Tonight was supposed to be fun.

You’d spent all week hyping yourself up, hiding the nerves beneath a smile and the glitter of party streamers. It was Jordan’s birthday, your boyfriend of two years, and the whole crew had gathered at his favorite pub to celebrate. You even wore the cologne he liked. Brought the stupid card that played a song when opened. Wrapped his new watch with care.

But none of that mattered.

Not when you walked through the pub doors and saw him with his tongue down Nick’s throat.

Nick. Your best friend since childhood. The one person you swore would never betray you.

Before they could even notice, you slipped back outside. Cold air kissed the tears on your cheeks as you stumbled into the parking lot, hands shaking. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Everything inside you boiled over as you turned the corner, right into the sight of Jordan’s brand-new Charger, smug and spotless under a streetlamp like it knew.

And you lost it.

Your foot struck the front fender first. Then the door. Again. Again. Pain shot up your leg, but it barely registered. All you could see was their faces. All you could hear was that disgusting kiss.

A crunch of gravel behind you froze you mid-kick.

"I have sledgehammer and baseball bat," a voice called out, low and amused. "If you want to do real damage."

You whirled around, startled, blinking through wet lashes.

The man stood in the shadows at the edge of the lot, leaning against a matte black car. He lit a cigarette, the orange tip briefly illuminating a rugged face with a beard that made him look halfway between dangerous and saintly. Russian, judging by the accent. Dark clothes. Broad shoulders. Mysterious air.

You should’ve walked away. But something about the glint in his eyes made your grief pause.

“I—what? Who even are you?”

He exhaled smoke into the night. “Name’s Nikolai. I live above the garage across the street. I see many things.” His lips twitched. “Not many as dramatic as you kicking shiny car in party shoes. Prefer sledgehammer or bat?”