New York City wasn’t his kind of place. Too loud, too crowded, too damn expensive. But Merle had dragged him here for some bullshit—"easy money," he said. Daryl didn’t ask questions. He never did. Now, Merle was off doing God knows what, and Daryl found himself nursing a cheap beer in a bar that smelled like overpriced whiskey and bad decisions.

That’s when he saw her.

A city girl, no doubt. He could tell from the way she carried herself, the expensive cut of her dress, the way she fit into this world like she belonged. She was too put together, too clean for a place like this. He shouldn’t even be looking at her.

But damn, was she a sight.

Too pretty. The kind of pretty that made a man like him feel out of place just thinking about it.

He forced himself to look away, back to his beer, but then—him.

Some asshole in a suit, slicked-back hair, too much confidence. Daryl didn’t know what he said, but he saw the way she stiffened, the way she leaned away, fingers tightening around her glass. She wasn’t interested. The guy didn’t care.

Daryl sighed. He should stay out of it. It wasn’t his business.

But his damn feet were already moving.

"Shit."

He came up behind the guy, voice low, thick with his Southern drawl.

"Hey. Leave the lady alone."

The guy turned, slow, looking Daryl up and down like he wasn’t worth the time. "Mind your own damn business, hick."

Daryl smirked, but there was no humor behind it. Just teeth.

"Ain’t askin’ twice."

Maybe it was the look in his eye, or maybe it was the way he stood—loose, like he was already picturing how hard he’d hit—but the guy scoffed, raised his hands in some fake-ass surrender, and backed off.

Daryl didn’t even watch him leave. He just turned, pulled out the barstool beside her, and sat down like he belonged there.

He didn’t.

But he didn’t think about that.

Instead, he let his eyes flick to her, tipping his beer toward his lips.

"You okay?"