“Good. Gives me something to work on between jobs.” He grins—full and unfiltered—the kind of expression that says he’s more than ready to rise to the occasion. “Learning everything about you.”
Between jobs.
I roll my eyes, turning to glance around the shop. “I know it’s a mess. I hit my stride and next thing I know, open stain cans are multiplying, hardware covers every surface, and I have no idea where I left my coffee.”
Hex lets out a low chuckle. “Will would have a goddamn field day back here.”
“Will,” I repeat, intrigued by who he surrounds himself with. “So… your people. You’re not doing all this alone, right?”
He leans against the nearest worktable, arms crossing over that just-right shirt of his. “Nah. Will and JT are my family. Will is not blood, but it doesn’t matter. Our bond is closer than that. We’ve been through so much together.”
I study him with curiosity as he moves about my space taking in the many different pieces in various states of repair.
“In my twenties, I fought underground,” he says, dragging a calloused finger over a walnut nightstand. “Cage matches. No rules. No gloves. No spotlight. Just survival. I made more money getting punched in the face than I ever could doing something respectable.”
“That tracks,” I murmur, making him huff a soft laugh.
“But it went beyond money. It fed control. Fearlessness. After being jerked around by the guy running it all—Ned—I took everything I learned and decided to turn it into something good.
“We always talked about owning a bar, the three of us, so… I bought one.” His tone shifts, softening with pride as he finishes his self-guided tour, meeting right back at me. “Built it into what it is now. Ruin's End.”
He runs a rough hand through his hair and looks in the direction of his bar. “The regulars are more than just patrons. They’re a community. People come to us when shit hits the fan. If someone’s being harassed, threatened, needs protection… they know I’ll handle it. Some pay in favors. Some pay in loyalty. Some just keep the lights on with their bar tabs.”
He shrugs, brushing it off with the ease of someone who doesn’t realize he’s done something remarkable.
“Right, so you’re basically the neighborhood justice league with a liquor license,” I say with a tease as I look up into his eyes.
His lips curve. “Depends on the night.”
I smile, leaning back against the armoire, watching him as he stands in the middle of my chaotic, dusty shop like he has always belonged here.
It’s insane. All of it. But it doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels…safe.
And maybe for the first time in a very long time, I’m starting to believe that’s allowed. Like I deserve to explore it.
He leans down into me, lips brushing mine again, slow, tender—
But I touch his arm and push him a hair’s breadth away. “Wait—” I breathe into the air between us. “What if she’s watching again? Recording us? What if—”
He cups my face gently, thumbs stroking my cheeks. “Hey. JT’s already shut Bat Shit down. She couldn't stream a cat video right now, let alone access your cameras or phone. And besides,”he adds, voice lowering into something dark with confidence, “this time of day, she's probably busy following Andrew to the gym. Her schedule's not exactly hard to map.”
I cringe internally at how well he knows her movements, but I'm grateful and ridiculously impressed. “You know that’s disturbingly thorough, right?”
He smirks, eyes locked on me. “When it comes to protecting what’s mine, I leave nothing to chance.”
That declaration sends heat rushing through me, settling deep and warm between my thighs. My heart speeds up as I reach out, my fingers resting against his chest. “I believe you.”
He exhales a long breath, relaxing at my admission. Then, slowly, his hand slides up to where I’m touching him and he covers my touch. I feel his heart beating beneath my palm.
I want this man so fucking bad.
He dips his head, brushing his mouth over mine. Not rushed, not forceful; a slow kiss that deepens as my body tilts into his. His other hand finds my hip, thumb sliding under the waistband of my leggings, palm dragging across the bare skin beneath.
A shiver races through my body.
Hex moves with a kind of composed assurance, reading me in ways I haven’t learned to read myself. His fingers dip lower, between my legs, slipping easily between my folds. A groan rumbles in his chest when he feels how wet I am.
