Shirley
By the next day, the ache in my body had faded into something tolerable, like bruises that had almost but not quite healed. The burn of the mark lingered faintly under my skin, but it no longer felt like it was trying to tear me apart. Cassandra’s words still echoed in my head, sharp as a blade: The only way he wins is if you stop fighting.
I wasn’t going to stop.
When I tied my apron around my waist that afternoon and stepped behind the bar, I felt almost normal. Not perfect—God, nowhere near that—but stronger. A little more myself.
Zara caught sight of me immediately, her face breaking into that mischievous grin of hers as she slid two beers across the counter to a pair of bikers at the end. “Look who finally crawled out of the crypt,” she teased, eyes twinkling.
I rolled my
