6. Reagan

Chapter 6

Reagan

T he bell rings, signaling the end of class, and my heart races with anxiety, wondering if tall, dark, and creepy is still lingering. I shove my textbook into my bag and bolt out of the classroom, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone.

“Watch it!” someone snaps as I barge through the crowded halls, but I don’t have the desire to apologize to anyone or anything ever again.

Stepping outside, I glance around and don’t see my mystery man, so I feel a bit of the tension leave my shoulders as I walk through campus to my apartment.

Finally reaching my building, I walk up the stairs and fling the door open and freeze. Something feels off. The eerie sensation that someone has been in my room sends chills down my spine. My eyes dart around the space, searching for any sign of an intruder, but I don’t see anything. I flop onto the couch and reach out to grab my sketchbook, but it’s not on the table. I glance around the couch, but don’t see it. It’s the one thing that I take comfort in. Sometimes I’ll flip through it, even if I’m too exhausted to just doodle something before I pass out for a few hours of sleep. I always leave it right within reach, and yet it’s not here. I’ve had a lot going on lately, but the pit in my stomach is telling me someone has been in here.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, panic setting in as I frantically search for my sketchbook. It’s my solace, my escape from the fucked-up reality that is my life. And now, it’s gone.

I get up and start tossing aside clothes and books in a desperate attempt to locate it. I pause, trying to remember where I last saw it, when my phone buzzes with a reminder of tonight’s double shift at the bar. “Not now,” I groan, swiping away the alarm notification and tossing the phone on to the couch and it slides into the cushion.

Looking on my bed, in the bathroom and kitchen, and I don’t see it anywhere. Frustrated, I go to pull my phone from the couch when my fingers finally brush against the familiar texture of the sketchbook, hidden between the arm and the cushion. Relief washes over me, but as I open it, confusion quickly replaces my relief. Several pages are ripped out, leaving jagged edges and incomplete drawings behind. My heart sinks, and I can’t help but wonder the circumstances where this even happened or why.

“Who the hell...?” I mutter under my breath, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. Fury ignites within me, and I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks. No one has any right to tamper with my art not to mention fucking break into my damn place.

Shaking off the unease, I force myself to focus on getting ready for my shift at the bar. If there’s anything that can distract me from the mess of my life, it’s losing myself in the chaos of that grimy place and the money doesn’t hurt either. Every shift is one step close to being free where I can disappear from everyone and everything that has ever given me grief. With determined resolve, I kick off my shoes and hastily strip out of my sensible clothes.

I pull on a pair of fishnets and then my favorite pair of frayed jean shorts, followed by my black combat boots—both items worn in from countless nights spent escaping reality. An all-black tank top ripped across my chest and a worn leather jacket complete the look. As I glance in the mirror, I smirk at the reflection staring back at me. I like what I see. Fake it till you make it, I guess. I look fierce and that’s an armor I wear proudly.

Detouring into my bathroom, I spray some dry shampoo in my hair, line my eyes even darker, and swipe on my favorite black glitter gloss.

As I grab my bag and head out the door, I can’t shake the anxiety lining my gut. The torn pages of my sketchbook weigh heavily on my mind, an unsettling reminder that my personal space has been invaded. Should I even bother locking the door at this point? I think about calling my dad and chewing his ass out, but this doesn’t reek of him. He’d take something I need to survive, like my wallet or my phone.

For now, I can’t dwell on it. There’s work to be done, and my bitch ass manager won’t wait for me to Scooby Doo this mystery.

The moment I step out of my apartment, a shiver runs down my spine, as if icy fingers are tracing the curve of my vertebrae. I glance around, half-expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows, but the corridor is empty. The lingering effect from when my father choked me seeps into my thoughts; his cold, calculating eyes still haunt me. My heart races, and I quicken my pace, eager to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.

Get a fucking grip .

I swallow the lump in my throat, but despite my efforts to shake off the eerie feeling, it clings to me like a second skin.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk out of the building because I don’t have the luxury not to.

