Whirlwind Flames

Old Flames

The second time Harper walked into Murphy’s Bar, she swore she wouldn’t feel out of place. She’d done this once already—survived the smoky air, the leather cuts, the weight of eyes following her. Tonight, she kept her chin high, ignoring the jukebox humming in the corner and the way conversations dipped as she passed.

Ryder was there, of course, perched at the bar like a king on his throne, whiskey glass in hand. His eyes found her instantly, and the grin that spread across his face sent a rush through her chest. He pushed off the counter and closed the distance in a few long strides.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low enough just for her. “Coming back for more.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Harper shot back, though the heat in her cheeks gave her away.

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “Too late.”

For the first half hour, things felt… good. Ryder kept close, arm draped over the back of her chair as if daring anyone to come near. His men gave her curious looks but kept their distance. Harper sipped at her drink, nerves settling as the tension in her shoulders eased. For once, she almost felt like she belonged.

Then a voice cut through the noise—smooth, feminine, and mocking.

“Well, Prez, you gonna let me stand here all night, or do I get a drink too?”

Harper turned.

The woman leaning against the bar looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine for bad decisions. Blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulders, tight jeans hugging her curves, confidence dripping from every line of her body. She smiled, sharp and knowing, like she’d walked into this room a hundred times before and always owned it.

Harper’s stomach twisted. This woman belonged here in a way she never could.

Ryder stiffened. His grin slipped, jaw tightening, but he didn’t speak fast enough. The blonde pushed off the bar and sauntered closer, laying a hand on his arm like it still belonged there.

“Long time, Prez,” she purred, eyes flicking to Harper before sliding back to Ryder. “Didn’t know you were into… schoolteachers.” The word dripped with condescension.

Harper felt the jab, hot and cutting, but forced her face to stay composed. She wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

Ryder’s voice dropped low, firm. “Enough, Sable.”

The blonde—Sable—smirked, clearly unfazed. “Just saying, Prez. Thought I knew your type.” She let her gaze wander over Harper again, like she was something fragile, something that wouldn’t last.

“She’s with me,” Ryder said, louder this time, sharp enough to turn heads around the bar. The words carried weight, and the quiet that followed pressed heavy against Harper’s chest.

Sable laughed, low and unbothered, but her eyes never left Harper. “Guess we’ll see how long that lasts.”

She sauntered away, hips swaying like she knew every eye was still on her. The tension in the room eased with her absence, but Harper’s pulse stayed uneven.

Ryder turned back, reaching for her hand, but Harper pulled back just slightly. She kept her chin high, her voice steady, but inside she was reeling.

Because for the first time, she realized this wasn’t just about the gossip in Millbrook. It was about stepping into Ryder’s world—a world full of people like Sable, who knew exactly how to play rough.

And Harper wasn’t sure if she was ready for that game.