over his head, but it didn’t matter. Rhys dragged him up just enough to land another punch.

Fist. Jaw.

Fist. Ribs.

Fist. Anywhere he could reach.

“Fucking disgusting pig,” Rhys spat, punctuating each word with bone meeting flesh. “Putting your hands on a woman. You coward.”

The man tried to crawl away. Rhys followed.

“Don’t you ever touch another girl,” he growled, hauling him up by the collar. “Or I swear to God, I’ll make sure you don’t have the parts to try.”

Rhys throws the man back down on the pavement.

Silence falls heavy in the alley.

Rhys stands there, chest heaving. Blood coats his knuckles. Smears his bomber jacket.

My eyes refuse to look away.

This isn’t the smirking man at the bar.

This is something else.

He slowly turns toward me. His gaze is still wild, searching my face like he’s bracing for something.

He steps forward.

I step back.

His hands flex at his sides.

Something shifts. His shoulders drop a fraction. He stops advancing.

“Let me walk you home,” he rasps.

Not a command.

Not a demand.

An offering.

My breath stutters.

He nearly beat a man to death.

For me.

As if sensing my hesitation, he adds, “I’ll keep my distance.”

Like he knows I need space. Like he knew what just happened.

I nod my head not trusting my voice.

He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t crowd me. Just follows a few steps behind.

His heavy boots on pavement. A steady rhythm that keeps me grounded. A reassurance I didn’t know I needed.

I unlock my motel room and turn to say good night.

Only, he’s gone.

Like he was never there to begin with.

I step in and lock the bolt. Slide the chain in place. I push a chair under the knob for extra measure.

Only then do I let my hands shake.

Footsteps.

Alley.

Rhys.

Blood.

Silence.

Safe.

I lie down, staring at the ceiling.

He saved me tonight.

Did that make him dangerous? Or was he the safest man I’d ever met?