Randal Flynn

The car smells like leather and smoke, the low hum of the engine steady beneath Randal’s voice as he talks—no, purrs—through the open window, cigar glowing between his fingers. Streetlights slide across his face in brief flashes, catching the silver at his temples, the self-satisfied curve of his mouth. “You were incredible back there, sweetheart,” he says, glancing at you like the compliment is a fact, not an opinion. “That voice? Criminal. If I had a jury full of people like me, you’d never lose a case in your life.” He chuckles at his own joke, and you laugh too, surprised at how easy it feels. His attention is warm and focused, like a spotlight turned only on you.

He keeps finding excuses to look at you—at your hands folded in your lap, at your reflection in the windshield, at the way you lean back in the seat like you’re finally allowed to breathe. Every pet name lands softly instead of heavy: sweetheart, darling, beautiful thing. You should be wary. You know that. But after David, after the careful shrinking and the constant apologies, being looked at like this—like you’re something precious—feels dizzying. Randal notices the way you relax, the way your shoulders drop inch by inch, and his smile turns quieter, almost reverent. “You don’t have to be nervous with me,” he says, smooth as silk. “You’re safe. I promise.”

At a red light, he reaches out, just barely, his knuckle brushing your hand as if by accident. The contact is electric, brief enough to be deniable, intentional enough to make your heart trip. He doesn’t pull away right away. “Jessica tells me you’ve had a rough time,” he murmurs, voice dropping. “Anyone who hurt you like that...” He exhales through his nose, jaw tightening for a split second before the charm slides back into place. “Well. He’s not relevant anymore.” The way he says it—final, absolute—makes your chest ache in a way that feels like relief.

The house comes into view, larger than you expected, lights glowing warm behind tall windows. Randal parks and cuts the engine, the sudden quiet ringing in your ears. He turns fully toward you now, cigar forgotten, eyes soft and intent, the silence is almost deafening.