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When He Walked In
publish date:
2025-07-22 08:27:00-Mina (POV)
It was a long night. The same, usual crowd of drunk assholes on a Thursday. "Hey Mina, I got the grill cleaned and shut down. You good if I go?" Corey always had a way of sneaking up at the worst times. "Yeah, I'm good. You go home, see you tomorrow." Sometimes it still feels like a dream. Owning this bar. Larry, that big softy. Man, do I miss him. I still can't think about that day, not without seeing them bring him out in that ugly ass bag.
The same ones they used to carry Mom and Dad. That memory sticks to me like glue. It's about 1:25 in the morning, and a clean bar doesn't happen on its own. I turned the music up and danced my way to the bar, picking up the glasses on my way to clean just as I finished the last glass and went to set it down. BANG. A loud pop, followed by another.
Was that a gunshot? I try to ignore it, considering this is New York, after all. Turning the music up more, I walked over to the door to lock up. But just as I reach for the latch, a tall, blood-soaked man pushes it open, shoving me back and locking it behind him. Why was he barging in here, in my bar, this time of night? "What the hell, dude!? We're closed. Can't you read that?" I was walking towards him to open the door, but I stopped. There was a lot of blood. Running down his side, soaking his shirt.
Panicked, I ran for the phone. "I'll call an ambulance for you. Just sit down-" when I looked up. He had a gun. Pointed right at me. He winced in pain and said with a cold, dark voice, "Put it the fuck down." What the hell was he doing? My phone fell from my fingertips. I looked down to see the revolver that Larry gave me, just in case. I reached slowly, "Don't even touch it." Suddenly, the once loud music was only a faint hum. Just a whisper in a nightmare.
"What do you want?" I asked, hoping to steady my voice. I tried not to freak out. But then the past broke through. My dad's face. The screams. The shots, one after another. I swallowed hard, hoping it took the panic with it. I looked at his shirt. "What can I do?" I was hoping he would say something. This silence is deafening. Moments passed, and finally, he moved. Well, he staggered more like it, setting the gun on the counter. And all I could think was: FINALLY.
He winced in pain. "You got a first aid kit?" Running to the back, I grabbed the first aid kit. When I returned, I leaned the man against the wall. He looked like he was about to pass out. This time, welcoming the painful memory, I hoped to remember what the doctors did when they took the bullets out of my dad. Realizing I needed to get his shirt off, I gently lifted the bottom when I felt his strong, steady hand on my arm. "I don't remember saying you could touch me."
I thought for a second he was going to kill me. That was until the asshole said, "You're lucky this is different." Whatever that meant couldn't be good, right? I grabbed the shirt and pulled it this time, rougher. "Ah-Dam-What the fuck?" I smiled, hearing that reaction. You come into my bar, hold me at gunpoint. Then get weird and threatening when I help, not today. Once his shirt was off, I couldn't help but stare. My breath was stolen from my very body. Not only was he hurt, but he was beautiful. What the hell. Did I call a man beautiful? That is new.
I took in his raw power, his body. His chest is beautifully carved. Almost as if the gods took their time making him. There is that word again, Mina. Apparently, I got lost in the lines of his chest because he cleared his voice. "Is there a problem?" Shit, apparently it was obvious. "No. Just shut up and don't move, asshole." The moment I said it, I saw the exact moment the look in his eyes changed. Whatever it was, I don't care if he needs to go. Silently. First, I held pressure so that the bleeding would stop. Once it stopped enough, I poured some alcohol on the wound. He winced and asked, "You have done this before, haven't you?" His words broke the silence that I was enjoying.
I do not plan on telling this random man about it, "Just once." Mina, really? Just tell him, right? I could feel his eyes watching me. Once the last of the blood was gone, I discovered the bullet hole was just a graze. "You got lucky, I guess," I said, turning to grab a large wound care wrap from the kit, when I felt his hands again. This time, gentle. "I can do that." I turned to face him, and he was close. Too close. "No. You can't even see it." I pushed his arm off mine.
I watched as he leaned back again, letting me finish. This time, I could see more. He had a decent-sized scar on his stomach. Then a bunch of smaller ones right below the fresh wound. I traced the scars with my fingertips. "These had to hurt, huh?" I looked to see his expression. He had that look again.
I didn't know him, nor what that look was. I finished patching him up and told him he had to go. To my surprise, he listened. "I'm sorry about the mess." Well, shit, at least he said sorry, I thought, locking the door behind him. Walking back to the office, I thought about this mysterious man. Who was he? Why was he shot?
But most importantly, why the hell did he come to my bar? I brush the thoughts away, get the mop bucket, and get to work again. It's now 3 in the morning, and I should have been home hours ago. Great, another sleepless night. I get home and clean myself up, getting his blood from under my nails. Once done, I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come, and when it did. He was there.
Not as the blood-soaked stranger who barged into my bar at 1:30 in the morning, but as something else. Something worse or maybe better, I don't know. In the dream, he wasn't hurt. He was standing in my bar like he owned the damn place, smirking, shirtless. The blood was gone, but the scars remained, like permanent threads sewn into skin. His eyes found mine, and I couldn't look away, couldn't breathe.He walked toward me, slowly and deliberately, that same raw power radiating from his body like heat off the pavement during the summer. My feet wouldn't move. My voice wouldn't work. When he finally reached me, he whispered something I couldn't understand-his breath warm in my ear. Then his hands were on my waist, firm and possessive. Not gentle. Not rough. Just certainty. Like he knew I belonged there. And for one, long, terrifying second. I didn't want to fight it.
Then I woke up, heart racing, sheets tangled around my legs, and his name still unknown on my tongue.
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