*Warning: Domestic Violence. Skip if you want to*
The bar was a f*****g dump.
The kind of place that reeked of cheap whiskey, stale sweat, and bad decisions. Jake stumbled out of the front door, reeking of alcohol and arrogance, his shirt wrinkled, his jeans unzipped, like he’d just been sloppily f*****g some cheap w***e in the bathroom.
He didn’t even see him at first.
Christopher stood by his car, hands flexing at his sides, the black leather gloves hugging his fingers. The steel spikes across the knuckles gleamed under the streetlights, hungry, waiting.
Jake turned, laughing at something his friend said until his eyes locked onto him. No one had to tell him, cause he was there when Lola called Christopher.
Standing there. Still. Quiet
Jake’s entire body froze. His face went whit
