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Coming home for the holidays is usually fine. Seeing how much older your parents look is always a shock, but it's fine. And it sucks that your best friend can't go bar hopping with you because she has a newborn, but that's just fine. You're happy for her. Really. Still, you can't shake that twinge of loneliness in your chest, but it's fine. Something about the holidays always seems to make you a little sad, anyways.
You're not really sure what you were looking for when you decided to stop by the nearly empty bar in your hometown. Your parents decided to have date night, and maybe sitting alone in a bar felt a little less pathetic than sitting alone in your childhood home. There's always the chance that you'll run into an old high school classmate, but it's fine.
The friendly bartender sets a whiskey and coke in front of you. You utter a quick, "Thanks," and he smiles before going to clear off some dirty tables. You're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't even notice the brunette woman take a seat next to yours, not until she orders her drink.
"I'll have what she's having."
Your head shoots up to lock eyes with the dangerous-looking woman, who seems delighted to have finally caught your attention. Something about her shifty smirk makes you think she'll have your attention for a while. The bartender sets her drink down and she immediately downs half of it.
"You're much too pretty to be sitting alone in a bar." The woman's Scottish accent takes you by surprise, but you like how it sounds.
"Thanks, and you're much too pretty to be from around here." She laughs softly, knowing you took her bait. She plays with the tip of her straw, shifting it through the ice of her drink. She's feigning coy.
"You're right," she smirks. "Guess where."
You make a show of trying to think, telling yourself that you're only imagining the way she's looking you up and down. "You must be from Nebraska." The woman laughs again. You love making her laugh, you wanna do it again.
Finishing off your drink, you ask, "What brings you here?"
"Business." The woman flags the bartender down and orders both of you more drinks. "I don't think I caught your name."
"(Y/N)."
"Miranda." She pauses and hums. "I once worked with a (Y/N)."
"What was she like?"
The question surprises Miranda, but you can tell she's intrigued by this new game you've presented her with. You're not sure when it happened, but you're both fully facing each other, knees only centimeters apart.
"Just wondering," you shrug. "I've always felt like I'm in some weird sort of competition with other people who have my name."
"So you wanna be the alpha (Y/N)?" she teases.
"Don't you?"
Miranda gives you a wicked grin. "I already know I'm the alpha Miranda." There's another meaning behind her words and you swallow thickly before she continues, "(Y/N) was much taller than you. And blonde." Miranda was willing to play.
You reach up to play with the ends of your hair. "I've actually always wanted to go blonde, but I'm afraid of the bleach."
Miranda studies you. You're not sure what to say so you take another sip of your drink and wonder if you've said something wrong before she says, "I think your hair suits you." You decide right then and there to never dye your hair. "(Y/N) was always whining about something, so you've won this round." You feel satisfaction and maybe a little bit of something else tying a knot in the pit of your stomach.
Before you can answer, the door opens and three loud, obnoxious men walk in. They spot the two of you and whisper and laugh to themselves. You're not going to let them ruin this moment with a hot stranger.
"What kind of business brings you to (your town)?"
Miranda raises one of her perfect eyebrows. "That's classified."
You lean forward a little to whisper, "What, are you like, a spy or something?" You lean back and giggle at your joke.
"Like I'd ever tell you if I was," Miranda smirks. "Want a hint?" You nod, realize that your knees are touching. Neither of you move them. "Do you trust me?"
You may have just met Miranda, but at this point you'd probably do whatever she asked. "I think so." Miranda reaches out and gently grabs your wrist. Your breath hitches when her warm skin touches yours, and you can tell she's strong.
She leads your hand to your waist and your head is spinning, wondering just what the hell her plan is. She sets your hand around a knife holster and wraps your fingers around the handle. Your eyes shoot up to hers, widening. You knew she seemed dangerous, and you quietly ask, "Is this your way of telling me you wanna kill me?"
Miranda is oddly delighted at your question. "Probably not." You can't tell is she's joking. She releases your hand and you know you should be nervous, but you still miss her warmth.
"Hitman?"
Miranda takes a sip of her drink as she eyes you. "Wouldn't you like to know."
The bartender approaches you with two shots, his eyes nervously shifting to the three men in the corner. For a few minutes, you forgot that there were other people in this bar besides Miranda. "The men over there sent you some drinks." He hesitates. "And this." He hands a crumpled up napkin to Miranda. "I charged them double for the drinks, if that helps."
Miranda opens the napkin. "Put on a show and there's more where this came from," is written in sloppy handwriting.
"Let me know if they make you too uncomfortable and I can kick them out." The bartender leaves to help another customer.
You grab the napkin from Miranda to read it. "I hate being perceived by men."
