Stella

 

“Goddammit,” Stella whined, dropping her fork in her sink with a deep sigh. Her kitchen sink was officially fucked up, and it was beyond her skill level to fix it. She’d have to call a plumber, which she couldn’t exactly afford even though she had been making decent money in tips at the Haven over the past several weeks.

 

“Ugh!” she groaned to herself, smacking the side of the counter and accidentally hurting herself in the process. “Ow, ow, ow, fuck.” Stella cradled her head in her hands, trying to gather her thoughts together so she could come up with a plan.

 

She couldn’t call a plumber. She just couldn’t. Goddamn, she hated thinking this way because it suggested she was weak and helpless and stupid, but it really would have been nice to have Cameron’s network of handymen available right now. But no, she couldn’t do that. If she called Cameron and asked for his help, she’d just be opening the door back up to reigniting their relationship, and that was unacceptable.

 

But who else could she call? It wasn’t like she had family members left in town who could help, and Nicole probably didn’t know any more about plumbing than Stella did. Ian was a landlord, so maybe he knew something about it, but he was so closely affiliated with Cameron that she didn’t trust him enough to call him.

 

Fuck it, she thought, reaching for her phone on the counter to send a text message. Hey, Mark, it’s Stella. Do you know anything about plumbing, by any chance?

 

She’d gotten his number from a board at work. Wesley told them all to write their names, numbers, and email addresses in case they ever had to switch shifts at the last minute. There was really no point in copying Mark’s down. After all, it wasn’t like he could cover for her at the bar. She didn’t think he’d ever mixed a drink before in his life. Yet, for some reason, she had put his number into her phone.

 

Stella was just about to send a panicked apology text, swearing to never contact him again, when her phone notified her that she’d gotten a response. A little bit

 

Stella wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was he annoyed? Pissed? Completely apathetic? He was so fucking hard to read, even now that she’d gotten into the habit of going out with him on every other smoke break he took when they were working together.

 

But then the next second he texted her again. What do you need?

 

Stella breathed a sigh of relief, rapidly typing out her response and explaining the sink situation. Be over in fifteen minutes Mark responded.

 

She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt a wave of panic wash over her, completely different than the worry she’d felt about the sink. She just suddenly realized that she was dressed in the most drab, loose-fitting sweatpants she had in her entire wardrobe, her hair unwashed and pulled back into a messy, lopsided bun. In a word, she looked tragic. And she didn’t even have enough time to shower and get ready before Mark got there. She didn’t have time to question why she was at all concerned with Mark’s opinion about her looks; she was too busy rushing to her room to slip on a tighter shirt and jeans and pull her hair back into a more appealing ponytail.

 

Soon enough, Mark knocked on her front door, holding a bag of tools at his side. “Come in,” Stella said, stepping aside to let him into her little apartment. “Um, so the kitchen is over here…” she said, leading him to the clogged-up sink.

 

Mark didn’t say anything, even as he bent his head over the sink to stare down the drain, poking at it a little bit with his fingers. “Does it look bad?” Stella asked, feeling her worry heighten the longer Mark went without saying anything.

 

But a moment later he shook his head and pulled various long, skinny metal tools out of his bag, getting to work on the sink. Stella leaned back against one of the kitchen counters, watching as Mark frowned in concentration, his arm muscles flexing visibly as he yanked a tool in and out of the drain.

 

After five or so minutes passed, he rinsed off the tool, wiping it with a towel before putting it back in his bag, running the garbage disposal to prove that the sink was back in functioning order. “There you go,” he said. “See you at work tomorrow.”

 

He immediately began walking toward the front door, but Stella stepped in front of him, her body reacting instinctively. “Hey, wait, hold on a second,” she said. “Don’t you want a drink or a snack or something? You deserve something after fixing my sink so quickly.”

 

Mark opened his mouth to reply, but Stella could tell by his expression that it was going to be a negative response, so she cut him off before he could get the words out. “Wait here, I’ve got some really cheap but good wine somewhere in my apartment. Let’s crack it open and congratulate you on a job well done!”

 

She moved around him, going behind him to check the cabinets for the wine bottle in question. It took her a few minutes, during which Mark just stood awkwardly in one place, his arms crossed as he watched her frantically search her various closets and drawers for the wine. “I know it’s in here somewhere,” she muttered. “Let me check my bedroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if I left it in there.”

