Holy Water and Hellfire
By Olivia Salter
Word Count: 1,828
The neon lights of Revel, Atlanta’s hottest underground bar, pulsed like a heartbeat in the dark. Inside, the bass throbbed, and the air smelled of whiskey, sweat, and desire. Ava Sinclair leaned against the bar, her leather jacket draped over her shoulders like armor. She was a walking contradiction—sharp as a switchblade but soft enough to melt if you were worthy.
Tonight, she wasn’t looking for love. Love had chewed her up and spit her out too many times before. She was here to celebrate survival.
"Whiskey. Neat," she told the bartender, who slid her the drink with a knowing smirk. She didn’t do sugarcoated nonsense, and neither did he.
As she lifted the glass to her lips, she felt eyes on her. Men stared, some intrigued, some intimidated. Ava was used to it. They didn’t understand her—a woman who had talked to angels and beat the devil, who had been shattered and reforged in fire.
"You’re different," a voice said.
She turned, meeting the gaze of a man with storm-gray eyes and a presence that felt like thunder waiting to strike. He was dressed in dark denim and an easy confidence, but she wasn’t fooled. Confidence could be a mask, and she wasn’t in the mood for another liar.
"That supposed to be a compliment or an observation?" she asked.
He chuckled. "Both. But mostly an apology in advance."
"For what?"
He leaned in, voice low. "For how much you’re gonna hate me when I tell you the truth."
Ava’s pulse skipped. "Try me."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I know who you are, Ava Sinclair. I know what you’ve been through. And I know you don’t trust anyone—especially men like me."
Her grip tightened on the glass. "And what kind of man are you?"
"The kind that doesn’t waste time with fake love," he said. "The kind that either walks away now… or stays for real."
Ava studied him. Most men ran their mouths, promised stars, and delivered shadows. This one? He wasn’t promising anything.
That was new.
That was rare.
She smirked, tilting her glass in a mock toast. "Well, aren’t you just a live wire?"
He grinned. "And you’re holy water and hellfire."
Ava’s heart thrummed, but she didn’t let it show. Not yet.
Instead, she downed her drink and set the glass down with a slow, deliberate clink.
"Buy me another, and maybe I’ll let you stay."
The bartender slid another whiskey toward Ava, and she lifted it with a smirk, eyes locked on the storm-gray gaze across from her. The man—Damian Carter—hadn’t flinched under her scrutiny. That alone made him different. Most men either tried too hard to impress her or shrank back when they realized she wasn’t the kind of woman who played nice.
She took a slow sip, letting the silence between them stretch, testing him. Would he fill it with bullshit or let it breathe?
To her surprise, he just leaned back against the bar, watching her with something like curiosity.
"You’re waiting for me to slip up," he said finally.
Ava arched a brow. "No. I’m waiting to see if you’re worth the time."
Damian chuckled. "Fair enough."
She could read men in an instant. Confidence didn’t impress her. Honesty did.
"You said you know who I am." She tilted her head. "That supposed to scare me?"
He shook his head. "Not at all. It’s supposed to save me time."
"How so?"
"Because I know you don’t do games," he said. "And I don’t have time to play them."
A flicker of something warm stirred in her chest, but she buried it. Words were easy. Actions mattered.
"So what’s your angle?" she asked.
Damian sighed, swirling the ice in his glass. "I came here to clear my head, not chase anyone. But then I saw you. And now…" He shrugged. "Now I’m just trying not to screw this up."
Ava smirked. "You assume there’s something to screw up."
"There will be," he said smoothly. "If I do this right."
She exhaled a soft laugh. Ballsy.
"So what’s your story, Damian Carter?"
He took a sip of his drink before answering. "Grew up in South Atlanta. Older brother got into some bad shit, so I learned early what not to do. Spent my twenties trying to outrun my own mistakes. Now I keep things simple."
Ava studied him. Men like him usually had ghosts.
"And what’s ‘simple’ for you?"
He met her eyes. "Honest people. Straight talk. No fake love."
That last part landed deep. No fake love.
She tilted her head, tapping her fingers against the side of her glass. "So what happens now?"
"That depends," he said. "On whether you let me take you to dinner or send me packing."
Ava smirked, watching him for any sign of arrogance. There was none. Just patience. Confidence, but not entitlement.
She leaned in slightly. "One dinner."
Damian grinned. "You won’t regret it."
She arched a brow. "I never regret leaving when I need to."
His smirk widened. "That’s why I’m gonna make sure you don’t want to."
Damn.
Ava downed the rest of her whiskey and stood, grabbing her leather jacket. She wasn’t sure what she had just walked into, but one thing was certain.
She’d find out.
Ava stepped outside Revel, the night air thick with the scent of rain and city life. The pavement was slick, neon reflections shimmering like oil spills. Damian followed her out, hands in his pockets, his easy confidence intact.
