Chapter Four

Danielle POV

Hex leads me back to the bar, and without a word, Giggles slides another drink in front of me. The glass is already damp from the cold.

“Look, I’m sorry for crashing this place,” I say, picking it up. “Who should I actually be apologising to?”

“Prez agreed to let you in, so don’t worry about it,” she replies with a shrug.

“Well, I am worried. I came in here acting like I had every right to demand entry. So seriously, who do I need to apologise to?”

She sighs and points subtly. “Echo. He’s the Prez. Big guy over there, the one who looks… well, a little crazy.”

I turn to follow her gaze and freeze. Crazy is an understatement. That man doesn’t just look intense, he looks dangerous. Like the kind of dangerous that doesn’t ask questions before he acts.

“Sometimes he talks to himself,” Hex adds, grinning like that explains everything. “He can get fixated on things, and if you’re scared of him, it’s fine. Everyone is.”

Great. So the guy who gave me permission to walk through those gates, the one who technically allowed me in, is the most unhinged of the lot. Of course he is.

Still, my stomach twists. I feel like I owe him something, even if Hex keeps saying I don’t.

I suck in a slow breath and push up from the barstool. “Okay. Time to go apologise for shouting like a lunatic and acting like I owned the place.”

The walk across the bar feels longer than it should. Every step I take seems to echo, or maybe that’s just in my head. The music is loud, the voices louder, but all I can focus on is the man sitting at the far end of the room, half in shadow, half bathed in the low amber light that makes his features look carved from something sharp and unforgiving.

Echo.

The name doesn’t suit him. It’s too soft, too poetic. Nothing about him looks like it belongs to a word like that. He sits with one arm slung lazily over the back of a worn leather booth, his other hand nursing a glass filled with something dark.

His shoulders are broad beneath a black tee stretched tight, and his tattoos creep up his throat like smoke, disappearing into the edge of his beard. He’s not talking to anyone. Not moving. Just watching everything like he’s the one pulling the strings.

When I stop in front of his table, his eyes lift to mine, ice-blue, unreadable, sharp as a blade.

“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I wanted to apologise.”

He doesn’t blink. “For what?”

“For demanding to be let in. For shouting at your gate guy. For assuming I belonged here when I obviously don’t.” I shift on my feet, resisting the urge to glance back at Hex like she might save me. “I didn’t mean to disrespect the place.”

He sets his glass down without breaking eye contact. “You walked in wearing red, throwing attitude, and you think that’s disrespect?” His voice is deep, rough like gravel soaked in whiskey. “You were the most interesting thing to happen all night.”

“I still shouldn’t have—”

“I said it’s fine,” he interrupts, leaning forward just slightly. “You didn’t insult the club. You didn’t disrespect me. You walked in like a challenge, and I like challenges.”

The way he says it sends a shiver straight down my spine. I don’t know if it’s fear or something far more dangerous.

“I just didn’t want to cause problems,” I murmur.

His gaze drops, skimming down my body before flicking back to my face. “You’re already a problem. Pretty ones like you always are.”

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. My brain stalls at the way he’s looking at me, like he’s deciding whether to ruin me just for fun.

“I let you in for a reason,” he says, voice low. “So don’t apologise for doing exactly what I wanted.”

I nod slowly, the breath caught in my throat. “Okay.”

He smiles, but there’s no kindness in it. “Good girl.”

My legs almost give out.

I turn before I can say something stupid and make my way back toward the bar. Hex meets me halfway, eyebrows raised.

“Did you survive?”

“Barely.”

“Yeah,” she says, grinning. “That’s usually how Echo goes.”

Hex doesn’t say anything for a moment. She just watches me with that sly grin like she knows exactly what Echo said to me. Maybe she does. Maybe everyone here knows how he talks, how he looks at people. I’m still catching my breath, still trying to stop the heat from rising up my neck.

“I told you,” she finally says, sliding my drink back toward me. “He’s intense.”

“That’s one word for it,” I mutter and take a sip, grateful for the cold. My hand’s still shaking, just a little.

She leans on the counter and tilts her head at me. “Did he touch you?”

“No.”

“But you wanted him to,” she says, matter-of-fact, like she’s just pointing out the weather.

“I didn’t say that,” I argue, though it sounds weak even to me.

“You didn’t have to.” Her smirk grows, but there’s no judgment behind it. “It’s okay, you know. It happens. You walk into this place looking for something you can’t quite name, and then someone like him makes you forget why you were nervous in the first place.”

“I didn’t forget,” I say quietly. “I still am.”

Hex shrugs and takes a drink from her own glass. “That’s fine too. Just means you’re smart. But you’re still here. And that means something.”

I let her words settle for a moment while the music shifts behind us, deeper now, the beat slower and heavier. It matches the way my heart is thudding against my ribs. I glance over my shoulder toward Echo, but he’s no longer watching. He’s leaning back again, talking to a guy beside him who looks just as intimidating.

“So,” Hex says, drawing my attention back, “Knox?”

I blink. “What about him?”

“You interested?”

I almost laugh. “I don’t even know who he is.”

“You will,” she says with a grin. “He’s one of ours. And since Ghost handed you off, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to point you toward someone who’ll actually be a little careful.”

“Careful?” I echo.

“With you,” she replies, her voice dropping a little. “You’re strong, yeah, but not for this world. Not yet. Knox knows how to handle soft without snapping it.”

Something about the way she says that makes me go still. I look down at my drink, then back up at her. “Is that what you think I am? Soft?”

Hex laughs, but it’s not cruel. “No. I think you’re someone who’s been treated like she’s fragile for too long and doesn’t know she’s already survived the breaking part.”

That hits harder than I expect.

Before I can respond, someone slides up behind Hex and taps her shoulder. She glances back, nods once, and then leans in to me again.

“Knox just walked in. Give it five minutes. He’ll find you.”

My stomach twists. “What if I don’t want him to?”

Hex raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

I don’t answer.

I just stare down at the liquid in my glass, the red dress hugging my thighs, the feel of the bar under my fingertips. I don’t know what I want. But I know I’m not ready to go home. Not yet.