 

Stella returned to the kitchen a minute later. “It’s white wine. I hope that’s okay.”

 

“Booze is booze,” Mark said with a shrug, walking over to the counter to watch Stella uncork the bottle and pour out two large glasses of wine for them both.

 

“Cheers,” she said, lightly tapping her cheap plastic glass against Mark’s before sipping the sweet liquid. “That hits the spot.”

 

Mark nodded but didn’t say anything, his eyes glued to his glass. If Stella didn’t know any better, she’d say he was almost shy, keeping himself quieter than usual. It was almost like he was afraid to say anything, but at the same time Stella struggled to imagine that Mark was capable of being afraid of anything. He was so stern, so silently strong. He didn’t have to brag or show off like Cameron did. His obvious strength just spoke for itself, which basically meant that his job as the bouncer of the bar only required him to show up and stand in a corner to intimidate the rowdier drunks.

 

“Do you like wine?” Stella asked, feeling a little awkward now that they were just standing in her kitchen without an immediate goal.

 

Mark nodded slowly, and Stella felt even more uncomfortable until he finally spoke. “It’s good enough. I don’t really care what I drink as long as it’s free.”

 

Stella laughed at that, probably a little too loudly and enthusiastically. Some part of her became aware that she was being a little too flirtatious with him. After all, it wasn’t like Stella wanted anything romantic in her life at the moment. She was happy to be single, to live without a man. But Mark was so goddamn attractive that her body just acted on its own accord, leaning in closer to his body to feel the waves of heat radiating off of his muscles.

 

But the more coherent, rational side of her was a little repulsed by her own actions, forcing her to step back, giving Mark more space. Idiot, she thought. He doesn’t want you. You don’t want him. Don’t ruin a friendship just because you’re horny.

 

They drank the rest of their wine in silence, the two of them avoiding eye contact as they finished their glasses. “Well, thank you for coming. I know you didn’t have to do it. It was really nice of you to come help me,” Stella said, walking toward the door to usher Mark back out of her apartment.

 

“Yeah, no problem,” Mark said as he walked out of the door. “Anytime.”

 

She knew it was just a token statement, something he was saying to be nice, but it felt like more than that to her. For the first time in months, maybe even years, she allowed herself to feel… safe. Like if something went wrong she had someone to rely on.

 

It wasn’t like nobody had ever helped her before or protected her from creepy guys hanging around, but it was different now. With Cameron, there was a sense that he was always trying to protect his territory, his property, his toy. She never felt safe when he stepped in to make sure that other guys didn’t hit on her, because it wasn’t about her, not really. It was about him and his ego.

 

But with Mark, things were different. He hadn’t even tried to sleep with her or anything, and yet he was quietly there for her, helping her out even when she didn’t ask for it. It was an amazing feeling, but it was also a little scary. Why was he so nice to her? What were his motives, really? And, more importantly, what was she going to do to inevitably fuck it up?

 

# # #

 

Stella

 

A week or so later, Stella was in the bar early, working a shift for another bartender who had to take some time off to take care of her sick kid. Like usual, Mark was there before her, helping do stockroom work before the crowd of customers came in at night. There were only a few people around, so Stella didn’t mind working, especially if she got extra tips out of it.

 

An hour into her shift, she heard a loud crashing noise come from downstairs. Stella didn’t think much of it at first. It must have been an accident in the basement or something, but then the next minute Mark came storming up the steps, tearing through the bar and heading for the front door.

 

“Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Wesley shouted after him, running across the bar to dash in front of the door before Mark could exit.

 

“Move,” Mark said between gritted teeth, his hands clenching up into fists.

 

“No. Look, I didn’t say it was your fault, Mark, but the inventory is short, and I have to look into everybody. So just answer me straight. Have you been taking bottles of liquor home?”

 

Mark scoffed and shrugged. “I’m not fucking answering that, Wesley. Now let me go before I do something we’ll both regret.”

 

“What’s going on?” Stella asked, jumping from behind the bar to approach the two men.

 

“Somebody’s been lifting from the stockroom and I have to ask everybody the same question,” Wesley said, tapping his foot impatiently against the hardwood floor.