The dimly lit bar greets me with the familiar scent of alcohol, stale cigarette smoke, and sweat when I arrive for my shift. It’s already filled with rowdy customers who drown their sorrows or seek solace in one another’s company. The sound of laughter mixed with raucous music reverberates through the room, wrapping me up in a world that numbs my senses. This place is so familiar to me—a refuge where I can lose myself in chaos and anonymity.

“Hey, Reagan,” the head bartender greets me, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “You’re just in time. We’re slammed tonight.”

“Perfect,” I say dryly, tying my apron around my waist and getting straight to work. I pour shots, mix cocktails, and sling beers with practiced ease, but my mind keeps drifting back to my sketchbook. “Earth to Reagan,” a regular customer teases, snapping his fingers in front of my face as I absentmindedly slide a whiskey sour across the counter to him. “Where’s that spirit we all love so much?”

“Must’ve left it in my other pants,” I quip back, forcing a smirk. “Drink up, and maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of it later.”

“Can’t wait,” he says with a wink before downing his drink in one gulp.

As I continue serving the thirsty patrons, I can’t shake my shitty ass mood. I roll my eyes at my racing thoughts, because when in the last fucking couple of years has the vibe not been complete shit? My skin prickles with anticipation, a sensation that gnaws at me like an itch I can’t quite scratch. Fate is a twisted bitch, and I can’t help but wonder what she has in store for me this time.

I can feel my pulse quicken as I weave through the sea of bodies, attempting to avoid the wandering hands of the bar’s patrons. The atmosphere is charged with alcohol that will lead many to make mistakes they’ll regret in the morning.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” a drunken frat boy slurs, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me as he leans heavily against the counter. I know this bitch is a super senior, but I wouldn’t doubt that most of the assholes in here have daddy’s money to buy them fake IDs. “I could use another whiskey.”

“Sure thing,” I reply, rolling my eyes at his lecherous grin. The guy is obviously wasted, but I’ve dealt with far worse in my time here.

As I pour his drink, I notice a commotion growing near the entrance. A group of rowdy St. James University students have stumbled into the bar, their laughter obnoxiously loud and grating. Ah yes, I bet all of their IDs are from Alaska or Hawaii. But my boss allows it because they have money, and he loves money. My eyes track their movements, waiting for the inevitable moment when one of them crosses the line.

“Reagan, what’re you looking at them for? Where’s my drink?” The same drunken frat boy from earlier shouts my name, clearly agitated. His cheeks are flushed, his words slurred and barely intelligible.

I don’t have time to answer him because he’s leaning toward me, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me into his body with such force that I freeze up. His intentions are all too clear.

“Get the hell away from me!” I snap, fear and panic surging through my veins. But before I have the chance to react further, a figure steps in between us, slamming the frat boy’s head against the counter with a thunderous bang. The room falls silent, all eyes drawn to the scene unfolding before them.

“Miss me?” The voice is deep and familiar, sending a shiver down my spine. As I look up, my gaze locks onto the person who intervened—the same guy I saw on the bike earlier who just so happens to be my mystery murder man. His piercing eyes hold a familiarity that consumes me, and now I know for sure I’m not imagining things. He’s following me, and I don’t think he has good intentions. Judging by the sheer size of him and the mean glint in those eyes that are one hundred percent fixated on me, he could have ambushed me and put us both out of misery already. So that leaves two options. He either wants something from me, or he’s toying with me for his own amusement.

“Who the hell are you?” I demand, anger bubbling beneath the surface. My heart races as I muster up the courage to confront him head-on.

“Does it matter?” He smirks, stepping closer. The scent of him is invigorating, like stepping into a forest and all you smell is earth. “I saved your ass, didn’t I?”

“I could have done that,” I say, nodding toward the frat guy who’s still passed out on the counter. I narrow my eyes, trying to keep my composure despite the heat that builds within me. “You’ve been lurking around me lately, and I know why. I haven’t snitched and I’m not going to, so please fuck off. ”

“Maybe I find you…intriguing,” he replies, leaning in so close that our breaths mingle. “Or maybe I’m just looking out for you.”

