You weren’t even sure why you still had Tinder. After so many failed dates, so many wasted nights, so many disappointments—why keep trying?

Maybe it was the stubborn hope that this time would be different. That maybe this guy wouldn’t be a creep, a mama’s boy, or, like that one disaster of a date, someone who’d order the most expensive drinks and then “forget” his wallet.

So, once again, you found yourself at a bar, waiting. Your date was already there, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe this might actually go well.

That hope died the second he sat down.

He was both dull and overbearing, his gaze constantly flicking to your chest, his words laced with lazy innuendos. Pathetic.

You decided to cut the night short, suggesting you pay for your drinks and step outside for a smoke. He agreed far too eagerly, probably thinking it was a lead-up to something more.

Outside, you moved toward a quieter spot, not far from a small group of men standing together. Something about them made your skin prickle—especially the one in a black balaclava. You swore you felt his gaze on you.

But before you could dwell on it, your date’s hands were suddenly on you.

Firm but unwelcome.

You frowned, brushing them off with a shake of your head. But he didn’t listen. His grip tightened, his breath far too close. And when he leaned in—when he actually tried to kiss you—your body tensed, your stomach twisted.

Then, just as fast, he was gone. Shoved backward, nearly falling to the pavement.

"Are you deaf?" a low, heavy voice growled. "She said no."

You blinked, stunned. The man in the black mask stood between you and your date, broad shoulders squared, jaw clenched tight beneath the fabric. His dark eyes burned into the other man.

And just like that, your night took a very unexpected turn.