Strangers in the Dark

Chapter 3

Zara’s POV

The neon sign of Murphy's Bar flickered like a dying heartbeat against the darkening sky. I'd been coming here -the bar where I work now, for three years—whenever Robert's fists found me, whenever my family's indifference cut too deep, whenever the weight of being unwanted became too much to bear. Tonight, it felt like coming home to the only place that had ever welcomed me without judgment.

The familiar smell of stale beer and broken dreams wrapped around me like an old blanket as I stumbled through the door. My ribs ached with every breath, my cheek throbbed where Robert's ring had cut me, and my hands still trembled from gripping that switchblade.

"Whiskey," I told Marcus, the bartender who'd seen me at my lowest points. "Double. And keep them coming."

He looked at the bruise blooming across my face but didn't comment. That's why I liked Marcus—he understood that sometimes people came here to drown, not to talk.

The first shot burned going down, but it was a good burn. The second shot went down smoother. By the third, the edges of my pain were starting to blur.

I was reaching for the fourth when a voice like warm honey interrupted my self-destruction.

"Mind if I buy you something that won't eat a hole through your stomach?"

I turned, and whatever sarcastic response I'd prepared died on my lips. The man standing beside my barstool was beautiful in a way that made my breath catch. Tall—probably six-two or six-three—with broad shoulders that filled out his expensive-looking suit jacket perfectly. Dark hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it, sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, and eyes the color of storm clouds. This was the kind of man who graced magazine covers and made women stupid with want.

And he was talking to me. Broken, bruised, abandoned me.

"Depends," I managed, my voice hoarser than I'd expected. "What did you have in mind?"

He smiled, and I swear I felt my heart skip a beat. "Something smooth. Something that won't leave you regretting it tomorrow." He signaled Marcus. "Two glasses of the Macallan 18, please."

My eyebrows shot up. That bottle was behind the locked case, the stuff Marcus only brought out for special occasions or people with more money than sense. "That's a two-hundred-dollar bottle."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not buying the whole bottle." His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "I'm Josh, by the way,Josh Anderson. And you look like you could use something better than rotgut whiskey to drown whatever demons you're fighting tonight."

"Zara Williams," I said, accepting the crystal tumbler he offered. The whiskey was amber gold and smelled like heaven. "And what makes you think I'm fighting demons?"

"Because happy people don't usually drink alone at Murphy's on a Tuesday night looking like they've been through a war."

I laughed, but it came out bitter. "A war. That's one way to put it."

We clinked glasses, and I took a sip. The whiskey was like liquid silk, nothing like the harsh burn I'd been punishing myself with. It warmed me from the inside out, smooth and comforting.

"So," Josh said, settling onto the barstool beside me. "What's her story?"

"Whose story?"

"The woman who's drinking like the world's ending while looking like someone used her as a punching bag."

I flinched, my hand automatically going to my bruised cheek. "That obvious?"

"I've seen enough to recognize the signs." His voice was gentle, but there was steel underneath it. "Want to talk about it?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he looked at me like I actually mattered, or maybe I was just tired of carrying all this pain alone. But I found myself talking.

"Have you ever had one of those days where everything you thought you knew about your life turns out to be a lie?" I took another sip of the expensive whiskey. "Where you wake up thinking you have a family, a fiancé, a best friend, and by sunset you realize you never really had any of those things at all?"

Josh's expression grew serious. "That sounds like more than just a bad day."

"Try a bad life." The alcohol was loosening my tongue, making me braver than I had any right to be. "Twenty-eight years of thinking I belonged somewhere, only to find out I'm just some charity case nobody actually wanted."

"Charity case?"

The words poured out of me then—about walking in on Robert and Katy, about my family's cruel revelation, about learning I was nothing more than a stray they'd taken in out of pity. Josh listened without judgment, occasionally asking gentle questions, never making me feel pathetic or small.

"And the bruises?" he asked quietly when I finished.

"Parting gifts from my loving fiancé when I went back to get my things." I drained my glass. "Turns out stabbing someone in the leg really pisses them off."

Josh's jaw tightened. "You stabbed him?"

"Self-defense. He was beating the shit out of me, and I wasn't about to become another statistic." I gestured to Marcus for another drink, but Josh intercepted.

"I think you've had enough of the hard stuff for tonight," he said gently. "How about some food? When's the last time you ate?"