“Like a guardian angel or something?” I scoff, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice as I move away from him. “I’m, unfortunately for you, not delusional enough to believe anything you say. Thanks for breaking that guy’s face. I can handle it from here.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by my bravado. “You sure about that?”

“Damn right I am,” I retort, my defiance only fueling the fire between us. “I want you to leave me alone and go back to whatever hovel you crawled out of.” My word choice makes him grin.

“Could you draw me a map? I seem to have lost my way,” he snickers, knowing I catch on to the way he says draw.

I storm over to him, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. “Were you in my apartment?” I snap before I can stop myself.

“Which time?” he replies with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. His arrogance is infuriating, but there’s something undeniably magnetic about him.

“Answer me,” I growl, trying to regain control of the situation. But before I can even process what’s happening, he leans in close to me.

I hate the way the gravelly sound of his voice makes me feel as he murmurs, “Nice lip gloss, by the way.”

And then, without warning, he kisses me. My mind goes blank as our lips connect, his mouth hot and insistent against mine. It’s messy and unexpected, and yet somehow, it feels like fireworks are exploding inside my head. I’m breathless, utterly bewildered, and for a moment, I forget everything else— my fear, my anger, the fact that he’s been in my room multiple times, apparently.

I bite down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste fills my mouth as he pulls back with a hiss. But instead of anger, there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Well well, kitten’s got claws,” he drawls, running his tongue over the small wound. “I like a girl with bite. Feel free to sink your teeth in anytime.”

He swipes his thumb across the corner of my mouth, wiping away a smear of his blood. I jerk back, glaring at him even as my pulse races out of control. I hate that my body responds to him.

What the hell just happened?

“Fuck you,” I spit out, shoving against his chest. “You can’t just break people’s noses and then assault me with your mouth, you psycho.”

Tall, dark, and crazy chuckles, unfazed by my outburst. He leans in close, caging me against the wall with his much larger frame.

“Assault? Baby, that was just a taste. When I decide to fuck with you properly, trust me, you’ll know.” His voice is a low, seductive purr that sends shivers down my spine. “Besides, we both know you’re dying for me to put my hands on you. To pin you down and make you scream my name until you forget everything but how I feel inside you.”

“Reagan!” the head bartender’s voice cuts through my haze of confusion, snapping me back to reality. “What do you think you’re doing? Get to fucking work. This isn’t a damn brothel!”

I raise my head, the scolding from Devon still ringing in my ears. But as I look for the guy who kissed me, ready to unleash some of my anger on him, I notice he’s gone. Vanished into thin air. All that remains is an empty space where he once stood, and a lingering warmth that sends shivers down my spine.

“Where the hell did he go?” I mutter under my breath, scanning the room for any trace of him. Confusion and turmoil swirl within me, making it difficult to focus on anything else. I guess the kiss confirms my suspicions that he is, in fact, toying with me.

Despite the fear that should be coursing through my veins, I find myself drawn to him in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“Reagan, are you listening?” Devon’s voice brings me back to the present, and I nod, forcing myself to pay attention.

“Sorry, I…got distracted,” I admit, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Clearly,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Just get back to work.”

As I make my way behind the bar, pouring drinks and exchanging witty banter with the patrons, I can’t help but feel the weight of conflicting emotions threatening to consume me. Fear, desire, confusion—they all blend together, leaving me unsure of what to think or how to act.

“Hey Rae,” one of the regulars calls out, his words slurring slightly. “You seem a little off tonight. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I snap, my tone sharper than intended. “Everything’s fine.”

But deep down, I know it’s not. Tonight has left me reeling, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story—more to him—than meets the eye.

“Thanks for asking,” I add with a forced smile, trying to regain my composure. “I’m just…tired. ”

“Long day?” he asks sympathetically, taking a sip of his beer.

“You have no idea,” I sigh, leaning against the bar for support. As much as I want to push these conflicting emotions aside and focus on the task at hand, I know it won’t be easy. No matter where I go or what I do, the memory of the way his lips felt against mine lingers in my head, refusing to fade away.