Lucas
Pier Fortune Bar and Restaurant
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
He tossed his card onto the bar, irritation coiling in his chest. Oliver had begged him to come out tonight and was left alone…with the bill.
He drained the last of his imported beer, savoring the bitterness, when a sudden burst of raised voices pierced the low hum of the restaurant.
A man dressed in a dark-gray suit came behind the bar and snatched the cordless phone from its cradle.
“What’s going on over there?” the bartender asked, craning around Lucas’s shoulder.
“Hell if I know.” The manager grumbled, rocking from side to side. “Some guy is harassing a customer and won’t leave. He’s getting more and more belligerent.”
“Who are you calling?” another server asked.
“The police, who else?”
Now it was really time for him to go.
Lucas didn’t waver when he got off the stool. He hated how much his alcohol tolerance had increased over the past few months.
Lucas almost cleared the bar area and was only a few feet from the door when he saw him .
A dark-haired man in an expensive black suit was trapped inside a booth with a man the size of a pro wrestler.
The hostile man’s tone elevated to the point it couldn’t be ignored. So much so that Lucas could hear the stinging insults he hurled at the man beside him with total disregard for the audience they had.
“I see you’re here alone,” the man scoffed, hard enough that spittle landed on his chin. “Of course you are. Your heart’s a goddamn titanium vault.”
The man’s jaw tightened with what he assumed was humiliation, as if the words—insults—were cutting him deep.
It was an expression Lucas recognized well.
It was the same way he looked when he stood in front of a mirror.
Something in him stalled, then shifted, and before he knew it, he was taking long strides across the linoleum floor.
The dark one’s lashes lowered, but not before Lucas caught the pain simmering there. His eyes—deep, glistening—lifted and locked on to Lucas’s, a silent plea between them.
Lucas moved faster, gravitating toward the expression of misery and fear.
“Evan, you’re high, you need to leave or let me out, right now,” the dark one hissed under his breath, his voice low, raw, roughened by strain.
“So you can run and hide in your mansion,” the asshole sneered, inching into the man’s face. “I may be the one with the drug problem, but who are you to judge? You overpriced pimp.”
What the fuck?
He’d heard enough. Lucas stood beside the booth, and the dark one’s eyes got wider as he gazed up at him. The panic Lucas saw melted into something different. Something needy, but he couldn’t be sure.
By the time Lucas reached the booth, his anger was carved into every line of his body.
“I believe he asked you to leave,” Lucas said, his voice gravel-deep. “Get. Up.”
Glassy, dilated pupils tried to focus on him but failed. “The hell are you? This ain’t your business.”
“I’m making it mine.”
The bigger man narrowed his eyes and his cracked lips twisted into a nasty sneer as he tried to dismiss him with a wave.
“Don’t waste your time trying to be a hero for Thorn. He’s never the one who needs saving. Trust me. I’m doing you a favor here, buddy. This one’ll chew you up, spit you out, then dance a fuckin’ dance on your scraps.”
“I said get the fuck up!” Lucas snapped, making the man flinch.
Hushed murmurs rose around them, but Lucas didn’t remove his hard glare from the piece of drugged-out shit in front of him.
No, this wasn’t his concern, but Lucas had been needing an outlet for his pent-up frustration, and this guy was as good as any.
“It’s okay.” Those dark eyes were on Lucas’s. “I got it handled.”
For a moment, Lucas considered dragging the man up by the collar. But the flashing red-and-blue lights through the front windows and Lucas shrugging out of his jacket did the trick.
The man staggered upright, spewing curses at the gawkers as he stumbled for the exit, leaving behind a trail of bitter liquor and ash.
A delicious feeling of adrenaline was still pumping through Lucas’s veins, making him feel bolder than usual.
“If you’re ready to get out of here, I can walk you to your car.” He extended his hand. “I’m Lucas Brewer.”
Thorn
I fuckin’ know who you are. Fuck!
This was not how the meeting was supposed to go. Why, of all the damn times, did Evan have to track him down now? Here!
Thorn had stayed quiet during Evan’s tirade, unwilling to rise to the bait.
His ex’s words were daggers, meant to cut him to the quick.
Then Lucas was there, those hazel eyes fierce and burning, and Thorn had been unable to look away.
He laid his hand on Lucas’s wide palm, swallowing roughly at the sensation that shot up his arm.
Holy fuck.
He almost struggled to take his next breath, feeling overwhelmed.
Lucas didn’t release his hand right away as he gazed down at him with so much passion and concern, as if he were someone important to him and not a stranger.
Despite the solemn mood Lucas had been in, he hadn’t hesitated to come to his defense when everyone else had pretended not to stare.
Thorn was sure his face was multiple shades of red, not to mention he was positive Evan was most likely waiting for him outside, around the corner, or maybe in the parking garage.
“Hey. C’mere.” Lucas was gentle when he pulled him out of the booth.
When Thorn stood, he noticed they were about the same height, and since Lucas didn’t take a step back to allow him more room, they were also chest to chest. Lucas’s cologne mixed with his spicy aftershave was a combination that made Thorn dizzy.
“What’s your name?” Lucas asked in a husky, low rumble that curled down Thorn’s spine.
That combination sent an unforgettable shiver down Thorn’s spine.
“Thorn Blackwell,” he managed. He felt stripped of his well-maintained facade he wielded like armor.
“Let me get you out of here.”
The police were already inside, talking with staff. Thorn’s stomach twisted—he couldn’t risk the scene. He’d call his lawyer tomorrow about Evan’s violation of the restraining order. But for now—
Lucas took charge, guiding him toward the patio doors with his palm resting in the center of his back.
“Thank you,” Thorn murmured once he’d inhaled the night air, his confidence slowly stitching back together. He paused, staring into Lucas’s pale eyes. “That was—”
“I’m gonna walk with you and make sure you get to your car all right, make sure you’re safe.” Lucas leaned closer.
Lucas didn’t smell like ordinary cologne. Or a flashy, crafted fragrance meant to announce itself.
It was him . Solid. Earthy. He smelled of something elemental.
A clean, grounding scent as if he’d walked straight out of a cedar grove after a storm.
Thorn inhaled the sharp bite of citrus, beyond the faint metallic tang of cold rain. Beneath that was a trace of something warmer—like the smoke of a simmering fire.
It was the kind of scent that drew Thorn in, made him want to lean closer, breathe deeper, and memorize it until he lived in it.
With Lucas’s chest so close to his, Thorn thought he finally understood what safe was supposed to smell like.
As he took Lucas’s hand, he felt the steel cage around his heart rattle on its hinges.
Shit. Lucas is supposed to be for Lincoln…not me.
End of Season One Episode Two