I check the time; only one more hour before I can finally get out of here. A smirk tugs at my lips as I walk back onto the floor, already knowing what I’m going to do next. My heart rate picks up at the thought of his reaction when I blow him off yet again. Let him simmer. Let him wonder why I can’t be baited the way the others are.
Since the restaurant has slowed down, I’ll hand off Malachi’s table to another waitress. Let him stare all he wants. This time, I won’t look back.
A subtle thrill runs through me at the defiance in that thought. If he wants to chase me, he can run. I’m done playing by his rulesand letting my body betray me in his presence. One more hour, and I’m out the door. Into a night of freedom that might let me forget, at least briefly, how much this man has already rattled my defenses. And if I hum to myself, if a lyric slips loose from the prison I built, I’ll pretend it means nothing.
Chapter 12
Malachi
There’sasharpknockon my door, and I scowl. My waist is still wrapped in a towel from the shower I just took, steam still clinging to my skin, beads of water tracing warm paths along my arms. The leftover heat of the shower does nothing to ease the sharp chill running under my skin—a warning that today won’t end neatly. Or easily.
Another knock.Jesus Christ.
My muscles tense, irritation rising in a slow burn through my chest. The kind that crawls between your ribs and nests there. I rub the back of my neck, water-slicked fingers dragging goosebumps in their wake.
“Give me a damn second!” I shout, my voice edged with frustration that’s been building all day.
Raking a hand through my damp hair, I yank on a pair of jeans, the denim still stiff from the last wash, and tug a T-shirt over my clammy torso. The fabric clings slightly to my skin,an unwelcome discomfort that only worsens my mood. Every movement feels off—skin too tight, nerves wired too close to the surface.
Even as I move, my mind pulls toward Candace. That name has been a splinter in my thoughts since dawn. Sharp. Persistent. Lodged so deep I can’t stop poking it. She blew me off at the restaurant, brushing me aside as if I meant nothing. As if I hadn’t just told her exactly what I wanted; with honesty she’s never gotten from anyone before. I went there to talk to her, to get answers, and she treated me as if I were just some asshole on the street. Maybe I deserved that. Maybe I didn’t. But the way she avoided me after that comment about tasting her? That shit pisses me off more than it should.
My pulse ticks in my throat as I swing the door open, bracing for whatever fresh problem is waiting on the other side.
Knox is leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed, his stance seemingly casual, but I know better. He’s always watching, always calculating with sharp-eyed stillness. He’s already two steps ahead of whatever’s about to land at my feet.
His white T-shirt is crisp against the dark denim of his jeans, but the worn-in leather vest draped over his shoulders tells a different story. Late nights on the road, sweat and dust layered into the leather itself, a testament to battles fought in parking lots and back alleys. The scent of smoke and oil clings faintly to him, familiar and grounding.
His eyes, dark and knowing, flick over me, taking in every detail. There’s no judgment, but there is expectation. The kind that makes your spine straighten even when you want to fold.
“Chuck is downstairs. He’s making a scene.”
My breath locks.Not again.
A sigh drags out of me, heavy and begrudging. My fingers flex at my sides, searching for something to latch onto. There’s no avoiding it. The weight of responsibility settles over myshoulders, clinging with the unyielding grip of a chain, a burden I can’t shake even if I wanted to. And in the middle of it, always,her.
My mind flashes back to the last time Chuck caused trouble and Candace stepped in to bail him out. My jaw tenses with the memory of that conversation, how determined she was to cover for him. How determined she was to avoid me. The image of her defiant, tired eyes sticks, thick and stubborn as tar.
I turn back into the room, forcing my feet into my boots. The laces dig into my fingers as I tie them too tight, a poor outlet for my frustration. The bite of leather against my knuckles helps. A little.
Knox doesn’t move, just waits, patient and unmoving, a shadow that’s become a fixture in my life. Outside, I can hear the faint buzz of the club. The distant bar chatter and clinks of glass are laced with an undercurrent of tension that never really goes away. A storm that’s never fully passed.
The second I hit the bar floor, the thick, smoky air envelops me, heavy with stale beer and old leather. The scent clings to the back of my throat, thick and persistent as memory. Then I hear him.
“I want a damn beer!”
Chuck’s voice is raw, thick with something more than just drunken aggression. Desperation; the kind that curdles in the gut and turns into poison. The rest of the club falls silent at his outburst. Tension radiates from every corner, a brewing storm with the scrape of boots and creak of stools. Every sound sharp and dangerous.
Kyle stands behind the bar, shoulders squared, jaw locked, trying to hold his ground. The air in the club is taut, thick with tension that puts men on edge. All eyes track every movement, every shift, as though the smallest spark could ignite a brawl.
Loyalty holds this place together. But it’s fraying.
I grind my teeth and push forward, grabbing Chuck’s arm. My fingers dig into his jacket, the sweat beneath it hot and sour.
He whirls, the wild look in his eyes screaming that he’s lost himself in whatever demons are clawing at him. His fist flies, and instinct takes over. I duck, his knuckles slicing through empty air before I grip both his arms and slam him against the bar.
The wood shudders under the impact, bottles rattling in their places, a few threatening to topple. My breath punches out of me from the force, but I hold him there, feeling the twitch of his muscles as they fight, not just me, but himself.
“Enough,” I bite out, voice low, a quiet force of control. My grip tightens. “You’re making a damn scene.” And dragging her name into the dirt with you.
