The bar was empty. Too empty. Reagan's boots echoed on the floor as she moved to the front door, hands stiff from cleaning, muscles tight with tension. She reached for the bolt—
And froze.
He was already there.
Leaning against the frame like he'd been waiting.
Travis.
Her breath caught like shattered glass in her throat. Her hand dropped from the lock, fingers trembling against her thigh.
He didn't speak right away. Just looked at her. Head tilted. Like he had a right to.
"You look good," he said, his voice smooth and slick. "Healthy. Got some color back. Sleeping even? With both eyes closed?"
She said nothing. Just moved slowly, clumsily, behind the bar—putting something solid between them. Her elbow bumped a glass. She grabbed it before it could fall but fumbled it awkwardly. The soft clink against the counter made her wince.
"You still sleep with the lights on, Reagan?" Travis continued, ignoring her silence. "Still got that knife under your pillow? Or did lover boy convince you you're safe now?"
Her throat tightened. She gripped the edge of the bar to keep her hands from shaking.
"You think Rocco can protect you?" he sneered. "The Reaper," he added mockingly, twisting the nickname like it tasted foul. "Big man. Big threats. But I don't see him here, do you?"
Her jaw clenched, but she still didn't speak.
Travis stepped forward, closing the distance inch by inch.
"He doesn't know you like I do," he murmured, voice turning darker. "Doesn't know how you begged when you were scared. How you shook so sweet under my hand. Or the sounds you made when Owen held you down and made you watch."
She staggered back a step. Her heel caught on a bar mat, and she stumbled, catching herself just in time on the edge of a stool.
Travis smiled.
"You think a new bar and a different zip code changed you?" he asked. "You're still mine, Rae. Still broken. Still the same little girl who cried and apologized after every slap, just so I'd hold you after."
She felt her knees starting to go. She backed toward the storeroom door, breath ragged, hand fumbling behind her for something—anything—solid. He stepped in closer, lowering his voice to a poisonous whisper.
"You can wrap yourself in Rocco all you want. Play the badass. Pretend you're healed. But underneath all that? You're still just a scared, used-up thing who only knows how to survive on her knees."
That one hit her like a blow.
Not a scream. Not a cry. Just stillness.Like something inside her quietly cracked. Travis saw it. And smiled.
"I'll be seeing you, sweetheart," he said, stepping back toward the door. "Might even say hi to your little friend next time. He paused.
"Skylar, right?" Then he was gone.
Travis and Owens apartment
The knock wasn't loud. Not aggressive. Just three, steady taps—measured and calm.
Like whoever was on the other side wasn't there to fight.
But could, if they felt like it.
Owen grumbled as he crossed the living room, barefoot, rubbing sleep from his face. He yanked the door open, mid-curse—
And froze.
Rocco stood just outside. Black coat. Collar turned up. Eyes unreadable. Not smiling. Not moving. Just watching.
Behind him leaned Taz, half-shadowed by the hallway light, chewing a toothpick like it was the most exciting part of his day. His hands were in his pockets. His gaze? Somewhere between boredom and calculation. Owen stepped back instinctively. "Easy," Rocco said, stepping inside with a small, almost polite smile. "We're not here to fight." Taz followed without asking. He strolled in like he lived there, glanced around at the chaos—clutter, beer bottles, dirty ashtrays—and made a face. He dropped onto the couch with a groan, stretched out, kicked his feet up, and let out a long sigh.
"Jesus," he muttered. "You boys live like this on purpose?"
Owen glanced at him. Taz blinked slowly back—expression flat, posture loose, but every part of him quietly alert. Watching. Travis appeared from the hallway, a towel slung over his shoulders. His face shifted the second he saw them. That cocky sneer tried to climb into place.
"Well, shit."
"I take it you've heard of us then. Fantastic" Rocco said mildly.
"You lost?" Travis asked, voice sharp.
"Not at all." Rocco took another step in. "Just thought we'd have a chat."
Travis let out a dry laugh—shaky at the edges. "You show up with your pet psycho and nine guys parked outside and want to talk?"