"Where to?" he asked.
Ava shrugged. "You’re the one who insisted on dinner. Let’s see if you actually have good taste."
Damian smirked. "I know a spot."
He led her toward a sleek black Challenger, its engine humming like a caged animal. Ava smirked, running her fingers along the hood. Muscle cars. Predictable.
"You drive fast?" she asked.
Damian chuckled. "Only when necessary."
Ava slid into the passenger seat, testing the way the leather felt beneath her fingers. She didn’t trust easily, but something about this moment felt… right.
As he pulled onto the road, the low growl of the engine filling the silence, she stole a glance at him. Storm-gray eyes, jawline sharp enough to cut, hands steady on the wheel.
"Tell me something real," she said suddenly. "Something you don’t tell most people."
Damian didn’t hesitate. "I used to street race. Won a lot. Lost worse."
Ava lifted a brow. "Define ‘lost worse.’"
"Last race I ever did, I crashed," he said, voice even. "Almost killed myself. Had to relearn how to walk without a limp. Decided my life was worth more than proving a point."
Ava studied him. No bullshit. No bravado. Just the truth.
"Your turn," he said.
She hesitated. She wasn’t the type to spill her past to strangers, but something about the way he looked at her—**like he wasn’t waiting to judge, just to understand—**made her speak.
"I used to be engaged," she said finally.
Damian didn’t react, just waited for more.
"He was a liar. A manipulator. Made me feel like love was a trap, something that demanded sacrifice but never gave anything back."
"And?"
"And I left," she said simply. "Took my car, my pride, and never looked back."
Damian nodded, eyes still on the road. "Good."
Ava blinked. "That’s it?"
He shrugged. "What else is there? You saved yourself. That’s what matters."
Something in her chest tightened. Most people either pitied her or asked why she didn’t leave sooner. But Damian? He just accepted it.
She let that sit between them as the city lights blurred past.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to a small soul food joint tucked into a corner of downtown Atlanta. The kind of place with vinyl booths, handwritten menus, and food that actually meant something.
Ava smirked. "Points for not taking me somewhere cliché."
Damian cut the engine and turned to her. "I don’t do surface-level. You should know that by now."
She held his gaze for a long moment. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t another waste of her time.
"Alright, Carter," she said, pushing open the door. "Let’s see if you can handle dinner with a woman like me."
Damian chuckled, following her inside.
"Oh, I can handle you," he said. "The real question is—can you handle me?"
The soul food joint had a warmth that contrasted with the night outside—dim lights, the scent of fried chicken and cornbread, and the kind of quiet hum that came from satisfied people eating good food. A few older folks sat in the back, playing dominoes, and the radio played an old-school R&B track that Ava recognized but hadn’t heard in years.
A waitress, a woman in her late fifties with silver braids and a knowing smile, approached them. "You finally brought somebody in here, huh?" she said to Damian.
Ava lifted an eyebrow. Finally?
Damian smirked. "Had to wait for the right company, Auntie Joy."
Auntie Joy turned to Ava, looking her up and down, then gave a small nod of approval. "Well, she ain’t run off yet. That’s a good sign."
Ava chuckled, sliding into the booth across from Damian. "Guess I’m still figuring out if he’s worth the time."
Auntie Joy laughed. "Oh, baby, trust me. If he’s sitting across from you, he already knows you’re worth it."
Ava didn’t let the words sink in too deep. She’d heard sweet talk before. The difference was, Damian wasn’t the one saying it.
They ordered—catfish for Ava, short ribs for Damian, mac and cheese on both plates because that wasn’t even a question.
Once they were alone, Damian leaned forward slightly. "So? What’s the verdict?"
"On what?"
He smirked. "Me."
Ava leaned back, swirling her glass of sweet tea. "Still deciding."
Damian chuckled. "Fair enough."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that didn’t demand filler conversation. Ava wasn’t used to that. Most men filled empty spaces with empty words. Damian let things breathe.
Then, out of nowhere, he said, "I think people underestimate you."
Ava glanced up, fork halfway to her mouth. "How so?"
He took a sip of his drink, eyes steady on hers. "They see your face, your confidence, and they think they’ve got you figured out. But I don’t think most people know what you’ve survived to become this woman sitting across from me."
Ava’s grip tightened on her fork. It wasn’t often that someone saw her that clearly.
"And you do?" she asked, testing him.
Damian set his glass down. "Not yet. But I’d like to."
For a moment, Ava didn’t know what to say. The usual walls she kept up—the sharp tongue, the I-don’t-need-anyone armor—felt useless against him.
She let the silence stretch again, then finally said, "We’ll see."
Damian grinned like a man who knew he’d already won something. Not her heart. Not yet. But her attention.
And that?
That was rare.
