In Columbia, South Carolina, my grandfather found himself swept into a world far beyond anything he had known. After crossing paths with a group of men entangled in shady dealings, he was pulled into a life pulsing with risk and adrenaline. For someone wearied by routine, the thrill of danger was intoxicating. He didn't know it yet, but one impulsive decision would change the course of his life forever.
One sultry evening, about a month into this new life, my grandfather wandered into a bar with a name as bold as its atmosphere—Hot for Sexy Bar. The place buzzed with electricity: laughter roared, glasses clinked, and music thumped like a second heartbeat. As he slid onto a worn stool at the bar, something at the far end caught his eye—a commotion.
A waitress, cornered by a group of rowdy men, was being harassed. Their laughter was sharp and cruel, cutting through the noise like a jagged blade. Most patrons turned away, pretending not to see. But my grandfather couldn't.
Just as he rose to intervene, something unexpected happened.
The waitress turned—fierce, unflinching—and struck back. With a clean, calculated punch, she floored one of the men. The room froze. Without hesitation, she snatched a bottle of red wine and smashed it over another's head, shards glinting in the low light as the liquid rained down like blood. Then, in one smooth motion, she clashed their heads together, dropping them in a heap of groans and bruised pride.
Silence fell, thick and stunned.
She walked toward my grandfather, calm as ever, eyes locked on his. Without a word, she plucked the wine glass from his hand and drank from it, like they'd known each other forever.
"What's your name?" he asked, still caught between awe and dibelief.
"Raven," she said, voice cool and unapologetic. "Raven Queen."
Her name matched her spirit—untamed, regal, unforgettable. Something shifted in him