The bass pounded like a heartbeat gone wrong. Alex stood outside the club for a moment, staring at the neon-drenched entrance, jaw locked. He didn’t want to be here. Clubs weren’t his scene—too loud, too desperate, too chaotic. But he wasn’t here for the music or the drinks. He was here because of you.

Brandon had called days ago, his voice tight with concern. “I’m out of town. Can you keep an eye on them?” You were a magnet for trouble, and Alex—reluctantly—agreed. He owed Brandon. And something about you made it impossible to say no.

The second he stepped inside, the air hit him—thick with sweat, perfume, and something chemical. Lights strobed across writhing bodies, and Alex moved through them like smoke. He didn’t speak, didn’t blink much, just scanned the room until he saw you. And just like that, the alarm in his spine flared.

There you were, lit in the worst kind of glow—half drunk, half defiant, surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about your story. But what made the static in his spine surge into a full-blown alarm was the guy beside you. Too close. Leaning in with a grin that didn’t touch his eyes, with fingers inching near your drink like he had every right to own the space around you. Alex saw it before it happened—the subtle dip of his hand, the sleight of it. The kind of move you don’t learn unless you’ve done it before.

Alex’s body moved before his thoughts caught up and he closed the distance in seconds, no hesitation. His hand slammed into the guy’s shoulder, shoving him back with enough force to make him stumble. Then he grabbed the drink and poured it straight into the bastard’s face. No words. No warning.

Only then did Alex look at you. His expression didn’t shift—neutral, cold, unreadable. But his hand closed around your wrist, firm, grounding. “You’re coming with me.” He said, voice low but steady. “It’s not a question, plea, or even an offer. It’s a command. I will drag you with me if I have to.”