Chapter 1: Cherry Lips and Steel Eyes
The first thing Murphy noticed about her were the legs.
Long, smooth, bare except for the glitter of a silver anklet, stepping through the haze of smoke and neon like she belonged in a different world. Her boots hit the floor of the dive bar with a rhythmic confidence, thick-soled and black like they were made for stomping hearts. She wore a short black skirt that swayed with her walk and a pastel lilac crop top, snug enough to tease and soft enough to look dangerous in the right way.
And tonight? She looked dangerous in the perfect way.
Murphy Callahan, better known as Grizz to everyone with the misfortune of crossing him, sat in his usual booth—back to the wall, beer in hand, biker cut slung over his chair. His knuckles were still bruised from earlier, a reminder of how the Reapers handled disrespect. He’d broken a man’s jaw for running his mouth at the wrong time. That was his world. Quiet brutality, handled efficiently.
But tonight, it all paused. Because she walked in.
She was too pretty for this place. Too loud for this silence. And too damn mouthy, he could just tell.
“Seriously?” she said to no one in particular as heads turned. “What is this, a bar or a morgue?”
She didn’t slink to the bar—she strutted. Past the pool tables, past the patched bikers eyeing her like meat, and directly into the center of the room like she’d been born in the spotlight. Murphy’s eyes followed every movement. She didn’t look scared. Not even a little. And that was rare in a place like this. This bar reeked of testosterone, stale beer, and barely buried threats. Most women who wandered in were with someone.
But not her.
She glanced over her shoulder once and caught him looking.
Murphy didn’t look away.
She did something he didn’t expect then—she turned and walked straight up to him. Every step was deliberate, hips swinging, chin tilted like a challenge.
“Are you Murphy?” she asked, voice honey-laced and sharp-edged, like velvet over broken glass.
“Who’s asking?” he replied, deep and unhurried.
Her eyes were pale—like storm clouds—and framed in sharp eyeliner. She had a silver lip ring that she fiddled with absentmindedly as she looked him over.
“Name’s Aubrey,” she said. “I’m here because your President said you’d ‘keep an eye on me.’”
Murphy raised an eyebrow. “You’re Aubrey?”
“Disappointed?”
“No,” he said, slow grin spreading across his face. “Not even close.”
She rolled her eyes. “Look, I don’t need a babysitter. And I sure as hell don’t need some grumpy mountain man thinking he owns me because he got told to ‘watch me.’ So just… do your little protective stalker routine from a distance and we’ll be fine.”
Murphy chuckled. Grizzly Adams, huh? That’s new.
“You got some bite on you, huh?”
“Yeah. And claws too. So don’t test me.”
She turned to walk away.
“Pretty confident for someone wearing a skirt that short in a biker bar.”
She pivoted on one heel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Murphy leaned back in his seat, resting an arm over the booth like he had all the time in the world.
“Means you’ve got some serious nerve. Or you’re lookin’ to be noticed.”
“I dress for me,” she snapped. “Not for biker egos or whatever twisted fantasy you think you’ve got cooking behind those dead-man eyes.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No fantasy, sweetheart. Just a fact. You walk in here like that, talk to me like that, and I’m gonna notice. And I’m gonna want.”
She stared at him, jaw tight.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re intriguing,” he said, voice dropping low. “You think the way you talk pushes people away. All it’s doing is making me more interested.”
A beat of silence passed between them, thick and electric.
Aubrey snorted and shook her head. “You think this is gonna work? That I’m gonna fall into your lap because you say a few things in that deep ‘bad boy’ voice and glare at me like you’re brooding for a living?”
“No,” Murphy said, sipping his beer. “You’re gonna fall into my lap because you’re curious. And because deep down, you know no one else is gonna treat you like I will.”
That made her freeze.
Not because it was a threat. But because it wasn’t.
There was no game in his voice. No seduction. Just certainty. Like he’d already made up his mind. Like she was already his, and it was just a matter of time.
She didn’t like that.
She didn’t like how it made her heart beat a little faster.
She didn’t like how warm her skin felt, how heavy his eyes were, how serious his face stayed even as he watched her process every word.
She especially didn’t like how safe she felt, standing in front of someone who looked like he could kill a man with his bare hands.
Aubrey scoffed and turned away. “Dream on, Grizzly Adams.”
Murphy watched her walk to the bar. Those hips. That fire.
He didn’t even smirk. Just said softly to himself, “I’ll wait.”
