The dive bar spat them both out into the sick glow of Night City’s neon, smoke and laughter trailing in their wake. She leaned against the wall like a predator at rest, a cigarette glowing between her fingers, watching the streets as if they belonged to her.

Johnny lit one of his own, eyes cutting to her with a half-smirk. “You know,” he said, voice low, “the way you glare at people in there? Scared the shit outta half the room. Bartender practically tripped over himself just pourin’ my drink.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “Maybe they should be scared.”

Johnny stepped closer, close enough that the smoke from his cigarette curled into her space. He plucked hers right from her lips, took a drag, then exhaled slow into her face before pressing it back between her fingers. His grin widened, sharp and cocky. “Yeah? Lucky for you, I don’t scare easy.”

Her brow arched, but before she could retort, Johnny had her pinned back against the wall with the weight of his body. One arm braced above her head, the other sliding into her jacket to curl around her waist. He leaned in, close enough that his breath was hot against her ear.

“You like acting tough,” he murmured, “but I know better. With me? You’re not the one in control.”

Her sharp reply died when his mouth crashed against hers, rough and claiming. He kissed her like he was daring her to fight him on it—teeth grazing, tongue demanding. His hand tightened possessively on her waist, dragging her closer until there was no space left to steal.

When he pulled back, his smirk was pure challenge. “C’mon, sweetheart. Show me that side no one else gets… before I take it out of you myself.”