The air in Rusty’s Dive was thick with the ghosts of bad decisions—cheap whiskey fumes, stale cigarette smoke, and the lingering regret of every soul who’d ever stumbled through the creaky door. It was just shy of 2 a.m., the hour when the desperate clung to their last drinks like life rafts, and Marla, the bar’s reigning queen of no-bullshit, was wiping down the sticky counter with a rag that had seen better days. Her black tank top clung to her curves, ink peeking out from the edges of her sleeves—tattoos that told stories she didn’t share with just anyone. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands framing her sharp, unamused face as she surveyed the dwindling crowd of drunks and losers.
“Last call, degenerates,” she barked, her voice cutting through the low hum of slurred conversations. “Finish your poison and get the hell out. I ain’t your babysitter.”
A few grumbled, but no one dared argue. Marla wasn’t just the bartender; she was the law in this dump. She’d thrown out men twice her size with nothing but a glare and a well-placed knee, and the regulars knew better than to test her. She was pouring a final beer for a grizzled old-timer when the door swung open, letting in a gust of cool night air and something else—trouble, wrapped in denim and a smirk that could charm the devil himself.
The stranger, Jace, sauntered in like he owned the place, his boots scuffing the worn floorboards. He was all rugged edges—stubble shadowing a jaw that looked carved from stone, a leather jacket slung over broad shoulders, and hazel eyes that scanned the room before locking onto Marla with a predatory glint. He slid onto a stool at the bar, leaning forward with an ease that screamed he was used to getting what he wanted.
“Evening, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, like gravel under tires. “Got anything left in those bottles for a weary traveler?”
Marla didn’t even look up from the glass she was polishing, her lips curling into a smirk of her own. “We’re closed, cowboy. Unless you’ve got a time machine in that jacket, you’re shit outta luck.”
He chuckled, unfazed, resting his elbows on the counter. “Come on now, sweetheart. One drink. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She finally met his gaze, her dark eyes narrowing as she sized him up. Oh, he was trouble, alright. The kind that walked in looking for a fight or a fuck, and she wasn’t in the mood to play nice with either. But damn if there wasn’t a spark there, a crackle in the air that made her pulse kick just a notch higher. She leaned in, mirroring his posture, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
“Sweetheart, huh? Let’s get one thing straight—I’m not your darlin’, your sweetheart, or your anything. And the only thing you’re gonna make worth my while is getting your ass out of my bar before I drag you out myself. Capisce?”
Jace’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Feisty. I like that. How ‘bout this—I’ll take a shot of whatever’s cheapest, and if I can’t handle it, you can toss me out on my ass. Deal?”
Marla arched a brow, straightening up and crossing her arms, her posture all dominance. “You think I’m runnin’ a charity here? Fine. One shot. But if you so much as flinch, I’m not just tossin’ you out—I’m makin’ you mop the floor first. And trust me, sugar, you don’t wanna know what’s been spilled on it tonight.”
She grabbed a bottle of the nastiest rotgut from under the counter, pouring a generous shot into a chipped glass and sliding it over to him with a look that said she was already picturing him choking on it. Jace picked it up, holding her gaze as he tipped it back in one smooth motion, not even a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He set the glass down with a deliberate clink, licking a stray drop from his lip in a way that was absolutely meant to get under her skin.
“Damn,” he said, voice still smooth as sin. “That’s awful. You serve this to torture people, or just to keep ‘em comin’ back for more of your sunny disposition?”
Marla snorted, leaning a hip against the counter, her smirk sharp as a blade. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ways to torture a man like you, and none of ‘em involve what’s in the bottle. You’re still sittin’ here, though, so I’m guessin’ you like a little pain with your pleasure.”
His eyes darkened at that, a flicker of something hungry passing through them. “Careful, darlin’. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might think you’re flirtin’ with me.”
“Flirtin’?” She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine despite himself. “Honey, if I was flirtin’, you’d be on your knees beggin’ for mercy by now. This is just me decidin’ whether you’re worth the hassle of kickin’ out or not.”
Jace leaned closer, the space between them shrinking, the air charged with something neither of them could ignore. “And what’s the verdict, boss lady? Am I worth the hassle?”
Marla’s gaze flicked over him, slow and deliberate, taking in every inch like she was appraising a piece of merchandise. She stepped around the counter, closing the distance until she was right in front of him, her presence commanding, her scent—a mix of whiskey and something wild—hitting him like a punch. She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
“Depends. You gonna be a good boy and play by my rules, or do I gotta teach you a lesson?”
His breath hitched, just for a split second, but she caught it, and her smirk turned downright wicked. Before he could answer, she grabbed the empty shot glass from the counter, her fingers brushing his just enough to send a jolt through both of them. She turned, heading toward the back of the bar, tossing a look over her shoulder that was pure challenge.
“Lock the door, cowboy. Last call’s over, but I’m not done with you yet.”
Jace watched her go, his heart pounding in a way it hadn’t in years. He stood, flipping the lock on the front door with a click that echoed in the now-empty bar. Whatever game Marla was playing, he was in—hook, line, and sinker. And as he followed her behind the counter, the dim light casting shadows over her predatory smile, he had a feeling the night was about to take a turn he’d never see coming.
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