Gabriel stands in the doorway, golden-brown hair reflecting blue in the dim light. He scans the room with curious interest before settling on our group at the bar. Recognition flashes across his face when he spots me, his lips parting in surprise.
My lungs constrict, and my glass freezes halfwayto my mouth. Time stretches thin between us, a rubber band pulled too tight.
Orien rises from his stool, breaking the moment. “Hey, are you here for a drink?”
Gabriel’s attention shifts from me to Orien. “Yes. I mean, no. I was sent here to meet with Orien?—”
He stops, his confusion evident in the furrow of his brow and the slight tilt of his head.
The water in my glass ripples from the tremor in my hand. I set it down before anyone notices, but the damage is done. If Gabriel is here to meet with Orien, he already knows what kind of people I associate with.
The regular patrons sense the shift in atmosphere. The chess players pause, pieces hovering above the board, the woman with red nails sets down her drink, and the couple in the corner straightens, alert to potential trouble.
Gabriel stands out among them like a diamond in coal, his designer clothes marking him as an outsider.
Rowan’s body shifts, angling toward Gabriel, and his hand drops to his side, where a knife waits in a custom sheath.
“Mr. Rockford.” Ghost’s greeting breaks the tension. “Welcome to the Blue Note Lounge.”
Fuck, there’s no way to hustle him out the door now before everyone else recognizes him.
Gabriel steps further into the room, his movements cautious now, aware he’s entered territory where he doesn’t belong. His eyes find mine again, and I register the shift as he reorients his perception of me. I’m no longer Micah’s prickly best friend or the guy who works security at a mid-level club.
The jazz slips into a minor key, the notes clashing as my worlds collide, fracturing all of the careful walls that allow me to function.
“Saint?” In real time, Gabriel starts fitting the pieces together, assembling a picture I never wanted anyone to complete.
Luca’s hand settles on my shoulder in a silent question.Do we have a problem?
I can’t answer, caught between flight and fight, between the need to remove Gabriel from this space and the knowledge that he’s here for a reason tied to my best friend’s mate.
Gabriel steps forward, one hand lifting in a half-gesture of greeting.
Before he can close half the distance between us, Rowan shifts, his arm extending to block Gabriel’s path. “Hold up, rich boy. We don’t know you here.”
Gabriel freezes mid-step, hands lifting insurrender, but his body language transforms, spine straightening, chin lifting, palms open and visible. The posture of a man who understands hierarchy and danger without needing it explained.
“My apologies.” Gabriel directs the words to Rowan, but his eyes stay on me. “I didn’t expect to find a familiar face here.”
Familiar. The word scrapes my skin like sandpaper. The room shrinks around me, my pulse drowning out the saxophone’s low wail.
Some things can’t coexist without tearing each other apart.
The Blue Note is where I keep the truth from Micah. Here, I’m not security, muscle, or a best friend with a tragic past. Here, I break bones and wash blood from my knuckles without remorse. Here, I am the thing other men fear in the dark.
And Gabriel stands in the center of it all.
“You know him?” Rowan’s question contains more than curiosity. It carries the unspoken question of whether Gabriel poses a threat to our operation.
“We’ve met,” I manage, the understatement so vast it should crack the floor beneath my feet.
Rowan leans closer, his shoulder blocking Gabriel from view, so it’s just us, and no one else in thelounge matters. “You want him gone? I can make him gone.”
The offer hangs between us, a simple solution for a complicated situation. Rowan would remove Gabriel permanently, if necessary, on my word alone. The knowledge should be comforting. Instead, it sends ice through my veins.
“He’s here for Orien.” I struggle to organize thoughts that keep scattering. “And he’s Micah’s brother-in-law.”
Recognition flickers across Rowan’s face. He knows about Micah, even if Micah doesn’t know about him, and that’s the way I like it.