Miranda sighs and takes the shots from the bar, handing one to you. "Cheers?" You're surprised at how she seems unbothered, but you clink your glass against hers and knock it back.
When you look back at Miranda, she's staring at you. "What if we did put on a little show?"
You look at Miranda like she has two heads. "Excuse me?"
"For the drinks." She wiggles her glass. "Might as well get something out of this."
If you weren't several drinks in you probably would've left, left to your empty house where you would go to sleep and repeat tomorrow what you did today. Staying with Miranda is looking better and better. "Okay, what do we do?"
Miranda leans in closer. You notice a scar on the side of her cheek. "Put your knee between mine," she whispers. You do what you're told and now you can feel her knees on either side of yours.
"Now, look at the men and give them your coldest stare."
You wrinkle your nose at her. "Why?"
"They like that kinda shit," Miranda shrugs. You do it, and one of them winks back at you. You roll your eyes and refocus on Miranda. She releases a breathy laugh and you can feel it tingle on your cheek. "Good girl."
Normally this kind of overconfidence makes your skin crawl, but Miranda wears it well. You're almost eager for her next direction.
"Laugh like I just said something funny."
You pause, knowing that your fake laugh is horrendous. "Uhh, can you say something funny?"
Miranda sighs exaggeratedly, but there's almost something fond hiding in it. She thinks for a moment before saying, "I'm going to cut their dicks off with my knife."
You laugh, but it's mostly from surprise. Miranda comes a little closer to you, your legs bumping against each other again.
"Now," she whispers, "I'm going to brush your thigh with my hand." You nod and she keeps eye contact as she gently swipes the side of your thigh with your hand, as if she was just moving her hand and your thigh happened to be in the way. You involuntarily shift in your seat a little, a movement that doesn't go unnoticed by Miranda.
"I'm going to rest my hand on your thigh, now." Her hand trails up your leg, ghosting touches until it settles on your thigh. She rubs her thumb softly on your skin and you're suddenly thankful you decided to wear a dress. You gulp.
One of the men laughs loudly and Miranda looks at them out of the corner of her eye. "Glare at them again."
Your heads are so close together now that you have to move to see behind her hair. You hate that they're watching your every move, but you feel safe with Miranda.
Miranda tugs on your elbow, forcing your attention back on her. "Whisper something in my ear."
"Like what?"
Miranda smiles suggestively. "I dunno. A secret. Your fantasies. Whatever you like." You lean forward, and you can feel her breath on your ear. Are you feeling bold? You decide that you are.
"This is the hottest encounter I've ever had with a stranger."
Miranda grabs your face with her hand, forcefully kissing you on the mouth. You're not sure if you can move until she puts a hand on your waist, pulling you up. You spring to life, enthusiastically kissing Miranda back. You're floating, until you feel her tongue prying your mouth open and suddenly you're crashing back down, knees weak.
You lean against Miranda, who's still sitting in her chair. Your arms are around her neck, brushing against her soft hair, and she's the only thing keeping you steady. Your eyes almost shoot open when you feel a hand tug at your hair, sending sparks all down your body.
The moment is ruined when one of the men decides to whistle at you. Miranda pulls back and you fall back into your chair. You can feel your chest rapidly falling up and down, but you're not sure if you're actually breathing.
The bartender reluctantly brings over two more drinks. The three men leave, waving as they exit. Miranda stands, putting a hand on your knee. "I'm gonna pop into the bathroom real quick." You must've looked worried, because Miranda reaches out to wipe a smudge of her lipstick from your cheek. "I'll be back." Before she leaves, she closes her tab and asks the bartender to put all of your drinks onto hers.
The men sent you both some fancy fruity drinks, but you don't really want it anymore. All you can focus on is Miranda, and part of you is scared she's ditching. You pick up your straw and swirl it around your drink a few times, just to give your hand something to do.
Miranda returns from the bathroom, smoothing down her shirt. You're relieved and hope she's just as ready to leave as you are. Maybe you could go walk around the park or make out in your car or something. She picks up your coat form the back of your chair and plops it into your lap. "Ready? My hotel's across the street."
Oh. Straight and to the point. You watch her fill out the receipt as you put your jacket on. Her last name is Croft and she left the bartender a two hundred dollar tip. You still have no idea what this woman does for a living, but she must make good money.
When she finishes signing the receipt she grabs your elbow to lead you out of the door. You grab her arm to steady yourself. "Thanks for the drinks."
"Anytime, darlin'."
You're so focused on the little term of endearment that you don't even notice the way she steers you just a little off the path to avoid the drops of blood in the snow. You don't notice the way Miranda looks over her shoulder to make sure that the three bodies are still buried in the garbage.