Page 2 of Tuned To Break
I give her my best ‘don’t test me’ look. The one that’s gotten me my way since we were sixteen. “Megan.”
“Fine.” She hands over her mobile with all the enthusiasm of someone surrendering their firstborn. I pocket it and head toward the back where the bathrooms are, weaving through the crowd like I’m navigating a minefield of drunken bodies.
The bathroom is a typical pub disaster. Sticky floors, mirrors that have seen better decades, and lighting that makes everyone look like they’re dying. I check my reflection anyway, reapply my lip gloss, and fluff my short red hair. Megan’s right—I do look good tonight. The green mask makes my hair pop like fire, and this outfit actually works.
But this isn’t me. I’m not the girl who goes to pubs on Friday nights to get plastered and make questionable decisions. I’m the girl who stays home in oversized hoodies, binge-watching crime shows and eating cereal for dinner.
Although, to be fair, what I’m wearing tonight isn’t that far from my usual style. I might be a homebody at heart, but I love dressing up. Short skirts, fitted tops that show off what God gave me, heels that make my legs look endless—that’s just who I am.
Even at work at The Enchanted Bean, this is my uniform. My boss Emily is a legend; she lets us wear whatever we want as long as we’ve got the logo visible somewhere. She even had custom t-shirts made in different colours so we can express our individual styles while still looking professional.
Stepping back into the hallway, the music hits me like a physical force. The bass is so deep I can feel it in my bones. I take a steadying breath and start making my way back to our table, already planning my escape route for when Megan inevitably suggests we stay for “just one more drink.”
That’s when he appears.
A figure steps directly into my path, and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. My heart launches itself into my throat and starts doing gymnastics.
He’s tall. Really tall. The kind of tall that makes me feel delicate even in heels. His shoulders are broad enough to block out the lights behind him, and his arms look like they could bench press a small car without breaking a sweat.He’s wearing a black half-mask that covers the top portion of his face, leaving his mouth and jaw exposed.
Strong jaw.
Very strong jaw.
He looks like Batman’s kinky cousin, and I am absolutely here for it. My body reacting to him immediately.
“How are you doing tonight, darl?”
His voice hits me like a shot of the good tequila—smooth, warm, and straight to places that have been neglected for far too long. The way he draws out ‘darl’ makes it sound like something intimate, something real, instead of just another generic Aussie endearment. My body responds instantly, heat pooling low in my belly.
“I’m good.” The words come out breathier than intended, like I’ve just run a marathon instead of walked ten metres from the bathroom.
“Are you here alone?”
“No, I’m here with friends.” I manage to sound somewhat normal, even though my pulse is doing things that definitely aren’t normal.
He steps closer, and instinct tells me to step back. So I do. It’s like some primal dance we’re both participating in without discussion.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” he says, taking another step forward.
Now he’s close enough that I can smell him—something masculine and intoxicating that makes my brain go fuzzy. He’s positioned himself so I’m trapped, but I don’t feel trapped. I feel... hunted. In the best possible way.
I could escape if I wanted to. There’s space to my left, people around us, exits within running distance. But I don’t want to escape. For the first time in months, something interesting is happening to me, and I’m not about to waste it.
“Honestly, this isn’t really my thing,” I admit. “I’d much rather be at home in my pyjamas watching Criminal Minds.”
“Ah, you’re one of those girls.”
“What do you mean, ‘one of those girls’?” There’s some bite in my response because I hate being categorised.
“The kind that binge-watches crime shows and casually discusses the best ways to dispose of a body.” His mouth curves into a smirk that does dangerous things to my composure. “Let me guess—you’ve got the whole thing planned out.”
“Feed them to the pigs,” I say without hesitation. “No evidence left behind. As long as you remember to remove the teeth first.”
He laughs, and the sound is rich and genuine. “Of course. That’s everyone’s go-to method these days.”
“It’s effective,” I shrug, trying to play it cool while my insides are melting.
“I like a girl who’s prepared for anything.”
