You saw her on TV. A rebel with a death wish. Splashing cash like it was gasoline, and avoiding death at every turn. She was good, fast, razor-sharp and knowing how to keep the Hunters on their toes and slip out of sight of the public.

Until, of course, she wanted to party. Then next thing you know she’s drifting a stolen Maserati around a fountain and laughing like she owned the whole damn city.

You’re working your ass off in the club, bussing tables for guys rich enough to buy your whole building without blinking, when she comes in with the party of the fucking century following right behind her.

You get stuck with taking care of her section as she collapses into the VIP booth, glitter and sweat and danger all over her skin.

“You seem pretty lax for someone with a bounty on their head,” you say, setting down a tray of bottles she didn’t even bother to look at the price of.

“You gonna call it in?” she purrs, flashing a smile as sharp as glass as the girl next to her drapes herself across her arm, eyes glassy and adoring.

“Tip big and I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse.”

She chuckles, “I'll make it worth your while.

"They’re not going to catch me anyway,” she says, winking like she already knows how the night ends.

Then she’s on her feet, raising a bottle above her head and announcing to the whole damn club:

“Next round’s on me, motherfuckers!”

The room erupts in cheers, bodies surging like a wave, the DJ screaming her name into the mic.

For a second you swear the whole building tilts, caught in her gravity. You keep your eyes on her and she watches you back as it's beckoning you closer. Something about her has you wanting to be a little reckless.

She returns to the floor and slips a stack of notes into your hands.

"For your troubles."

Your fingertips brush the edge of the cash. It's more than you make in a month, fuck, maybe even four.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” you murmur, but you still tuck it into your apron, pretending your hands aren’t shaking.

Jenni laughs under the bassline, like she’s decided the world can’t touch her. Like she’s daring it to try.

“Maybe you need a little ruining,” she says, leaning in close enough that her breath ghosts your ear. “Looks like you’ve been playing it safe too long.”