"Wassup," Santana says as she slides in, the door shutting behind her with a heavy click.
"You ready?" Audrey asks, calm.
Santana nods. "Yeah."
They pull off smooth. Streetlights blur past the tinted windows, the inside of the truck dim, warm, cocooned in subtle tension.
A few blocks in, Santana speaks. "Who was that with you the other day? At the store."
Audrey chuckles low, surprised. "My little sister. Maya."
"She look older than you."
"That's what everybody says," Audrey replies, glancing over with a grin. "But nah. I'm the oldest. Got two siblings."
"Mmm." Santana nods. "I only had my pops. No siblings. He passed when I was nineteen."
Audrey's eyes soften hearing that. "That why you fight?"
Santana shrugs, gaze fixed ahead. "Part of it."
They ride in silence again, but now it's full of new weight. Understanding. Quiet respect.
By the time they pull into the club lot, the city feels asleep. It's a weekday, so the crowd is thin but not dead. Inside, the bass is low and seductive, vibrating through the floor. Red lighting spills across exposed brick, catching bodies swaying slow near the bar and booths. Wicked Games by The Weeknd pulses from the speakers—smoky and dark, like a spell.
They move through the room together with ease. Heads turn as they walk by, but they pay them no mind.
At the bar, they both order drinks. Hennessy for Santana. A whiskey sour for Audrey.
They sit close, angled toward each other. The conversation slips into a slow rhythm, like the beat in the background.
"So... Reaper?" Audrey asks, leaning on her elbow, fingers lazily circling the rim of her glass. "That name got a 온라인카지노게임?"
Santana smirks, the dim red light painting sharp lines across her jaw. "Picked it myself. First underground fight I ever did, girl walked out the ring knotted up, broken nose. Told her crew it felt like death touched her."
Audrey's brows lift slightly, impressed. "Damn."
Santana shrugs, sipping her Henny. "It stuck."
"You like it?" Audrey asks.
Santana glances at her, head tilted. "Yeah. It fits."
Their knees bump, and neither moves. Audrey doesn't even notice at first—her legs casually angled toward Santana, sneakers resting under her stool. She's a little loose now, warm from the drink, eyes half-lidded, smile soft.
Santana notices everything. The way Audrey's slightly oversized black tee hangs off her frame. The gleam from the watch on her wrist. The faint tattoo peeking from under her sleeve. The slight sheen on her brown skin where the light kisses her jaw.
"What about you?" Santana asks. "Why nursing?"
Audrey blinks, caught off guard by the question. Her fingers slow on her glass.
"I don't know," she starts, then corrects herself. "Nah, that's a lie. I do. Growing up... somebody had to take care of everyone. My mom wasn't really—" she pauses, eyes trailing the lip of her glass. "—equipped."
Santana nods slowly. Doesn't press.
"I guess I got used to patchin' shit up," Audrey finishes, voice soft.
Their eyes meet again. This time, Audrey holds it. But something about the look Santana gives her makes her pulse jump. There's weight in her stare. A quiet pull. Audrey looks away for half a second, flustered, letting out a short laugh as she pretends to check her phone.