 

“And you think it’s Mark?” Stella said incredulously. There was no way Mark was stealing. If anything, it was Stella’s fault for pouring him congratulatory shots at the end of the night whenever Mark successfully threw out an asshole customer.

 

“I don’t know who it is,” Wesley said. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark said, turning on his heel to head out the door. “I quit, so your problem’s solved.”

 

“Not so fast,” Stella said, clamping her hand down on Mark’s shoulder to trap him in place. If he really wanted to, he could have easily shrugged her off and kept moving, but he stayed still as if her hand was made out of iron. “Look, Wesley, it wasn’t Mark. Just let it go, okay? He would never cheat anyone out of anything.”

 

“Of course that’s what I think, too,” Wesley said, “But I have to ask everybody, Stella.”

 

Stella pursed her lips, thinking for a second to come up with an appropriate response. “You haven’t asked me,” she finally pointed out.

 

“Stella, I know it wasn’t you,” Wesley said, a patronizing tone seeping into his voice.

 

“You can’t disprove it,” Stella said with a shrug. This was the solution. This was how she could make sure that Mark didn’t lose his job. “I did it, Wesley. Now fire me or drop it.”

 

For a long moment, both Wesley and Mark just stared at her, different shades of shock written over their faces. But finally, Wesley nodded to himself, accepting defeat.

 

“I’m deducting the cost of the missing bottles out of your pay,” Wesley said before pushing past her, heading back into his office at the back of the building.

 

Stella smiled up at Mark, her hand still firmly wrapped around his shoulder, but then the next second he snarled and pushed her arm away, stomping back in the direction of the basement. She just stood there for a minute, staring back at the curious customers at the bar in the middle of their day-drinking session. Her stomach swam with anxiety as she replayed Mark’s angry expression over and over again in her mind. What had she done wrong? She’d only defended him and practically saved his job. Why did he seem so pissed off?

She heard something bang again in the basement. It had to be Mark. There were no other stockroom people during this shift, as far as she knew. Since the bar was so slow, Stella headed over to the stairway, running down the steps to chase after Mark.

 

“What the hell? What’s the matter, man?” she said, closing the door behind them firmly. She didn’t want to entertain any of the customers any more than she already had today.

 

“Nothing,” Mark said gruffly, shoving a box on top of another box. It looked like busy work to Stella, like he was doing it just to keep his hands busy. Hell, maybe he was even doing it to distract himself from the urge to beat somebody up, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

 

“Okay, well, that’s bullshit,” Stella said, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re clearly pissed off, so just spill. What’s going on? What did I do wrong?”

 

“Nothing! Just go away, do your fucking job,” Mark said, taking out some bottles from one of the boxes and slamming them down on one of the shelves against the wall. Maybe it was supposed to scare her, make her run away, cause her to shrink up in fear. But she’d been through enough behavior like this in her life to know that it was all show. Mark wasn’t going to hurt her, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to intimidate her. She was done being scared of men.

 

“You know, I saved your ass back there,” Stella pointed out. “The least you could do is be nice to me, even if you aren’t going to thank me for it.”

 

“You think I care about this stupid job?” Mark said, scoffing dismissively. But at least now he turned to face her rather than pretending to focus on anything else. “Believe me, there’s tons like it. I could get another one tomorrow.”

 

“Not in this town,” Stella said. “The MC runs everything within thirty miles of here, except this place and a couple of the surrounding neighborhoods. You’d be fucked if you walked out right now, just admit it. And maybe while you’re at it, you could pull your head out of your ass and stop yelling at the boss.”

 

“Oh, whatever,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. “That little shrimp is scared of me, not the other way around.”

 

“Yeah, and he’s also the fucking authority around here!” Stella said, her voice beginning to mount as her frustration grew. “Look, I know you’re new in town and you don’t know how things work around here, but you need to realize how lucky you are to be working in this bar. He’s the only guy in town to stand up to the MCs around here, to make this neutral territory where you don’t have to worry about a gunfight breaking out every night. But this is bigger than it looks. If this bar goes under, it’s just a sign to the whole community that things are never going to get better around here. Fucking Cameron and his stupid cronies will always run things, and it’ll never fucking change until somebody stands up to them. That’s Wesley. He’s the only one dumb enough to do it, so maybe respect that and stop acting like a whiny little bitch.”

