Chapter 4
I’m standing outside, leaning against the brick wall of Ruin's End, talking shop with JT—my kid brother and our bouncer. He’s just as solid as I am, but where my presence keeps people in check, JT’s easy going demeanor makes them forget what he’s capable of.
Stupid mistake. I taught him how to fight, and at the drop of a hat, he could put someone on the ground before they even realized they fucked up.
We’re going over the night, and I’m hoping things stay quieter than last Friday. I’m not in the mood for another repeat of that mess.
“I don’t expect any trouble tonight,” I tell him. “If anything pops off, just give me a shout. I don’t want you dealing with shit alone.”
JT smirks, rolling a toothpick between his teeth. “Man, you act like I don’t live for a little entertainment.” He scans the street, unbothered, cool as ever. “But yeah, I got you. It’s been slow so far. We’re probably in the clear.”
I exhale through my nose. “Good. Keep it that way.”
JT chuckles. “Sure thing. I’ll tell the drunks to schedule their dumbassery for another night.” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head, the picture of someone without a care in the world. But I know better.
He’s a coiled spring, waiting to be triggered and snap.
He won’t hesitate.
I’m just about to push off the wall when I see them coming around the corner. Short and spicy, the redhead bounces for the door, energy bright and unapologetic, moving as though the space already belongs to her. She’s holding a cake—of course. Will will be pissed. But it’s not her I’m focused on.
It’s her friend.
Tall. So damn tall. She walks with a kind of grace that stops you dead in your tracks.
At least five-foot-ten if I’m guessing right, but the heels make her six foot easy.
She knows how to carry herself. The black dress she’s wearing is.
.. well, it’s the kind of dress that makes you think of dropping to your knees in surrender.
It’s the perfect balance between sexy and strong, hugging her in all the right places, making it damn near impossible for me not to look.
JT tilts his head slightly, amused. “You seein’ what I’m seein’, big bro?” he mutters just low enough for me to catch.
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. We have the same taste in women.
Her legs stretch endlessly, sculpted and strong, the kind of presence that turns movement into authority.
She has that focused look. Her long, dark brown hair falls in waves, the streetlight picking up those sun-kissed highlights at the edges.
And her big brown eyes pull you in, making you forget whatever the hell you were thinking.
She’s poised but wary, too controlled for someone just looking to have a good time.
Or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t seem to belong here. And yet somehow, she fits anyway.
As they approach the door, JT barely moves. He’s leaning against the windows that line the front of Ruin's End, arms crossed. He’s about to let them in—no hesitation—until the tall one walks past.
I see it, the flicker in his expression. His eyes narrow just slightly, tracking her a beat longer than usual. Not in the way most guys would, but in a way I’ve come to recognize is a characteristic of both of ours. He is clocking something, filing it away in that sharp-ass mind of his.
I reach into the moment, and without missing a beat, I stop them.
JT lets out a slow whistle under his breath, rocking back on his heels. That easygoing, nothing-phases-me demeanor still firmly in place.
“Hold up,” I say, my voice low, barely a murmur against the street noise. “Both of you.”
They both stop, and I could see the surprise flint across the tall one’s face. Something shifts in her eyes—just a brief spark of shock, unprepared for the interruption.
“IDs,” I add.
The redhead steps forward first, pulling out her wallet with that same bright energy she's had since she bounced up the steps. She hands over her ID with a flirty smile, clearly thinking she can charm her way through this.
I barely glance at it—she’s obviously old enough. I hand it back without comment and turn my full attention to her friend.
That’s when I catch the hesitation in her face, the coolness under the surface. She was not expecting to be carded, but there’s a bit of excitement too that it’s happening.
She pulls out her wallet and hands it over without a word.
Sable Hawthorne.
Turning thirty-nine in nine days.
The fact that she’s almost forty and looks this fucking good catches me off guard.
I’m thirty-one. She’s got eight years on me, but I don’t give a damn.
What matters is how she moves. She’s not chasing anything. Confident. Not desperate like most women who come through here. She’s already found her spot in the world, and from the looks of it, she’s not afraid to own that.
Local address. Stillwater Bend. I recognize it instantly. Old houses, the kind with character and history. Wraparound porches you can imagine sitting on with a drink, watching the world pass by. She’s got roots here.
I hold onto her license longer than necessary, watching her fidget. She makes some nervous joke about fake IDs and aging up to forty, and I can’t help but feel that pull again.
“You’re good,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I want it to be. She takes the ID back, her fingers brushing mine in the briefest of touches, and my pulse stutters.
