The bar was dark enough to hide in. That was the first thing Sienna noticed as she stepped inside, her pulse still hammering in her throat. A haze of smoke clung to the low ceiling, the bass of the music vibrating against her ribs. Laughter spilled from a booth near the back, a woman's shriek cutting through the noise, but nobody looked at her. Nobody cared.
Good.
She walked straight to the counter, ignoring the way her dress clung to her skin after the run. The bartender gave her a quick once-over, red eyes, smudged makeup, trembling hands gripping the edge of the bar, then set a napkin down without asking.
"What can I get you?"
"Whiskey," she said, her voice hoarse. "Neat. Just… keep them coming."
His brows lifted, but he didn't argue. A moment later, amber liquid slid across the counter. She grabbed it like salvation and downed it in one swallow, the burn scorching her throat.
It wasn't enough.
Her chest was still heavy, her mind replaying the scene she'd walked into the horror room with Brianna's laugh, Marcom's hands, and their faces when they saw her. She slammed the glass back down. "Another one, please."
From across the room, someone noticed her.
Crimson Phelps wasn't supposed to be here tonight. He never drank in small, hidden bars like this was too risky because there were too many wandering eyes. But he'd been restless after practice, tired of the same high-end clubs where women lined up just to touch him. He wanted noise without expectations, a place where nobody whispered his name.
And then he saw her.
She wasn't like the others. She wasn't watching him. She wasn't smiling at anyone. She looked like she was unraveling right there on the stool, whiskey glass in her hand, fire in her eyes, even as her lips trembled.
Something about the way she held herself, like she was daring the world to push her one step further, pulled at him.
He leaned back in his seat, swirling his drink, studying her.
Sienna didn't notice. Her third whiskey was already burning its way down, numbing the edges of her thoughts. She wanted to forget. Forget the moan she'd heard through the door, forget Brianna's tangled hair, forget Marcom's voice breaking on her name.
"Another?" the bartender asked cautiously.
She nodded. "Don't stop until I tell you to."
A voice slid in before the bartender could answer. "Careful. That kind of order usually ends in regret."
Sienna stiffened, her head snapping toward the sound.
The man leaned against the bar a few stools down, his glass catching the light. Dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead, his jaw sharp, his mouth curved in a way that suggested he never had to try hard for attention. His eyes watched her with unnerving calm, as though he already knew too much.
"And what would you know about regret?" she shot back, her words slurred but sharp enough.
He smirked, lifting his drink. "More than most. Less than some."
She turned back to the bar. "Ha! Not interested."
"I didn't offer," he said smoothly.
Her grip tightened around the glass. She wanted him to shut up, wanted the music to drown out his voice, wanted to sit here until the whiskey erased everything. But her body betrayed her; curiosity flickered, just enough to glance at him again.
He was still watching. Not the way men usually did with their hungry eyes, but as if she were some puzzle he intended to solve.
"What do you want?" she asked flatly.
"Conversation," he said. "But I'll settle for your name."
Sienna let out a humorless laugh, low and bitter. "Names don't matter. Not tonight."
"Then I won't tell you mine."
Their eyes locked. The bar's haze seemed to fade around them, the noise thinning into background static.
She drained her glass, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood. "Fine. No names. Just drinks."
His smirk deepened. "Or something stronger."
The suggestion lingered, heavy and obvious. She should have walked away. She should have told him to go to hell. But the memory of Marcom's hands on Brianna's skin seared behind her eyelids, and for once, she didn't want to be the good girl who planned, who waited, who believed in promises.
She really wanted to forget.
Sienna leaned closer, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "Then buy me another drink. And we'll see where it goes."
Crimson's fingers tapped the bar once, deliberate. "Deal."