♥ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ♥

The bar is packed—just the way Marx likes it. The kind of night where the drinks flow freely, and the worries of the workweek dissolve into the background noise of clinking glasses and the occasional cheer from a pool game. After working another week of doubles, I really need this.

I spot Emersyn right away, sitting at our usual table near the back, her smile lighting up the room as she waves me over. Three of her boyfriends, Fowler, Locke, and Cruz, are scattered around her, all of them looking relaxed and at ease in the chaotic atmosphere of the bar. Marx, her other boyfriend, is behind the counter, his tall, broad frame easily visible as he pours drinks and chats with the regulars. Even from here, I can see the easy confidence in his movements, the way he commands the space with a calm authority that makes everything feel like it's under control.

Emersyn pulls me into a hug as soon as I reach the table. "I'm so glad you made it."

I return the hug, smiling as I take in the sight of her. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. How's everything going?"

"Busy, as usual. But it's the good kind of busy. Marx hired a new bartender, actually. He's starting tonight."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, glancing toward the bar. "Who's the lucky guy?"

Emersyn points subtly with her chin, and my gaze follows the direction of her nod. That's when I see him—Elias. The guy that wrecked his motorcycle a couple of weeks back. He's behind the bar, mixing a drink with a practiced ease, his rusty colored hair catching the light as he moves. He's wearing a black t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame, and the sight of him working the bar with such confidence sends a small jolt of surprise through me.

I hadn't expected to see him here, of all places.

"Well, well," I murmur, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Looks like he's feeling better."

"You know him?"

"He was in the hospital not that long ago. Wrecked his bike. Really messed up his wrist."

I hesitate for a moment, but curiosity gets the better of me. I make my way through the crowd, weaving between groups of people until I reach the bar. Elias spots me before I can say anything, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Valarie? Fancy seeing you here. Do you come to this bar often?"

I lean against the counter, smiling up at him. "Actually, my best friend's boyfriend owns the place. So yeah, I'm here pretty often."

He chuckles, his gaze sweeping over the bar. "Small world. I've only been working here a few days, but I've got to say, Marx is a pretty chill boss. I like it here."

"Yeah, Marx is great," I agree, feeling a small pang of pride for Emersyn. "What are you doing here? Starting a new career?"

Elias nods, his expression thoughtful. "I'm working extra shifts this summer to save up some money. Gotta fix my motorcycle after that wreck. Marx was looking for some temporary help with the summer rush, and it seemed like a good opportunity."

"That makes sense. I'm glad you're doing better, by the way. How's the wrist?"

He flexes his hand, giving me a playful grin. "Almost good as new." He leans a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "You should let me buy you a drink. You took good care of me while I was in the hospital—I think it's only fair."

I raise an eyebrow. "I was literally just doing my job."

He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes my heart skip a beat. "Maybe so, but I'm pretty sure most patients don't end up looking forward to seeing their nurse as much as I did."

I feel my cheeks warm at his words, but before I can respond, someone calls for his attention at the other end of the bar. Elias gives me an apologetic smile, nodding toward the customer. "Duty calls. But don't be a stranger, okay?" He pours me a quick drink before dashing off.

When I return to the table, Emersyn is grinning at me like she knows exactly what just transpired. "So, how's the new bartender?"

I take a sip of my drink, trying to play it cool. "He's nice."

"Nice?" she echoes, raising an eyebrow. "That's all you've got? He's the second guy this week that I've caught looking at you with hearts in their eyes."

I shrug, though the smile on my face probably gives me away. "He was not. And what do you want me to say? He's good at his job, and he's got a nice smile. That's about it."

Emersyn gives me a look that says she doesn't believe me for a second, but she lets it slide, turning her attention to the dance floor where a group of people is starting to sway to the music. "You wanna dance?"

I glance at the crowd, feeling the pull of the music. "Why not? Let's go."

We make our way to the dance floor, the music wrapping around us as we start to move. The beat is infectious, and soon I'm lost in the rhythm, the worries of the week slipping away with each step. Emersyn is a natural on the dance floor, her movements fluid and confident, and I follow her lead, laughing as we spin and twirl together.

For a while, it's just us and the music, the world outside fading into the background. But every so often, I catch a glimpse of Elias watching me from behind the bar, his eyes following my every move. It sends a thrill through me, a spark of something I haven't felt in a long time.

It's dangerous, this feeling. But it's also exhilarating.

After a few songs, we retreat to our table to catch our breath, and that's when I notice the pool table across the room. It's surrounded by a group of men, all of them laughing and joking as they line up their shots. One of them glances over at me and raises an eyebrow, clearly issuing a challenge. He's a regular and knows exactly who I am.

I can't resist.

"Em," I say, nudging her with my elbow. "You up for a game of pool?"

She follows my gaze and grins. "Always."

We make our way to the pool table, and the men immediately make room for us. Cruz, Locke, and Fowler follow, taking up spots nearby to watch the game unfold.