I can’t help but watch her, her confidence carrying her forward as she steps past me. There’s something in the way she holds herself that makes me think she’s the kind of woman who knows exactly what she wants, but might be a little afraid of the power.
Her vertically challenged friend, however, is still lit up, clearly looking for any button she can find to push. Will steps outside right on cue.
I know exactly what he is about to focus on.
Will’s a neat freak. No, scratch that. Will’s an obsessive, compulsive neat freak.
Used to organize his damn toys by color, shape, and size when we were kids.
Everything had its place. We were roommates briefly, and I swear he spent more time folding his clothes than I spent cleaning the entire damn house.
But that’s what makes him so damn good at his job. This place is spotless under his watch. Will’s the guy I call when things in life spin out and get messy. He doesn’t crack under pressure. He thrives on it.
He’s going to hate that cake. He’s going to treat it as a personal affront, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t end up cleaning up the aftermath.
“Will’s not gonna like that,” I murmur and glance at JT. “I’d have let it slide.”
JT chuckles. “Yeah, well, you’ve gone soft with the patrons. I’m not testing Will’s blood pressure by making him scrape cake off the booths. Man’s already one frosting disaster away from an early retirement.”
I'm focused on the way Sable tracks the tension, reading the situation. Smart. Most people miss the undercurrents, but she's clocking everything—Will's stance, her friend's smirk, the way this is about to go sideways.
Can’t wait to watch that.
Then Red dumps the whole damn cake on the sidewalk. A mess in front of my bar.
Sable stands frozen, but I can tell it’s not about the cake anymore. It’s about what’s coming next.
Perfect.
I elbow JT in the gut for chuckling and step into her space, closing the distance between us. I don’t say a word at first, just letting the weight of the moment settle in. “Clean it up,” I say, my voice low but firm.
Her eyes flick up to mine. Her body tightens, a subtle adjustment that tells me she’s assessing me.
I watch her. The flicker of surprise I expected is absent. A little rattled by my command, but she’s holding steady.
I can tell she’s repeating my three little words over in her brain, deciding whether I’m serious. And I am. I seriously want to see if she’ll give up a little grace and relax the death grip she has over control.
Will’s probably salivating at the thought of dropping to the concrete to clean up the mess the right way, but that’s not what I’m after. It’s Sable I’m focused on.
I don’t expect her to clean up the mess. Hell, I’m not even sure she could in that dress. But God, what I wouldn’t give to see her on her knees for me, the snug black fabric riding up her tight ass. The thought has blood rushing to my cock. It stiffens against the seam of my jeans.
Is she scrappy, like her little friend? Or will she hold herself back and submit?
Her lips press together, eyes narrowing just so. She’s considering it. That’s what I’m after. The reaction. Does she let me lead, or does she push back?
Her confidence speaks volumes, but I can feel it—something more hidden underneath.
Of course, Will drops down to pick up the mess, the fucking neat freak tendencies kicking in full force. The guy’s practically having a mini meltdown at the sight of cake lying there on a dirty ass sidewalk for even a few seconds.
Sable watches him, a quiet little smirk on those pouty lips, clearly enjoying the show. It’s a rare thing to see someone keep that kind of control. But then, she turns her attention back to me.
“We aren’t getting in now, are we?” she asks, the words slipping from her glossed lips with an adorable charm. I swear, all I hear is her asking if she’s been naughty, waiting to learn what her punishment will be. My mind takes off with the thoughts of what I might do to get her to behave.
She’s testing me, no doubt.
It’s a simple question, but it lands on me as an unspoken challenge. I step closer, my voice low but direct, my tone still laced with that edge, giving her a warning about keeping her friend in line.
I can see her eyes flicker with something… maybe curiosity, maybe more.
“Watch your back, birthday girl.”
I don’t know why I said it that way. Maybe I meant it as a warning, but part of me wonders if it came out as something else entirely.
Her friend loops her arm through Sable’s, leading her inside. Red’s laugh trails behind, that wicked invitation about “red-velvety sweet spots” echoing in my mind.
My pulse kicks up. What I wouldn’t give to taste every inch of Sable’s sweetness myself. I’d beg to lap up every drop of her.
Sable—damn—moves away from me, claiming every inch of my bar as she steps into it.
I resist the urge to follow. Giving myself a minute to let things settle down in my pants. She’s a distraction, and I’m not used to feeling this way over a woman I just met.
But I’ll be watching. I’ll be keeping an eye on Sable Hawthorne.