Her blonde hair is piled in a messy bun, her mouth painted cherry red. She’s gorgeous with curves that won’t quit. Kya bought Devil’s Bar a few months back and has been running the place ever since, turning it from a dive into a dive with standards.
Until three days ago, when Summit burned it to the ground.
“How are you holding up?” I ask, partly because I care and partly to deflect from the whole staring-at-Stone situation. “With everything?”
A series of emotions flicker across her face—anger, grief, maybe exhaustion—but she shrugs it off. “I’m okay. It’s just stuff, right? Stuff can be rebuilt.”
“Are you going to? Rebuild?”
“Yeah.” Her smile turns genuine. “Lee’s already setting up meetings with an architect. Insurance is being difficult, but the club’s fronting the costs until it comes through.” She glances across the room to where her boyfriend is mixing drinks, herexpression softening. “He keeps saying we’ll make it bigger. Better. That Summit gave us an excuse to upgrade.”
I follow her gaze. Lee moves behind the makeshift bar with easy competence, all broad shoulders and dark hair cut military-short. He’s got his father’s steel-gray eyes and that same commanding presence—the kind that makes people pay attention without him having to say a word. A scar cuts through his left eyebrow, adding an edge of danger to features that are already sharp enough to cut glass. At thirty, he’s the club’s Enforcer, and he wears the role like he was born to it.
Which, I suppose, he was.
“That’s a good way to look at it.”
“It’s the only way to look at it without falling into a heap.” She takes another sip of her drink. “I refuse to let those bastards win. Devil’s has been part of this town for decades. It’ll take more than a match and some gasoline to kill it.”
I squeeze her arm. “Let me know if you need help with the insurance company. I know a few tricks.”
“I might take you up on that.” Then her smirk returns, and I know the deflection is over. “Now. Back to you and your ‘people watching.’”
“Kya—”
“You know, you could just go talk to him.”
I don’t even pretend to not know who she’s referring to. “We talk all the time.”
“Sure, about legal briefs and cartel shell companies. That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
I do. That’s the problem.
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s really not.” Kya bumps my shoulder. “He likes you. You like him. The whole club’s been taking bets on when you two will finally get your shit together.”
“There arebets?”
“Ginger’s got fifty on next month. I’ve got twenty on tonight.” She grins. “Don’t let me down, Counselor.”
Before I can respond, she’s melted back into the crowd, leaving me alone with my beer and my excuses and the weight of her words pressing against my chest.
Tonight.
I look at Stone again. He’s moved to the back porch, visible through the window, standing alone in the darkness.
Screw it.
I set down my drink and go after him.
The night air is sharp, the kind of cold that makes your breath visible and your fingers ache. Woodsmoke drifts from somewhere nearby, mixing with the smell of coming frost. Stone stands at the porch railing, looking out at nothing, his shoulders tense beneath his cut.
“Hey,” I say, because I’m apparently a master of witty conversation.
He turns and his expression shifts when he sees me—a softening, a warmth that makes my stupid heart do stupid things.
“Hey yourself.” He adjusts to make room for me at the railing. “Needed some air?”