One of them, a tall guy with a buzz cut, hands me a cue stick with a smirk. "Think you can take us on?" he asks, his tone half-serious, half-joking.

I twirl the cue stick in my hand, feeling the weight of it. "I don't think—I know."

There's a round of laughter from the guys, but I can see the glint of respect in their eyes. They don't know what they're in for.

Cruz leans in close, whispering just loud enough for the others to hear. "You guys might want to say your prayers. Valarie doesn't lose."

Fowler simply watches with a knowing expression, his arms crossed over his chest. "This is going to be good."

The game starts, and I fall into the familiar rhythm of lining up shots, calculating angles, and sinking balls with a satisfying thud. The guys put up a good fight, but I'm in the zone, every shot hitting its mark. Emersyn cheers me on from the sidelines, her laughter ringing out every time I make a particularly tricky shot.

Men always underestimate me when it comes to pool. They see a small, little girl who looks like she can barely pick up the pool cue. What they don't know is that my father was a championship-winning pool player and taught me everything he knew.

Cruz offers running commentary, his voice full of exaggerated excitement. "And Valarie's going for the impossible shot... will she make it? Will the crowd go wild?"

Locke shakes his head, though there's a hint of pride in his voice. "She's making it look easy. Too easy."

The game ends with me clearing the table, and the guys are good sports about it, clapping me on the back and offering to buy me a drink. I decline, my adrenaline still pumping from the victory.

But just as I'm about to turn away, one of the men—buzz cut guy—steps forward, his expression shifting from playful to something darker.

"That was a lucky game," he says, his voice low and tense. "Bet you couldn't do it again."

I stiffen, sensing the change in the atmosphere. "I don't think luck had anything to do with it."

His eyes narrow, and I can see the anger simmering just below the surface. "You think you're some kind of pool shark, huh? Just because you beat a bunch of drunks?"

"Hey, relax," I say, holding up my hands in a placating gesture. "It's just a game."

Cruz steps between us, trying to placate the man.

But he's not listening. His face flushes with anger, and before I can react, he pushes Cruz out of the way and shoves me hard enough to send me stumbling back into the table.

I catch myself, the breath knocked out of me for a moment. My heart races as I try to calm him down, but he's not having any of it. "Don't touch me," I say firmly, hoping to diffuse the situation. But he just steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. They guys try to come to my rescue, but I pause them with my hand held up. They know I can handle myself.

From the corner of my eye, I see Elias moving toward us, his expression dark and determined. But before he can reach us, something snaps inside me. I'm not about to let this guy push me around.

I swing, my fist connecting with his jaw in a solid punch that sends him reeling backward. The impact reverberates through my arm so deep that I swear I can feel it in my bones.

For a moment, there's nothing but stunned silence, the bar going eerily quiet as everyone processes what just happened.

And then all hell breaks loose.

The guy I punched goes down hard, and his buddies rush forward, their faces twisted in anger. Before I know it, the entire bar erupts into chaos—people shoving, shouting, and throwing punches in every direction. Glasses shatter, chairs topple, and the music is drowned out by the sound of bodies colliding.

Cruz is in the fray immediately, blocking a punch aimed at Locke, who dodges another with practiced ease. Emersyn is pulled back from the chaos by Marx. I love how protective he is of her.

Elias is beside me in an instant, pulling me back as the fight spills over into the surrounding tables. "You okay?" he asks, his voice tight with concern.

"I'm fine," I manage, shaking my hand to get some feeling back into it. "But we need to get out of here."

He nods, guiding me toward the exit, but the fight has already spread too far. We're caught in the middle of the chaos, trying to dodge flying fists and avoid getting dragged into the fray. It's like something out of a movie, the kind of all-out brawl you only see in the most dramatic bar scenes.

Finally, we manage to break free, stumbling out into the cool night air. I gasp for breath, leaning against the wall to steady myself. My hands are shaking, and I can still feel the residual anger simmering beneath the surface.

But before I can fully catch my breath, the wail of sirens fills the air, and I look up to see police cars pulling up to the curb. The sight sends a cold wave of dread through me.

This is not good.

The cops spill out of their cars, barking orders as they try to restore order. I barely have time to process what's happening before one of the officers steps toward me, his expression stern. "Miss, you're going to need to come with us."

"What?" I blink, the reality of the situation hitting me like a freight train. "Why?"

He points to the guy I punched, who's already being placed in handcuffs. "We have witnesses who say you started the fight by punching that man. We're going to have to take you in for questioning."

My stomach drops, a sick feeling of disbelief settling in. This can't be happening.

But there's no time to argue as the officer pulls out a pair of handcuffs, snapping them around my wrists with a practiced ease. The cold metal bites into my skin, and I feel a wave of humiliation wash over me as I'm led out to the sidewalk, the crowd parting to make way.

I sit on the curb, the handcuffs digging into my wrists as I try to make sense of what just happened. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me with nothing but a heavy sense of regret. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.

The officer starts reading me my rights, his voice a low drone in the background as I stare at the ground. But I quickly focus back in when I hear someone say, "I've got this one."

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