"Oh good," Taz said, rolling his eyes, flicking lint off his hoodie. "They counted."
"We're not here to threaten you," Rocco said. "If we were, this would be… a much shorter visit."
Travis swallowed but kept up the act. "Then what do you want?"
Rocco took his time, scanning the apartment with slow distaste. "She told me what you said," he murmured. "At the bar. How you stood there and smiled like you still owned her pain."
Travis's smirk faltered. Taz spoke without looking up. "You know, I've met a lot of stupid men in my life. Most of them know when they're outmatched. You? You're in a room with two wolves and still think you're holding the leash. That's cute."
Rocco stepped closer to Travis, voice calm, almost soft.
"She's not alone anymore," he said. "Whatever game you think you're playing, you already lost. The second she got us involved? You stopped mattering."
"You think you scare me?" Travis snapped.
Rocco tilted his head slightly. "I know I do. I see it."
He gestured, vaguely. "Your pulse is climbing. Your breathing's shallow. Your hands won't stop twitching. You reek of fear."
He turned slightly to glance at Owen. "Though your brother… he seems more afraid of him."
He nodded toward Taz, who finally looked up—expression completely blank.
Travis didn't speak. Then Rocco smiled. That quiet, cold smile that never reached his eyes.
"I just wanted to see your face when you realized you're not the biggest monster in the room anymore." Travis's mouth opened—then closed.Nothing came out. Taz stood, stretching like he hadn't just been lounging in enemy territory. "Nice place," he said. "Shame if something… collapsed on it." He yawned. "But hey, we're civil."
Rocco turned to leave. On the way past a crooked photo frame, he paused—adjusted it with two fingers, realigned it on the shelf.
"There," he said. "Better." His tone was polite. Casual.Like he hadn't just set the emotional tone of a funeral. "We're done here."
Travis didn't reply. Couldn't. He just stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched.
Taz winked at Owen on the way out. "Stay hydrated, princess."
The door closed behind them. No threats. No violence. Just the lingering weight of everything they hadn't said. Silence followed.
Sharp. Pressurized. Travis sank onto the edge of the couch like something had been knocked out of him. Both hands dragged down his face. The silence stretched like smoke.
Owen stood frozen near the door, still staring at it like it might open again.
"What the hell was that?"
Travis didn't answer.
Owen turned, eyes wide. "I mean—seriously. They just walked in here like they owned the place. Sat on our couch. Mocked us. And you didn't do shit."
Travis didn't move. His jaw was locked. Shoulders tight
Owen took a step closer, voice rising. "You let them punk us in our own goddamn apartment!"
"Shut up," Travis muttered.
"No," Owen snapped. "You shut the fuck up. You stood there while Rocco Mancini told you we'd already lost—and you just let him. You didn't even blink when he said her name."
Travis's hands curled into fists in his lap.
"You're scared of him."
"I'm not scared," Travis growled. Owen barked a bitter laugh. "You didn't say one word to him. Not one. And you always run your mouth—until he talks."
"I'm not scared," Travis said again, louder this time. "I'm calculating."
"No, man," Owen said. "You're rattled. And you should be."
He gestured vaguely to the door. "You saw Rocco's eyes. That man didn't come here to threaten us. He came here to watch. To measure."
"They won't touch us," Travis said tightly. "Not unless we give them a reason."
Owen raised an eyebrow. "You showing up at her bar might've been reason enough."
"She's mine." Owen's expression froze.
"No, Trav." His voice was quiet now. Firm. "She was. Past tense. And now she's got them."
Travis looked up at him—something wild flickering behind his eyes.
"Then we make her remember."
Owen took a step back. "You do remember who the fuck you're dealing with, right? Who Taz is? Who Rocco is? You think she's going to forget them because of a few twisted memories?"Travis stood suddenly, fast and jerky. "I don't care. I'll remind her. I'll make her see." Owen didn't respond.
He just looked at him. Really looked.
And what he saw?Wasn't confidence. Wasn't control.
It was fear.Dressed up as obsession. Shaking beneath the skin. And for the first time… Owen felt it too.