I watch as his feet disappear from my view and my stomach fights to empty itself, fully expecting him to be backing as far away as possible from me.

That's why I flinch when a hand touches the side of my face and glance sideways at him. His face is expressionless as he moves my braid back from my face so it doesn't end up covered in sick.

I start to ask him why, but then another wave of sickness comes over me and I have to close my eyes against it. His hand pats my back uncertainly and I want to laugh at his awkward attempt to reassure me. It is clear this doesn't come naturally.

When the wave passes, I straighten slowly, and he lets go quickly, backing away as though I burned him. "Thank you." My voice comes out steadier than I expected it to with my throat and mouth still burning from the vomit.

"It's nothing." Comes his gruff reply.

We stand, looking at each other for a moment. He looks confused, as though he can't really understand why he did it either.

"I should really be going." I say and immediately start searching the ground for the phone I dropped in the struggle.

"Going to the hospital?" He replies with another frown before holding up a familiar battered phone in a purple panda printed case. "Looking for this?"

I take it from him, observing the shattered screen sadly and the fact half the panda is now so scratched it's unrecognisable. This one had survived me and my antics the longest of any screen so far. I couldn't believe it was going to need replacing for the fourth time this year.

"Thank you again." I shoot him a smile, "No hospital needed, I can clean up when I get home."

I start to hobble around my vomit, heading the last few steps to the street. He falls into pace alongside me. "You could have internal injuries. You need to see a doctor." He insists.

I check my phone and see a notification saying my Uber driver has already left after being unable to find me. It's surprising by how much time has passed considering the fact it feels like I blinked and it was all over. "I'm fine." I reply distractedly, pulling up the Uber app again to request a new one.

"That's what everyone who dies bleeding internally thinks." He snaps and I narrow my eyes at him.

"I appreciate the concern, but I don't know who the fuck you are and you don't know who I am either, so you sure as hell do not get a say in what medical decisions I do or don't make." I tell him through gritted teeth.

His eyebrows shoot up and I realise that looking like he does, he probably doesn't get told off or refused an awful lot.

I wouldn't refuse him if he...my eyes drift down and images of what he might look like under all that leather spring to mind. I snap my eyes back to his face and feel my cheeks heat.

His mouth lifts into a smirk. He definitely saw my eyeline and knew what I was thinking. "Hey, I'm beaten up, not dead. I can look, respectfully, of course." I shoot him a wink.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. We are almost back to the bar now and the noise spilling out of it brings back some semblance of normality.

"Hey Crow, you alright?" The bouncer who threw me out calls over.

I step into view under the streetlamp and his face pales. "Oh shit. You need an Ambo?"

"Nah, I'm good. Just going to go home and get cleaned up." I give him a thumbs up.

The bouncer looks hesitant and his eyes dart between me and the man I now know is Crow.

"She's refusing to go to the hospital. Is Doc in?" Crow snaps.

His tone is different now he's speaking to them. He seems angry, but not just at me now. At the world too. Who hurt him?

The bouncer shakes his head. "I think he's back at the club."

Crow growls in frustration. He's a very growly person, I think, almost dreamily. I am going into shock; I realise. It didn't happen like the movies, immediately turning into a blubbering mess as soon as the adrenaline wore off. It set in slowly, distancing me little by little from my body and the pain spreading through me.

I stumble as my knees nearly give way, and grab Crow's arm for support to keep me up. He looks positively apocalyptic now and the bouncer is looking more and more worried by the second.

"No hospital." I remind him as Crow's arm curls round my back.

Then he lifts me. Fully picks me up, bridal style. I am not a light lady, but he acts like I'm nothing.

A second bouncer has joined the first and they're both standing there, jaws hanging open in disbelief. I'm a little surprised too, but Crow is weirdly comforting to be near for a gruff, growly biker.

"Let Pops know I'm taking her to the club and tell Doc I'm on my way." He orders, then turns and marches away, fully expecting those orders to be followed and leaving no opportunity to question them.

"No hospital." I whisper again, pulling my head away from his chest and jabbing him with one finger to make it clear I mean business.

I hate the weird faraway feeling I'm getting, but then he looks down, and I feel reassured. Which I know I shouldn't. I don't know where he's taking me. I don't know who he is. What sort of name is Crow, anyway? "No hospital," he agrees. "I'm taking you back to my club. We have a medic who can patch you up." He explains as we reach his motorbike at the entrance to the alley.

Despite all my rebelling against my strict upbringing and all my crazy adventures, I've never been on a motorbike before. Especially not a pretty one like this, with wide handles and huge mirrors.

I catch sight of myself in one as he lowers me onto the bike. I look worse than I feel and I recoil from the black and blue, bloody version of me reflected back. "What's wrong? Fuck, did I hurt you?" Crow runs a hand through his hair and I can see him mentally kicking himself.

"No," I laugh, "Just caught sight of myself in that mirror and I'm surprised it didn't crack." I joke.

He doesn't smile but instead climbs on the bike behind me. My back presses to his chest as he leans forward to grab the helmet hooked onto the handle. Silently, he places it on my head. "I only have one and you're wearing it." He snaps when I go to ask where his is.

Before I can protest, he starts up the bike and it rumbles against my aching thighs.

I wriggle back into him a little more, for safety reasons of course, and he lets out a small groan. Before I can ask what's wrong in my most innocent voice, we are off. Purring up the street. Strands of my hair are whipping against my neck, but I don't care as my face stretches into a smile.

This feels incredible, like flying almost. We soar down the street and I'm so caught up in the feeling I totally forget to look at where we are going. A strange, intimidating man just whisked me away and instead of fighting him or watching where we are going, I'm like a five-year-old wanting to squeal as I go down a slide for the first time. All the self-defence lessons in the world can't protect me from my own stupidity, it seems.

I force myself to refocus. Taking in the road names and buildings. As if sensing my sudden apprehension, Crow leans into my shoulder. "The Club is behind Blackjacks, do you know it?" He shouts to be heard over the bike.

I scrunch my face, dragging up memories. "By Bee Bowl?"

His chest vibrates against my back with his chuckle as I mention the yellow and black themed bowling alley that's meant more for kids' parties than anything else. He obviously thought I was more likely to know about the casino.

Part of me feels a little proud he thinks I'd be the sort of person who knows that, but the other part reminds me that he doesn't know me. If he did, he'd know I have no poker face or patience for anything like that.

We whip past the warehouses that make up most of this area, passing the bowling alley and turning down a small path between it and the casino.

Much like the bar, the casino looks busy. People line the wall outside smoking and some turn to glance at us. We move too quickly for me to take in any of their faces or expressions.

When we roll to a stop, it's in front of a huge wrought-iron fence. With a metallic clunk, it begins rolling back to reveal an old yellow brick building. Despite the scary railings, the banner hanging from the window declaring 'The Devil is in the dice', and a line of gleaming bikes in front, it looks oddly welcoming.

The bike falls silent as soon as we come to a stop at the end of the row and the door to the place opens.

A man with hair and a beard so white I genuinely want to compare him to Father Christmas folds his large tattooed arms in front of him. "What the fuck happened?"