 

The words rushed out of her mouth all at once, without any interference from her brain getting in the way. She knew she was saying too much, getting too angry too quickly, but goddammit, she really didn’t want Mark to walk out on this place. For one thing, he might never get a job in this town again, which meant he’d have to move away, which meant Stella would probably never see him again. For some reason that proposition felt awful to her, making her feel sick to her stomach in ways that she didn’t understand.

 

And for another thing, without Mark’s intimidation factor, a lot of the Thunder Rebels on the edge of town might get some ideas in their heads about taking over the Haven for their own, which meant that Stella would lose the only place she’d found where she could be free. That wasn’t going to happen, not as long as she could help prevent it.

 

But Mark didn’t seem to appreciate her lecture, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer to her, the anger coming off of his body in thick waves. “You think I give a fuck about this ‘community’? About this stupid little town? Believe me, lady, I’ve been around dozens of stupid shitty little towns like this over the past two years, and they’re all the same. None of them are worth the dirt they’re piled on top of.”

 

“But they could be,” Stella argued, stepping closer to Mark just to show that she wasn’t afraid of him. “This could be a great place to live if we made it that way.”

 

Mark shrugged, but his expression looked tighter and harder on his face, his obvious anger and indignation only becoming more and more intense as the seconds passed by. “You’re still missing the point. I don’t fucking care. I don’t care about this stupid town, or this stupid job, or this fucking bar, or the goddamned idiot boss, or…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he looked away from Stella.

 

But Stella didn’t let him get away with it that easily. “Or what? Me? You don’t care about me?” She didn’t know why that idea hurt her as much as it did, the idea that Mark didn’t give a fuck about her, but it hit her right in the chest like the sharp end of a dart. “Well, too bad,” she said, pretending like she didn’t care even though she didn’t even give Mark a chance to answer. “Because guess what? I care about you, at least enough to make sure you don’t throw this job away just because your temper got the better of you.”

 

Mark growled under his breath and stepped closer to her, crowding into her space. “Who asked you to? Who asked you to give a single fuck about me? Because I certainly didn’t, that much is for goddamned sure.”

 

Stella’s breath started coming out faster and harder, but weirdly she didn’t feel afraid. She knew that Mark wasn’t going to hurt her, no matter how angry he got. She didn’t know why she felt so certain of that fact, but it was clear to her as crystal. This was a man who’d be willing to fight another man in a heartbeat, who’d toss men out of the bar without a second’s hesitation, but she just knew, instinctively, deep down in her heart, that there was no way he was ever going to lay a hand on her. It was almost exhilarating, knowing that she had the ability to say or do anything to him without having to worry about physical repercussions.

 

“I don’t care if you don’t care about me,” she said as clearly as she could, staring up into Mark’s eyes unblinkingly. “I’m not letting you quit this job. You don’t get to get away from it that easily.”

 

Mark stared at her for a long moment, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers, looking so deeply into her it was like he was trying to read her. “You can’t stop me,” he finally whispered, his voice coming out hoarse and rough.

 

Stella feigned indifference, shrugging as if she was unbothered, when really her heart picked up in her chest, pounding so hard against her ribcage she was a little worried that Mark might even be able to hear it even though they weren’t touching. “Prove it,” she said back, her voice as low and soft as his was.

 

The next second, she was slammed roughly into the shelf of drinks behind her back, but before she could protest, her mouth was captured by Mark’s, his hands coming up to grab the sides of her face. She was still for a second, frozen in shock as Mark’s lips massaged hers, but then she was rocked back into her body, her hands instinctively coming up to grab at Mark’s neck, tugging him closer.

 

“Stupid…You’re so fucking stupid,” Mark muttered in between hard, wet kisses, his teeth coming out to skim along the sensitive skin of her chin and jawline.

 

Stella moaned breathlessly, digging her fingers into his hair, tugging on the roots until he hissed and threw his head back, exposing his neck to her teeth and lips and tongue. But after a second, he pushed her away, shoving her against the wall next to the shelf and pinning her hands down next to her hips.

 

“What are you going to do to me?” Stella asked, feeling the slightest pinpricks of fear attack her heart.

 

Mark answered her by flipping her around, pushing her to the nearest box and bending her over. “What do you think?”