My pen nearly slips from my fingers as I scribble the order down. I turn sharply, nearly barreling into another server.Get it together.My heart slams against my ribs.
Ruby bumps me playfully at the bar. “What’s Mr. MMA fighter doing here?”
“Club business,” I lie coolly.
She grins wickedly. “Uh-huh. Well, he was definitely checking out your ass. I mean, even I blushed.”
My cheeks heat, but I mask it with a casual smirk. “Guess he’ll see it a lot then, because I plan on walking away from him as often as possible.”
Ruby snorts. “Ice queen activated. Love it.”
Steeling myself, I walk back, setting his drink down sharply. “What can I get you?”
He leans back, eyes dragging over me with infuriating confidence. “Cheeseburger and fries,” he drawls slowly. But there’s a beat before he says it. Just one. And I see it, His jaw clenches and the smile falters. Like I got to him too.
For half a second, I almost forget to breathe. The victory is small and reckless, but it thrums beneath my skin, pulsing with the steady rhythm of a song. Steady. Dangerous. My grip tightens around the pen.Asshole.
I scrawl the order, spin away without another word, his gaze burning into my back. My skin prickles with the memory of his smirk, the weight of his stare. I can feel it long after I’m gone.
I hate him. I want to hate him. But my body isn’t listening. It never does when he’s around. The song shifts, and I can’t help but follow the new beat.
Every time he looks at me, it feels as if he’s daring me to fall apart. And I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I’m not already starting to.
I take one more shaky breath and disappear into the kitchen, trying to drown the fire burning under my skin.
Trying and failing.
Chapter 10
Malachi
Thehushedmurmursfromthe next table reach my ears, but I barely acknowledge them, smirking as I take a slow sip of my Jack and Coke. I’m used to the reactions people have when they see me. Women giggle, their cheeks flushing pink, some bold enough to flirt. Men? They either glare in open disdain or eye me with thinly veiled jealousy. It’s predictable. Uninteresting. None of it holds my attention.
The noise, the people, the usual rhythms all fade to background static the moment she steps into view. Candace steps out of the kitchen, and the world narrows to just her. I don’t mean to tense. But I do. Same as every damn time.
She moves with a quiet confidence, unaware—or maybe fully aware—of the way she commands a room without trying. Golden curls spill over her shoulders, wild yet effortlessly perfect, catching the soft glow of the restaurant’s dim lighting, glinting with the shine of molten honey. Then there are her eyes—sharp,green, and knowing—locking onto mine for just a second too long. My breath stalls, caught in that moment where nothing else exists but her. A second too long. Long enough to wonder if she’s aware of how easily she disorients me.
My chest pulls tight with something I don’t name. It edges toward need, too raw to voice. My hand tightens around the glass unconsciously, the sweat from it slick against my palm. I should look away. I don’t.
That crisp white blouse clings just enough to tease at the softness beneath, tucked into high-waisted black trousers that hug her curves as if they were made for her. She’s polished, put together, but there’s an edge beneath the elegance. Something untamed, something that makes her impossible to ignore. The slight, knowing tilt of her lips, as if she’s in on a secret the rest of us will never unravel, only adds to the pull she has on me.
Fire wrapped in silk. A woman who fights to stay unburned. She’s fire and restraint. Grace and challenge. The kind of woman who lingers in your mind long after she’s walked away.
I watch as she moves through the restaurant, dropping checks at tables, her demeanor poised but never forced. My eyes flick to the tips left behind—some generous, others insultingly small. Why she works here baffles me. She could make a killing downtown, somewhere with less entitled clientele, somewhere she wouldn’t have to work twice as hard for half the appreciation.
Her fingers drum lightly against her notepad as she walks. Not random. A pattern. Barely audible but familiar. A rhythm. A pulse. She’s done it before, and I’ve caught it without thinking. Never really considered why.
The first time I heard it, we were on the bike. She didn’t realize she was doing it then either. Just a girl trying not to fall apart who turns sound into survival. That same beat is here now,threading through the noise with the softness of a whispered confession.
The hostess had mentioned she was recently promoted, but tonight she’s back on the floor, picking up tables for coworkers who bailed. She doesn’t complain. She just does. And that? That only makes me more intrigued.
My jaw tightens as Winston Graves rises from his table and steps into my line of sight, heading straight for me. Though I keep my posture relaxed, every instinct sharpens. I’ve never trusted this man. Not since I was old enough to understand the game of politics. He wears his power the way most men wear a watch, effortlessly, like it’s always belonged to him. He’s the mayor now, but I’d bet my last dollar he’s got his sights set on something bigger.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
He despises the Outsiders. We stand for everything he pretends to hate: lawlessness, independence, the refusal to bow to men like him. But it’s not just about ideology. It’s personal. Winston Graves is the embodiment of old money, his wealth stitched into every thread of his perfectly tailored suit. The subtle checkered pattern of his blazer is deliberate, a quiet display of luxury meant for those who know what to look for. His tie, an understated brown with an intricate weave, is a message—controlled, refined, never flashy. Even the polished lapel pin on his chest, small but significant, is a reminder of the influence he wields.
To the world, he is a man of integrity. Only those who truly understand power know he is something else entirely. A kingmaker and puppet master. A ghost who never gets his hands dirty, but always ensures the game is played in his favor.
