That’s why Chuck’s situation pisses me off. He’s one of us; a founder, for fuck’s sake. Yet, instead of coming to his brothers, he’s relying on his daughter to clean up his mess. I get thatfinding work as a veteran isn’t easy, but that’s what we’re here for. He knows we take care of our own. If he’s too proud to ask for help, fine. But he better talk to James before this spirals into something worse. I hope he takes our advice seriously and starts showing up for himself, for her. Coming to us like he should have from the start.
Movement pulls my attention. Candace is walking toward my table, but she hesitates when Winston steps in front of me. Her shoulders stay square. Head high. But her left hand curls into a fist at her side. Subtle. Quick. I doubt anyone else would catch it.
My fingers tighten around my glass.Here we go.
Winston adjusts his cufflinks with slow, deliberate movement that’s meant to remind me who he is. Who he thinks he is. The man wears a three-piece suit to a casual dinner on a Tuesday, as if he’s stepping out of a boardroom instead of a steakhouse. Classic.
“Not really your scene, is it?” he muses, his tone carrying that smug undercurrent that makes my teeth itch.
I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the pause stretch just long enough to irritate him. Then I shrug. “Wanted a burger.”
His eyes narrow slightly as he grips the back of the chair in front of him, leaning in to assert some kind of presence. But before he can open his mouth again, Candace appears at my side. She’s too calm. Too steady. A woman in a storm trying not to let the wind show in her voice.
I wipe my hand over my mouth, hiding the smirk threatening to form. She may hate me, but she’s Outsider through and through, so she won’t take shit from anyone. Especially not Winston Graves.
“Would you like another drink while you wait for your food?” Her voice is even, polite, but there’s a coolness beneath the surface.
Our fingers brush as I hand her my glass. The moment of contact is brief, but real enough that I swear I hear her inhale sharply. For a split second, I forget Winston is even there. That breath, soft but sharp, hits me harder than it should. An electric current shoots up my arm. She’s not unaffected. That knowledge settles low and heavy in my gut. Candace’s cheeks color slightly, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t retreat.
That crack, that tiny fracture in her control, is enough to make something primal in me snap to attention.
“Your food will be out soon,” she says, turning toward Winston. Her expression shifts—professional, detached. “Oh, Mr. Graves. I hope you’re enjoying your dinner.”
I don’t want her to be nice to him. He doesn’t deserve it. But I know what she’s doing. She’s playing the game. Smart. Controlled. But the set of her jaw says it costs her.
“I am. Thank you, Candace,” Winston replies smoothly, his smile tight. He doesn’t like being dismissed, and even though she was polite, she made it damn clear he was an afterthought.
His gaze follows her as she walks away, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to lunge across the table to wipe that look right off his face. His fucking wife is sitting two tables over, for god’s sake.
He turns back to me with a smirk that makes my fists clench. “She’s nice to look at, but not a great server. No idea how she got a promotion.”
My jaw tightens, rage coiling hot and fast in my gut.
“She works her ass off,” I bite out. “Of course she deserves it.” And she deserves better than this shit. Better than rich men judging her worth between mouthfuls of overpriced steak.
Winston’s smirk falters for just a second, his eyes widening slightly as he realizes he misstepped.Asshole.
I exhale sharply, forcing myself to relax before I do something stupid. “What can I do for you, Mayor?”
Candace is making her way back to me, stopping at a few tables on the way, and for the first time, something clicks. I’ve looked at her before, of course I have, but this is different. I’m seeing her through new eyes. The way she moves—confident, efficient, completely in control—it’s magnetic. And suddenly, I realize how beautiful she is. Not just in the way her blouse clings or how her curls catch the light, but in the strength she carries, the resilience she doesn’t even try to hide. This isn’t just beauty. It’s power, and I can’t stop watching.
That same rhythm taps out on her notepad as she stops at a table. Repeated. Steady. A song only she can hear. The pieces fall into place. It’s not nerves. It’s habit. A private language I don’t speak. Yet.
Winston clears his throat, dragging my attention back to him. “It’s unusual seeing you here, so I thought I’d come over and speak.”
I lean back, rolling my glass between my fingers. “And here I thought you just missed me.”
Candace sets my drink down with a smile; small, fleeting, but there. Almost real.
“Thanks, darling.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows with a quick nod before she turns on her heel and heads straight for the kitchen.
That got to her. Interesting. She’s not easy to rattle, but I just found another crack in that carefully built armor. I make a mental note to pay attention to what gets past her defenses. Normally, I’d call her Sour Patch—sweet and sour, depending on the hour—but now I’ve got more ammo. The way her pulse jumped? That kind of reaction doesn’t lie. And I plan on cataloging every single one.
Winston’s jaw tightens as he pulls his shoulders back, irritation rolling off him in waves.
“I’m going to find a way to shut your club down,” he grinds out, barely moving his lips.
