As Amara entered the dimly lit bar, she took a moment to pause, letting her eyes adjust to the low light and scanning the room for her friend Rosie. The bar was bustling with the usual evening crowd, the hum of conversations blending with the soft background music. The warm, amber glow from the hanging lamps cast a cozy yet lively atmosphere over the patrons seated at various tables and along the bar counter.
After a few seconds of searching, Amara spotted Rosie sitting alone at a corner table, a half-empty glass in front of her. Rosie’s shoulders were slumped, and she stared blankly at her drink, absentmindedly swirling the amber liquid. The sight of Rosie drinking by herself sent a pang of concern through Amara.
Making her way through the throng of people, Amara navigated around groups of friends chatting animatedly and couples lost in their private conversations. As she approached the corner table, she called out, “Rosie!”
Rosie looked up, her eyes bleary and unfocused. She attempted to stand, but it was clear she was too drunk to maintain her balance. Her movements were sluggish, and she swayed unsteadily before plopping back down into her chair.
“Whoa, easy there,” Amara said gently, reaching out to steady Rosie. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to her, her concern deepening. “Rosie, what’s going on? Why are you drinking alone like this?”
Rosie shook her head, avoiding Amara’s gaze. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, her voice thick with alcohol and emotion.
“It’s not nothing,” Amara insisted, leaning closer and placing a hand on Rosie’s arm. “You don’t get like this over nothing. Talk to me.”
Rosie remained silent, her eyes downcast. Amara could see the struggle in her friend’s face, the way she was fighting to keep her emotions in check. Determined to get to the bottom of it, Amara pressed on. “Please, Rosie. I’m your friend. Let me help.”
After what felt like an eternity, Rosie finally broke down, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s Josh,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s… he’s cheating on me.”
Amara’s heart sank. “What? How do you know?”
Rosie took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I saw them,” she said, her voice cracking. “I saw them at the mall. He was with her, shopping, laughing. She kissed him on the cheek. They looked so… happy.”
Amara felt a surge of anger and protectiveness for her friend. “Oh, Rosie, I’m so sorry,” she said, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting embrace. “I can’t believe he would do that to you.”
Rosie leaned into the hug, her body trembling with sobs. “I don’t know what to do, Amara,” she cried. “I thought we were happy. I thought he loved me.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Amara assured her, stroking her hair soothingly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll get through this together.”
As Rosie clung to her, Amara felt a fierce determination to help her friend through this heartbreak. No matter what it took, she would be there for Rosie, just as Rosie had always been there for her.
As Amara held Rosie, trying to comfort her, a group of guys at a nearby table noticed them. The men exchanged glances and nudged each other, clearly contemplating making their move. They whispered amongst themselves, their eyes lingering on the two women.
Amara, ever watchful, noticed their interest and straightened up slightly, her protective instincts kicking in. She didn’t want any more trouble for Rosie tonight. One of the men, emboldened by a few drinks, stood up and swaggered over to their table, a cocky grin on his face.
“Hey there, ladies,” he drawled, leaning casually against their table. “Why the long faces? How about we buy you a round and cheer you up?”
Amara’s eyes flashed with irritation. She knew this type all too well-guys who thought a smile and a drink could solve any problem, or worse, those who saw vulnerability as an opportunity. She shot him a glare so fierce that it could have cut through steel.
“No, thanks,” Amara said icily, her voice leaving no room for argument. “We’re not interested.”
The guy faltered, taken aback by the intensity of her gaze. “Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he persisted, trying to maintain his bravado. “It’s just a drink. No harm in that.”
Amara’s expression hardened even more. “I said, no,” she repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Leave us alone.”
Sensing the rising tension, the guy held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, no need to get all worked up,” he muttered, backing away.
He returned to his table, shaking his head and muttering to his friends about how the “pretty one” was too fierce. The group, noticing Amara’s unwavering glare, decided to move on, their interest waning quickly.
As the men retreated, Amara turned her attention back to Rosie. She gently wiped away the remaining tears on Rosie’s cheeks. “Don’t worry about them,” she said softly. “They’re not worth our time.”
Rosie managed a weak smile, appreciating Amara’s protective stance. “Thanks, Amara,” she said, her voice still shaky but filled with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Amara smiled back, squeezing Rosie’s hand reassuringly. “You’re never going to have to find out. I’m here, and we’re going to get through this together.”
Rosie nodded, taking comfort in Amara’s unwavering support. Despite the chaos and heartbreak of the evening, she felt a glimmer of hope, knowing that with Amara by her side, she could face whatever came next.
As the night wore on, the bar continued to buzz with life, oblivious to the emotional turmoil at Amara and Rosie’s corner table. Not everyone, however, was indifferent. In a shadowed booth near the back, a man in his fifties watched the scene unfold with keen interest. This was Dominic “Dom” Russo, the notorious leader of a local gang known for his ruthless methods and predatory tendencies. Dom was a man who relished power and control, especially over women who displayed strength and independence.
Dom’s eyes narrowed as he observed Amara’s fierce defense of her friend. Her commanding presence intrigued him, stirring a dark desire to see such a dominant woman brought to her knees. He decided he wanted to break her spirit, to make her submissive to him.
Leaning back in his seat, Dom called over one of his lackeys and whispered something in his ear. The lackey nodded and quickly approached the bar, relaying Dom’s orders to the bartender, who nodded in understanding. It was clear that the bartender was familiar with Dom’s sinister plans and had participated in such schemes before.
Dom reached into his pocket, retrieving a small vial of white powder. He passed it discreetly to the bartender, who slipped it into his apron pocket. The bartender then busied himself preparing drinks, keeping a watchful eye on Amara’s table.
Meanwhile, Amara continued to console Rosie, her focus entirely on her friend. She had no inkling of the danger lurking in the bar. The bartender seized the moment, mixing the powder into a fresh drink and placing it on a tray. He signaled a waitress, who carried the tray over to Amara and Rosie’s table.
“Compliments of the house,” the waitress said with a smile, setting the drink down in front of Amara.
Amara glanced at the drink, suspicious. “We didn’t order this.”
The waitress shrugged. “It’s from the bartender. He said it’s on the house, to cheer you ladies up.”
Amara’s instincts flared. She had learned to be cautious and never accepted drinks she hadn’t ordered. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, pushing the glass away.
The waitress looked confused for a moment but then nodded and took the drink back to the bar. Amara’s rejection of the drink had not gone unnoticed by Dom, who scowled from his booth. He wasn’t used to his plans being thwarted so easily.
Dom signaled the bartender again, clearly indicating his displeasure. The bartender, looking nervous, nodded and began preparing another plan, this time intending to be more subtle.