Tethered

I wasn’t sure why I’d come back here.

This place held nothing but ghosts and broken glass. It wasn’t safe for a twenty-four-year-old woman barely scraping five-four, especially alone. Yet here I was, perched on a worn barstool in the dimly lit hellhole that had haunted the edges of my childhood memories. I clutched my vodka mixer like a lifeline, one hand firmly over the top, straw as the only point of entry. In a dive like this, it only took seconds for one of the surrounding assholes to spike a drink.

I drained the glass in two long pulls and slid it forward. “Another,” I muttered.

Bruce—the old bartender—nodded. He seemed to be the only decent man in the room. At least he hadn’t leered or hit on me when I ordered. Small mercies.

The drunk beside me kept slurring something about natural beauties. I’d tuned him out ages ago. Eventually Bruce told him to piss off and waved him down the bar. I barely registered it.

I shouldn’t be here. Not alone. Not after everything.

But the memories had grown too loud tonight—Rhys and Delilah, six months of sneaking around behind my back. Six fucking months. I’d been with Rhys for two years. The relationship had been toxic long before I caught them. He was cruel with his words, colder with his silence. I’d emotionally checked out long ago.

It still hurt like hell.

The first crack appeared six weeks ago when Delilah’s name lit up his phone. He saw me notice. Snatched it away. Mumbled something about a work colleague. As if Delilah was a common name. As if I was stupid.

After that, the signs were everywhere. Her legs draped over his lap during movie nights. Shared glances across the dinner table. Whispers. Touches that lingered too long. When I finally confronted him, he exploded. Called me paranoid. Delilah laughed it off.

Until the day I came home early.

I heard them before I even reached the bedroom door. Found them on my sheets.

The shock had been sharp, but underneath it… relief. No more pretending.

Rhys didn’t beg. Delilah didn’t cry. She admitted she’d only befriended me to get close to him. The two people I’d clung to—my entire world—had been using me.

Losing Rhys hurt. But losing Delilah gutted me.

I’d spent years believing I’d finally found someone who chose me.

Now I had no one. No family. No real friends. Just a house I refused to leave until I could afford my own place, and a cleaning job that had ended two hours ago when my creep of a boss told me the company couldn’t keep me on.

So instead of saving what little money I had left, I’d come here. Drinking it away in the same bar where, nearly two decades ago, some tall stranger had pulled me out of danger. Five-year-old me had spun the whole thing into a ridiculous fairy tale—convinced the man was magical, like some brooding hero from a children’s story. I snorted softly at the memory. What a load of shit. Even back then I’d had an overactive imagination.

I finished my third drink and slid off the stool, heading for the bathroom. I didn’t make it far.

I collided with something solid.

Not something. Someone.

“Shit—watch where you’re going,” I snapped, stepping back.

He was tall. Impossibly tall. Dressed head to toe in black, hood pulled low enough to shadow most of his face. He huffed—a low, irritated sound—then moved past me toward the far side of the bar without a word.

I shook off the encounter and kept walking.

—When I returned to my seat and ordered a fourth drink, I noticed him again. His hooded head was angled toward me. Watching.

“Creep,” I muttered under my breath.

He gave the faintest disapproving tilt of his head before turning away and taking a rough swig of his drink.

A middle-aged man in a cheap suit suddenly blocked my view.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said, flashing yellow teeth. “You here by yourself?”

“No,” I lied quickly, scanning for Bruce. He was nowhere in sight. “My boyfriend’s just parking the car. He’s a professional MMA fighter. Jiu-jitsu black belt.”

The man smirked and stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on my lower back. “You sure about that?”

I pulled away. He didn’t let me.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Back off.” My voice sharpened. “He taught me a few moves.”

The man laughed, loud and ugly. His other hand snaked around my waist. “I’d love to see that.”

The struggle was pathetic. The alcohol had made me slower, weaker. He yanked me off the stool and crushed me against him, hands groping, breath hot against my ear.

“I’ve been watching you. Doesn’t look like anyone’s coming.”

I twisted, panic rising. The other patrons watched with lazy approval. No one moved to help.

Even the man in black simply watched, arms folded, expression unreadable beneath the hood.

“Please,” I whispered, voice cracking.

The creep’s fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt. “Let me see what you’re hiding under here—”

I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst.

Then suddenly—he was gone.

My eyes flew open. The hooded man had the creep by the collar, lifting him like he weighed nothing.

“She said no,” he growled. The voice was deep, rough, and laced with pure annoyance.

He hurled the man backward. The creep crashed into the bar and hit the floor.

Two of his friends immediately rushed the hooded stranger. I expected chaos. Instead, I watched in stunned silence as the man in black moved like liquid shadow—fast, precise, brutal. He dispatched them with terrifying efficiency, every motion sharp and irritated, as if this was an inconvenience he resented.

The creep recovered, knife flashing in his hand. He grabbed me, pressing the blade to my throat. The sting was sharp as it broke skin.

The knife pressed harder and I froze.

Nobody moved.

Nobody cared.

“Mind your own fucking business,” he snarled at my rescuer.He started dragging me toward the exit. I fought, heart hammering. Right as we reached the door, I slammed my heel down on his foot with everything I had left.

His grip loosened. I pulled free—only for the knife to slash across my thigh in a hot line of fire.

Then the hooded man was there again. He disarmed the creep with a vicious twist and drove a fist into his face. The man dropped like a stone.

Strong fingers closed around my arm, pulling me out into the cool night air.

Relief lasted two seconds.

His grip shifted to my waist as he hauled me around the corner into the alley. My blood ran cold.

“No!” I yelled, struggling. “Let me go!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he barked, spinning to face me, voice thick with frustration. “I’m trying to help you.”

His gaze dropped to my leg. Even in the dim light, I saw his expression darken with clear irritation.

“Shit. You’re bleeding.”

The cut was deeper than I’d realised. Blood soaked through my jeans.

He crouched, reaching for my leg. His large hand hovered near the wound, and an unexpected shiver raced up my spine at the warmth of his touch—clinical and efficient, yet strangely electric.

Then he looked up.

Our eyes met properly for the first time.

Holy shit.

Lightly tanned skin. Sharp jaw. Dark, tousled hair.

But his eyes—

Silvery-blue and faintly glowing beneath the alley shadows.

A strange, magnetic pull tugged at something deep in my chest.

Warm.

Familiar.

For the briefest second, his expression changed.

Shock.

Genuine shock.

Like he’d seen a ghost.

Then it vanished beneath an even deeper scowl.

He scanned my outfit and let out a rough, exasperated sigh.

“I need your permission to use some of your shirt,” he said curtly.

I blinked, head swimming. “What?”

“You’re losing too much blood. We need to stop it now.” Impatience edged every word.

He gripped the hem of my t-shirt and looked up at me, waiting—clearly resenting the need to ask.

“Why can’t you use yours?” I asked weakly.

“Armoured. Won’t tear easily.” His tone suggested the question was ridiculous. “We don’t have much time.”

I nodded, too dizzy to argue.

He ripped the bottom half of my shirt clean off and bound it tightly around my thigh with brisk, efficient movements. The pressure stung, but it helped.

My legs buckled.

“Shit,” he muttered, catching me with clear reluctance. “I’m getting you help.”

His arm tightened around me.

“Stay with me,” he growled.

For some reason, despite everything, I believed him.

Then the world tilted and darkness swallowed me whole.