I tried to remember and came up blank. "Yesterday? Maybe the day before?"

He shook his head and ordered us both burgers and fries. As we waited for the food, he told me about himself—successful businessman, owned a consulting firm, traveled a lot for work. Nothing too personal, but enough to make me feel less like I was spilling my guts to a complete stranger.

"So what's your story?" I asked as we shared the fries. "Successful guy like you, drinking alone at Murphy's on a Tuesday night. That doesn't scream 'living my best life' either."

He laughed, but there was something shadowed in his eyes. "Maybe I just prefer dive bars to country clubs. More authentic."

"Bullshit. Nobody wears a thousand-dollar suit to drink authentically at Murphy's."

"You'd be surprised." He stole one of my fries."Maybe I was hoping to meet someone interesting. Someone real."

"Well, congratulations. You found the most real mess in the place."

"You're not a mess, Zara. You're a survivor."

The way he said my name made something flutter in my chest. Like it mattered. Like I mattered.

The hours slipped by without me noticing. We talked about books, movies, places we'd traveled or wanted to travel. Josh was funny and smart and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. For the first time in months—maybe years—I felt seen. Actually seen, not just tolerated or used.

"Last call!" Marcus announced, and I was shocked to see it was already ten o'clock.

"Shit," I muttered, fumbling for my keys. "I need to—" I stood up too fast and immediately swayed, the room tilting sideways.

Josh caught my elbow, steadying me. "You're in no condition to drive."

"I'm fine," I lied, even as the floor seemed to shift beneath my feet.

"Zara, you can barely stand. Where do you need to go? I'll call you a cab."

The question hit me like a physical blow. Where did I need to go? Back to Robert's apartment, where he might be waiting to finish what he'd started? To my parents' house, where I was unwanted charity? To Katy's place, where my best friend had betrayed me?

"There's nowhere," I whispered, the reality of my situation crashing over me. "I don't have anywhere to go."

Josh's expression softened. "Come on. Let's get you a hotel room for the night. You can figure everything else out tomorrow when you're sober."

He helped me to my car, taking my keys without asking. The drive to the nearest decent hotel passed in a blur of streetlights and the gentle rumble of Josh's voice as he made sure I stayed awake. He got me a room, walked me to the door, made sure I had water and aspirin on the nightstand.

"Get some sleep," he said, heading for the door.

"Tomorrow will look better, I promise."

But as he reached for the handle, something desperate clawed its way up my throat. I couldn't be alone. Not tonight. Not with all the demons he'd helped me forget threatening to come rushing back.

"Josh, wait." I caught his wrist, pulling him back into the room.

He turned, concern written across his face. "What is it?"

I moved closer, close enough to smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made my head spin. "Stay."

"Zara, you're drunk. You don't know what you're asking."

"I know exactly what I'm asking." I stepped closer still, my body nearly pressed against his. "I'm asking you to help me forget. Just for tonight."

"This isn't a good idea." But his voice was strained, and his eyes had darkened as they roamed over my face.

"Maybe not." I reached up, my fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. "But it's what I want. What I need."

"You've been through hell today. You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years." My thumb brushed across his bottom lip, and I felt him shiver. "I'm tired of being the good girl who gets nothing in return. I'm tired of waiting for someone to choose me, to want me, to make me feel like I'm worth something."

Josh's hands came up to frame my face, his thumbs gently tracing the bruises Robert had left behind. "You are worth something. You're worth everything."

"Then show me." I rose up on my tiptoes, bringing my lips close to his. "Show me what it feels like to be wanted."

For a moment, we just stood there, breathing each other's air, balanced on the knife's edge between propriety and desire. Then Josh's control snapped.

His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and desperate. I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as he backed me against the wall. This wasn't gentle or sweet—this was raw need, the collision of two people who'd been pretending to be fine for too long.

"Are you sure?" he whispered against my lips.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

What happened next was a blur of desperate touches and whispered promises. Josh's hands mapped every inch of my body like he was trying to memorize me. He was gentle where Robert had been rough, reverent where Robert had been cruel. For the first time in years, I felt beautiful. Desired. Chosen.

Afterwards, as we lay tangled in the hotel sheets, Josh traced lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.

"What happens now?" I asked quietly.

"Now you sleep," he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. "And tomorrow, you start building a life that's actually yours."

As I drifted off in his arms, I almost believed him.