And the worst part is? I think he knows.
Then the door slams open.
Chairs scrape back. Feet hit the floor. Nash is the first to move, hand already on the weapon at his hip.
A second later Darla appears.
She stumbles inside with legs that don’t seem to belong to her, mascara streaked, lip split, a black dress hanging in rags off her frame. A mask dangles from her wrist, a sick joke in satin and glitter.
Ruby’s up in an instant, darting to her as powerfully as a cannonball. I shove past the bar and drop to my knees.
“Darla,” I breathe, arms already wrapping around her trembling body. She smells of champagne, sweat, and smoke. Atwisted fairytale gone wrong. Her face is a canvas of pain, one eye swelling shut, the other brimming with tears.
The air changes. Shifts. Every molecule in the room seems to hold its breath.
East sinks to the floor beside us, gentling her hair back from her face with surprising tenderness. His voice, when it comes, is iron wrapped in velvet. “What happened, baby?”
She opens her mouth. A sob cracks through instead.
Frankie appears from the hallway, tattoo gun still buzzing softly in her hand. One of the other prospects must’ve asked her to look at a faded piece or correct a bad line. Something easy enough to pause. Her eyes land on Darla and everything stills. She disappears for a second before coming out with her hands free.
In two strides, Frankie’s on the floor too, arms looping around Darla, holding her close as though she could shield her from the world. “Talk to me, D,” she whispers. “What the hell happened?”
Darla hiccups, barely audible. “My dad.”
The whole room leans in.
“He said we were going to some party. I was excited. He never—he never takes me anywhere anymore. I thought…” Her voice breaks. She gathers herself. “But I overheard him talking to Trent. That guy he wants me to marry.” Her eyes flit to Ruby and me. “It wasn’t a party. It was an auction. He told Trent to buy me. Said I was being difficult, refusing to marry him, so he’d fix it so I couldn’t say no.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. The sob that follows rips through the room, loud and sudden, crashing into the silence as loud as thunder. I cover my mouth with my hands, kneeling back on my heels.
Frankie pulls her tighter, whispering something I can’t hear.
Darla shudders in her arms, then draws back, swiping at her eyes. She winces when her fingers graze the bruise. “Guess Iwon’t be singing at karaoke night,” she tries to joke, but it falls flat and no one laughs.
East stands, cradling her like she’s made of glass and dynamite all at once. “Come on, sugar. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Ruby shrugs off her jacket and lays it over Darla’s torn dress with a kind of gentleness I’ve never seen from her before.
“Ruby,” I murmur, “watch the bar?”
She nods without looking away.
I trail after East and Malachi, who’s a quiet storm ahead of me, shoulders tight and steps sharp, silent but tightly coiled. We climb the stairs, the weight of the club’s fury pressing against our backs. The scent of whiskey and leather clings to the walls. Too familiar, too suffocating.
Inside the room, East settles Darla gently into the chair, careful not to jostle her and risk making her fall apart. I move on instinct, digging through drawers until I find a pair of leggings and a T-shirt.
“Want to shower?” I ask.
She nods.
I help her into the bathroom, closing the door behind us. When she pulls what’s left of the dress off, my heart stutters. A dark bruise blooms along her ribs.
“Darla… did he kick you?”
She tries to hold it in, but a sob shudders out of her. She nods. “I heard them talking. I ran. Trent caught up with me.” Her voice drops to a broken whisper. “He beat the shit out of me. I don’t—I don’t know how to fight like you do.”
“I’ll teach you,” I say, my voice thick. “I will. But I’m just glad you got away.”
