Stained and Claimed

Unwanted Feelings

Helen

The moment I stepped into The Vault, the bass struck first, rolling through the floor and up my legs until it settled in my bones. Blue and violet neon cut the dark into sharp flashes, catching on crystal glasses and eyes that lingered too long. The air was thick with gin, perfume, and the press of bodies. I hated it already.

“Helen, stop looking like you’re at a board meeting and drink!” Sloane shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the VIP bar. Her grip was warm, grounding, the only reason I didn’t turn around and walk out.

"Are you okay?" Sloane asked.

“I’m fine,” I lied, though my throat felt dry.

A man brushed past me and my muscles tensed instinctively. Another laughed too loudly near my ear. My skin crawled, not from fear but memory. My father’s hand around my mother’s throat, his calm voice explaining that love required obedience. Sebastian’s smiling betrayal, filming me, selling me, sleeping with my friend. Men didn’t love; they consumed. I learned early never to be devoured.

Then I felt a presence.

That unmistakable weight at the back of my neck, a gaze that wasn’t casual or wandering but deliberate. I turned slowly.

Derick stood behind the bar, his black waistcoat, sleeves rolled up, forearms corded with strength. He poured a drink for another customer, but his eyes were locked on me, unblinking. My body reacted before I could stop it, heat curling low in my stomach, unfamiliar and unwanted. I hated him for it.

“Oh my God,” Sloane breathed, tightening her hold on my arm. “Helen. Who is that guy?, and why is he looking at you like that?”

I realized I was staring back, lips parted, breath uneven. I forced my gaze away and tightened my grip on my clutch. “He’s nobody.”

Sloane laughed in disbelief. “Nobody? Helen, you look at men like they’re dirt. But him?” She leaned closer. “You’re shaking.”

I hadn’t noticed until she said it. My hands trembled. “Let’s just get drinks,” I snapped

We moved toward the bar. Each step felt heavier, as if the room tilted toward him. Derick didn’t smile when we reached him. He didn’t offer a menu. He just waited, hands braced against the counter, eyes cutting straight through me.

“What can I get you, ladies?” His voice was low, rough, curling around my spine.

Sloane glanced between us, curiosity sparking. “A bottle of your best vintage,” she said, then turned to me. “How do you two know each other? You don’t look at men. Ever.”

Heat crept up my neck. I couldn’t tell her the truth, couldn’t tell her this man had seen the worst of me and stayed silent.

“He worked at a café nearby,” I said. “I had him fired. A misunderstanding.”

Sloane’s jaw dropped. She turned to him with a half-whispered, shocked smile. “You fired him?”

Derick’s mouth lifted into that dark, knowing smirk, the one that made me want to slap him and kiss him all at once. He leaned forward over the bar, closing the distance until I caught the clean, sharp scent of his skin and the faint, masculine hint of smoke.

“The wine,” I hissed. “Just give us the wine.”

His fingers brushed mine as he passed the bottle. A spark shot up my arm, lingering long after I turned away.

We settled into a corner booth, dim and removed from the crush of bodies. I drank too quickly, trying to drown the echo of his touch. Then a hand dropped onto my shoulder.

The man smelled like expensive whiskey and cheap entitlement. He wore a rumpled designer suit and leaned into my space, his face too close, his breath hot against my cheek.

“Remove your hand,” I said, my voice cold enough to cut glass. “Hey, beautiful. Why so serious? Playing hard to get?” He chuckled, fingers tightening. “You look like you need someone to loosen you up.”

“Move,” Sloane snapped, pushing at his arm away

The man’s expression darkened instantly. He shoved Sloane back hard sending her reeling until she fell to the floor with a muffled cry.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “I’m talking to the Ice Queen, he said to Sloane.

Let’s go somewhere private.” Panic flickered, sharp and old. I twisted, but he was stronger.

“Let go,” I spat, swinging my free hand. My palm cracked against his cheek. He grinned. “I like it when they fight.”

He yanked me from the booth. My heels slipped, heart pounding, the ghost of my father’s house closing in around me.

Then his grip vanished. A large hand clamped around the man’s arm, twisting with brutal efficiency. He cried out and released me instantly. I stumbled back, breath shaking.

Derick stood there, not looking like a bartender now, but something carved from steel and shadow. He bent the man’s arm behind his back as if it weighed nothing.

“The lady asked you to leave,” Derick said, voice low and lethal.

“Do you know who I am?” the man shouted, face purple. “I’ll shut this place down!”

Derick leaned in, whispered something only the man could hear. Whatever it was drained the color from his face. Security appeared, dragging him away without another word.

Silence swallowed our table, Derick turned to me, eyes searching mine. His hand hovered near my wrist, stopping just short of touching.

“Are you alright?” he asked. I stared at him. I should have felt humiliated, furious, and exposed. Instead, a warmth spread through my chest, unfamiliar and frightening.

“I had it under control,” I whispered.

He stepped closer, his presence a solid barrier between me and the world. “I know,” he said quietly. “But you don’t always have to fight alone, Helen.”

Sloane stared between us, realization blooming in her eyes. “Helen,” she whispered, “that café story… it wasn’t a misunderstanding.”

Derick glanced at her, then back to me, his expression unreadable. “Let me get you another wine,” he said, turning and disappearing into the crowd, back behind the bar, back into his mask.

I sat slowly, wrist throbbing, heart louder than the music. I watched him move, silent and controlled, blending into the crowd.

While I waited for him, my eyes fixed on the spot where he had vanished, a sudden, deafening crack split the air.

A gunshot.

The sound was a physical blow. I felt the wind of the projectile as it tore past my ear, a hot, invisible finger of death. It slammed into the velvet-covered wall behind my head with a dull thud.

My breath was locked in my chest. My body froze, the world slowing to a crawl. My ears were ringing, the screams of the crowd starting to swell around me, but all I could feel was the frantic, panicked hammer of my heart trying to escape my ribs.