Page 138 of The Pact

Five months ago, I came here. It’d been a mistake. Nothing bad happened. Not like the last bar I went to two months ago. Images of the man pushing into the bathroom pummel me. I feel nauseous at the memory.

But I’d been reckless. That’s why I started going to the bars in other towns instead—every Thursday night, like clockwork. My little secret.

I knew after coming here the first time that it was too close to home to do what I was doing—tricking men for a little confidence boost. I might see them after—run into them at the grocery store, spot them walking around town, or worse, they could come into the studio.

Then, I’d have to face them and the consequences.

It’s been months since I’ve been here and I’ve never seen the guy again, at least not that I could recognize. The faces all start to blur together, so trying to pull a clear image of his face is hard. Still, being here unnerves me. And Cassie’s none the wiser as she downs her second margarita. I’ve barely taken two sips from mine.

“Angels and Heathens,” she yells over the music. “No…Sinners and Saints.” She’s throwing out name ideas for the event, yet nothing’s sticking.

I’m too distracted scanning the crowd. He won’t be here. It was a Thursday night. He probably wouldn’t come out on a Saturday too. I try to reason with myself. I even try convincing myself that he was from out of town.

“Dolls or Devils.” The suggestions are getting worse as the alcohol clouds her brain.

“We’ll figure something out,” I yell back to her.

“Can I buy you a drink, beautiful?” A deep whisper from a stranger makes me sit straighter. His mouth is right next to my ear.

I swallow. “I’m good, thanks. Still working on this one.” I keep my eyes trained on Cassie. I know this isn’t the same guy. The odds would be slim.

Despite that, I can’t help the panic that rises. I desperately try to recall the man from five months ago. Brown hair? Beard? Tall? None of it feels right.

“Aw, c’mon. At least take a shot with us.” Us? Cassie hasn’t registered what’s going on. She’s too busy finishing her drink and licking the sugar off the rim.

The man comes around to my front, trailing his fingers across my back. I shiver in disgust. Another man comes to stand by his side. I don’t recognize either of them and feel relieved at that.

“We’re not doing shots tonight, but thank you. Maybe another time,” I shout over the music.

The friend ogles Cassie. “What’s up with her? Are you the fun one?” She recoils at his words and flashes her ring. “Not interested, buddy.”

“Listen, we’re nice guys. We just want to have a good time. I’m Rob and this is Matt,” he introduces, pointing to his friend.

I roll my eyes at the nice guy comment, always the dicks that try to use that line. “I’m not sure how many more ways we can say no. We aren’t interested.”

I watch as Rob’s face twists in anger. “So you can fuck four guys and flaunt it all around town, but a couple more is too much?”

The words roll through me, leaving a trail of rage and embarrassment in their wake. My eyes dart around, checking to see if anyone else is monitoring this situation. Everyone is unaware.

I size Rob and Matt up. Rob is tall and looks like he works out. He balls his fists at his side. Matt is shorter and doesn’t appear muscular at all. He seems slightly annoyed, definitely not as angry as Rob.

“Who I fuck is none of your business. I would recommend finding someone else to charm tonight.” Worst case, I can call Damian. He’ll take care of these assholes. However, it seems like my point finally gets across as they turn to leave.

I turn back around in my seat, but as soon as I do I feel something tighten around my arm. My head whips around and I see Rob again. He’s squeezing hard and is about to say something when a spray of water hits him in the face.

“Back the fuck off, asshole,” the woman behind the bar barks out. The sprayer is in one and in the other is a flashing light that she’s holding straight up.

Almost instantly, a massive man in all black saunters up to Rob and Matt. Without a word, he takes each one by the arm and leads them towards the exit.

“Thank you!” I yell out to the bartender. She nods with a tight smile and continues her work.

I glance back at Cassie, who has a fresh drink in front of her. I’m going to be carrying her out of here. “You’d think guys would learn how to take rejection with an ounce of class,” I comment, then take a sip of my drink. My head protests it and I push the glass away.

“Hey, you could prolly handle a couple more guys,” she slurs. The words should sting, although she’s drunk off her ass and I know she doesn’t mean it.

“Okay, that’s enough for you. I’m calling Anthony.” I pull out my phone and text him to come get her.

I pay the bartender and tip her generously for her help. It doesn’t take Anthony long to come through the door and spot us. Draping her arms around our shoulders, we walk her out to his car.

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