Page 47 of Second Sin

The bar tilts on a slight delay when I slide off the stool, the floor doing a slow, lazy sway beneath me. I plant a hand on the edge of the table, steady myself with a breath that does absolutely nothing to fix the spin, and nudge Harper’s arm.

“Bathroom,” I murmur.

She gives me a knowing grin, cheeks flushed from laughter and tequila. “Try not to fall in.”

I offer a weak salute and start threading my way toward the back hallway.

The lights are dimmer here, pulsing faintly to the beat of some bass-heavy track I can’t name. The floor creaks beneath my shoes—worn wood, just uneven enough to trip over when you’re two drinks past good judgment. My toe catches on a lip in the floorboard, and I stumble sideways.

Strong hands catch me before gravity wins.

One lands at my elbow, the other a little too familiar at my waist.

“Easy there, Counselor,” a voice teases, lazy and amused. “Didn’t peg you for a lightweight.”

Tyler Slade.

His grin is pure trouble—cocky and boyish, the kind that probably gets him into more fights than it does dates. He’s steadying me, sure, but he’s also lingering a beat longer than necessary.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, swaying a little as I try to straighten up. “You can—” I take a small step back, or try to. He doesn’t move. “—let go."

Tyler’s brows lift, and for a second he looks like he might make a joke out of it. But his hands just linger. Not gripping. Just...staying.

"Now.Tyler."

“Whoa,” he says, voice dipping an octave—still teasing, but softer now. “Relax. Just trying to keep you from eating the floor. Hate to see that pretty nose out of alignment.”

I’m about to respond—some mix of gratitude and a warning—when the air behind me shifts.

Thickens.

Then.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

The voice slices clean through the music. Low. Rough. Controlled in a way that makes it feel more dangerous, not less.

Sebastian.

I feel him before I see him—heat at my back, presence towering and all-consuming.

Tyler lets go instantly. Palms up in surrender, grin faltering but not gone. “Easy, man,” he says. “She tripped. I caught her. That’s it.”

I turn towards Sebastian, trying my best not to sway. He doesn't meet my gaze.

His eyes are locked on Tyler like he’s assessing a threat, not a teammate. Like he’s already decided how fast he could end it if he had to.

“Next time,” he says, voice quiet but edged in steel, “let her fall.”

That earns him a look from me. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“Sebastian,” I snap, pushing past the heat in my cheeks—part buzz, part fury. “Seriously?”

He glances at me, and something in his expression shifts. Just a little. Enough to make my stomach twist in a different way.

Less rage. More regret.

"Whatever, man." Tyler, just lifts his hands again and backs off with a half-shrug and a cocky wink.

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