As Amara continued to comfort Rosie, a man in his fifties observed them from a distance. He was the leader of one of the local gangs, known for his imposing presence and his penchant for asserting dominance over others. His gaze lingered on Amara, intrigued by her fierce demeanor and unyielding confidence.
With a calculated swagger, he approached their table, his eyes fixed on Amara. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he murmured, his voice carrying an air of authority.
Amara glanced up, her guard immediately rising as she took in the man’s imposing figure. She tensed, instinctively wary of his intentions. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone guarded.
The gang leader ignored her question, instead choosing to address Rosie. “Is this your friend?” he asked, his gaze flickering between the two women. “She seems… feisty.”
Rosie shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, sensing the underlying threat in his words. “She’s just looking out for me,” she replied, her voice small.
The gang leader’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “I like a woman with spirit,” he said, his eyes lingering on Amara. “But sometimes, a little discipline is necessary to keep that spirit in check.”
Amara bristled at his insinuation, her hackles rising at the implication of his words. “I don’t need anyone to keep me in check,” she shot back, her voice steely.
Undeterred by her defiance, the gang leader signaled to the bartender, exchanging a few words in hushed tones. From his pocket, he produced a small packet of powder, which he discreetly handed over.
As the bartender nodded in understanding, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Amara’s stomach. She watched with growing unease as the bartender began to prepare their drinks, his movements deliberate and secretive.
Before she could intervene, the gang leader turned back to her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I think you could use a drink,” he said smoothly, sliding a glass across the table towards her.
Amara’s instincts screamed at her to refuse, to get out of there before it was too late. But before she could act, the bartender returned with their drinks, setting them down in front of them with a practiced flourish.
The gang leader’s smirk widened as he watched Amara hesitate, her gaze flickering between the drink and the man before her. With a sense of restlessness, she reached for the glass, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted it to her lips.
Unbeknownst to her, the powder had already been mixed into her drink, a subtle but potent concoction designed to dull her senses and weaken her resistance. As the liquid slid down her throat, a wave of dizziness washed over her, clouding her thoughts and dimming the fire in her eyes.
It was only a matter of time before the gang leader’s plan took effect, his desire to assert dominance over the fiercely independent woman unfolding before him. And as the drug began to take hold, Amara’s world slowly faded into darkness, her once defiant spirit succumbing to the darkness that lurked within the shadows of the bar.
Dom watched Amara closely, noticing that the initial effects of the drug were wearing off more quickly than he anticipated. His brow furrowed in displeasure. This woman was tougher than he thought, and he couldn’t afford to let her slip through his fingers. He signaled to the bartender again, his face a mask of irritation.
The bartender, catching Dom’s eye, visibly paled. He knew the consequences of failing Dom’s expectations. Nervously, he nodded and began to prepare another plan, this time intending to be more subtle and effective.
As Amara shook off the lingering dizziness, she noticed the bartender moving behind the counter with unusual urgency. Her instincts, already on high alert, told her something was wrong. She leaned closer to Rosie, who was still looking distraught but slightly more aware of her surroundings.
“Rosie,” Amara whispered, trying to keep her voice steady, “we need to leave. Now.”
Rosie, confused, nodded slowly. “Okay, but why?”
“No time to explain,” Amara said, glancing back at the bartender. “Just trust me.”
As she helped Rosie to her feet, the bartender reappeared with another set of drinks. This time, he was more careful, his movements deliberate and practiced. He approached their table with a forced smile, placing the drinks down with a flourish.
“Compliments of the gentleman over there,” he said, nodding towards Dom, who watched from side with a predatory smirk.
Amara’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not interested,” she said coldly, pushing the drinks away.
The bartender’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered. “Just a gesture of goodwill,” he insisted, his voice wavering slightly. “Please, enjoy.”
Amara could sense the tension in the air, the bartender’s fear palpable. She knew something was amiss. Her mind raced, searching for a way out. She couldn’t afford to drink anything here, not when Dom was clearly determined to break her.
“Rosie,” she said more urgently, “we need to go. Now.”
Rosie, sensing the urgency in Amara’s voice, nodded more firmly this time. They both stood up, but before they could make their way to the exit, Dom intercepted them.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, his tone mockingly polite. “I thought we were just getting to know each other.”
Amara glared at him, her body tensing. “We’re done here. Let us pass.”
Dom’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “You have spirit,” he said, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “But this is my territory. You don’t get to leave until I say so.”
Amara’s heart pounded, but she stood her ground. “You don’t own us,” she retorted, her voice fierce. “Now move.”
Dom’s expression darkened, and he took a step closer, his presence looming over them. “I suggest you rethink your attitude,” he said softly, menace lacing his words. “For your friend’s sake.”
Amara felt a surge of protectiveness for Rosie. She couldn’t let this man intimidate them. Summoning every ounce of courage, she met Dom’s gaze head-on. “We’re leaving,” she repeated, her voice unwavering.
She took a step forward, but Dom’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in a vice-like grip. Pain radiated up her arm, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to show any weakness. “You’re not going anywhere,” Dom growled, his eyes narrowing.
The room seemed to freeze as Amara’s instincts kicked in. With her free hand, she grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka, her fingers gripping the cold glass tightly. She raised it, aiming for Dom’s head, but at the last moment, the bottle slipped from her grasp and shattered on the ground with a loud crash.
The sudden noise drew the attention of everyone in the bar. Heads turned, conversations stopped, and all eyes focused on Amara and Dom. Seeing Dom with a beautiful girl who was clearly in distress, the patrons began to murmur amongst themselves.
But something shifted in the room. As the patrons observed the scene before them, a wave of empathy washed over them. They recognized the familiar pattern of Dom’s behavior, his tactics of intimidation and control all too familiar to them.
Whispers began to spread like wildfire, murmurs of sympathy and understanding rippling through the crowd. They saw Amara, a woman standing up against a tyrant, and they felt a surge of support for her.
“Poor girl,” someone whispered.
“Dom’s at it again,” another voice chimed in, filled with disdain.
Amara felt the weight of their gaze, the silent encouragement and solidarity buoying her spirits. Despite the failed attempt to defend herself, she stood tall, refusing to back down.
As the sound of shattering glass echoed through the club, Rowan, who had been on the floor above, paused in his tracks, his attention immediately drawn to the commotion below. He glanced over the railing, his eyes scanning the scene unfolding in the bar area.
There, amidst the crowd, Rowan spotted Amara, her wrist firmly held by a man he recognized all too well-Dom Russo. Rowan’s jaw clenched instinctively at the sight of him. Dom was notorious in the city, known for his ruthless tactics and his iron grip on the local gangs in the underworld. Rowan had heard countless rumors about him, tales of his cruelty and his dominance over those around him.
Rowan’s gaze flickered to Amara, his heart clenching at the sight of her in such a predicament. Ever since the day he had witnessed Alessandro kiss her on the cheek, a surge of jealousy had simmered within him. He had struggled to contain his emotions, seeking solace in the dimly lit corners of the bar, drowning his frustrations in alcohol that he poured for himself but never drank, opting instead to toss the contents away time and time again.
Now, as he watched Dom hold Amara’s wrist, a familiar pang of jealousy coursed through him, threatening to cloud his judgment. But as he observed Amara’s expression, his jealousy was overshadowed by concern. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of defiance mixed with vulnerability, that didn’t sit right with him.