Chapter Seven
Walker
I am now the proud owner of a bar, and I plan to make it resemble an old friend’s club. I wonder what Alex is up to these days? Getting shot in the leg again? I need to give him a call.
“I’m not sure you made the right choice with that power move,” Vice says. His eyes, shaded by the brim of his baseball cap, are tight with concern.
This is why I like Vice. He never hesitates to tell me I’m making a mistake. The office door swings closed behind us with a soft click behind me, leaving us alone in the room.
I lean back against the cool wall, crossing my arms over my chest. Vice’s disapproval is a familiar tune, but tonight, it's just white noise against my own certainty.
“I mean, I get needing revenge as much as the next guy.” He lifts his shoulders.
But does he?
“Sometimes you have to shake the tree to see what falls out,” I say, keeping my tone even. “It's about respect. If these guys think they can push me around, what will they do next?”
Vice steps closer, his gaze never leaving mine. Our shared memories and the bond we've forged through years of looking over our shoulders are all on display. We’d escaped the life together, but it’s still written into our flesh. “Look, I watch your back, you watch mine. But firing the manager like that just tanked morale. Low morale, low profits. You’re smarter than this.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I push off from the wall. “Morale can be rebuilt.” I sit down before the computer, ready to dig in and learn everything about the new business I’ve acquired. “Fear is a more useful tool. It demands immediate attention.”
“Or immediate backlash.” I hate that he’s making too much sense. He’s loyal, and he’s been calling me out is invaluable.
“Let there be backlash,” I say, my voice low. “They'll learn quickly enough that I'm the one holding the reins. And I won't let go.”
Vice shakes his head, but there's a grudging agreement in his eyes. He knows as well as I do that the world we left behind didn't prepare us for boardroom battles—it taught us to strike fast and hard before someone else could.
“Alright, boss,” Vice says, “but remember—you can't lead if there's no one left to follow.”
I know he’s right; every empire needs its soldiers. Maybe morale is something I need to consider a little more than I have. But for now, I’ve sent a message -I’m in charge, and there will be no questions asked.
*
The next day…
The absolute silence in the kitchen where all the chairs sit in a horseshoe shape with me at the helm is only broken by a sneeze.
Vince settles into the chair across from me, his eyes darting around our surroundings with the wariness of a man who knows what it's like to be blindsided. I lean back in my chair, scanning the people sitting in the chairs placed here for our meeting.
A soft movement catches my attention, and I glance sideways, catching sight of Isla trying to make herself small in her seat, the tops of her cheeks flushed with a color that wasn't there before. She's nibbling on her bottom lip, a clear sign of her discomfort, and something about that tightens my chest uncomfortably. Despite it all, she's avoiding looking directly at me, and I can't help wondering what's going through her mind.
“I hate meetings, so I want to keep this short and painless,” I say, scanning the room. Liam, the busboys, a couple other servers, and the prep staff blink at me. “You all know this place better than I do. I would value your ideas and thoughts to improve the place. Thank you for staying, and I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you better.”
I see a spark of cooperation in their eyes and breathe an internal sigh of relief. “Other than that, just carry on and any changes that need to be made will be discussed as we go. Dismissed.” As I say the words, people jump out of chairs and scurry off.
Vice stays behind to help me put away the chairs. “Smart,” he says under his breath. “That was a good angle to take.”
I nod. I’d been thinking about what to do and how to do it last night.
“I need a drink,” Vice says, making his way to the front. I follow him, also wanting alcohol to smooth the rough edges of the night and the pain within me from the fight.
I catch sight of Isla as a random suit makes his way to her. His overconfident grin has my knuckles itching to rearrange his face. “Care to dance?” he asks her.
I want to ask if he sees anyone dancing, but I need to go slow with her. But I feel the muscles in my jaw clench, the primal side of me itching to mark my territory. But I keep my cool. This isn’t a battle I can win with force. I need to fight with more subtle weapons. Still, my gut twists at the thought of her in his arms, but I pull out my phone and force myself to focus on that instead.
I make my way toward Liam and ask for a drink as Vice sits beside me. “Do we need to watch them pour?” Vice asks, as if thinking they’ll poison us.
I chuckle, but my mind is still locked on Isla. My gut twists at the thought of her in his arms. I remember how she felt in my arms, so small and sweet, her scent like strawberries and cream.
I can check everything from my phone now, from the records to the email to the security cameras. Vice and I down our drinks and Liam refills our glasses, his gaze sharp and his lips pressed into a thin line that warns me Vice is right about morale.
I take my drink and head back to my usual spot, leaving Vice at the bar. I force myself to focus on the device in my hand instead.
Pulling out my earbuds, I put them in and tap on the screen, scrolling till I find what I'm looking for—Isla's latest post.
It's a simple video, nothing more than her smiling into the camera, talking about making blackberry wine syrup and joking that this one isn’t for kids and should probably be made for dinner, not breakfast. Her humor brings a smile to my lips, and I can’t help but notice, but it's enough to have me hooked. She's radiant, her eyes alight with passion as she speaks, and I can't tear my gaze away.
"Beautiful," I murmur under my breath, watching as she tosses her hair back and beams at her unseen audience. Her innocence, her joy... it calls to me, a siren song I've been trying desperately to ignore.
I want her to look at me like that. I want her to be as passionate about me as she is about her cooking.
Her laughter spills from the tiny speakers, a sound so sweet and genuine it sends a shiver down my spine. She's got this light about her, a warmth that seems untouched by the harshness of the world—a stark contrast to the coldness I've become accustomed
“Wow,” I murmur under my breath, watching as she glances at the camera, her eyes seeming to make contact with mine in a way that has me warming up inside. I know it’s stupid, but something about her just makes every bit of me want her. Her innocence, her joy... I want all of her, but I have to be smart how I win her over.
Vice glances over at me from where he’s been shadowing Liam. The two guys seem to be getting along great, and I nod. I see his gaze jump to Isla and know I’m caught. He knows.
The video ends and I know it’s time to get down to business and pull up the numbers. This place makes good money, but I know it can be better. I just need to figure out how to ramp up profits. Alex would know what to do with this place… if he’s not busy getting shot in the leg, that is. I know he has a wife and kids now, but he’s the man I trust with these kinds of businesses.
“Excuse me,” a sultry voice purrs, and I barely manage to glance up before a blonde bombshell slides across from me, her two equally beautiful friends smiling down at me.
Their smiles are practiced, their dresses are designer. “We couldn't help but notice you sitting here alone.”
“Is that so?” I say. I couldn't be less interested. My eyes tick to Isla for just a moment, catching her watching me, an emotion flickering across her face that I can't quite place—until it clicks. Jealousy. It's subtle, but it's there, turning her cheeks a cute shade of pink.
“Yes,” the blonde says, giving me a bedroom smile designed to hit me right where it counts. But her attempts miss. She leans in closer, her hand accidentally brushing against mine. “Maybe we could keep you company?”
The friends that are standing take spots by her side and mine, and I suppress the urge to tell them to leave me alone. Instead, I let my fingers linger against the blonde's for a fraction longer than necessary. Across the room, Isla shifts uncomfortably, biting her lip.
Interesting.
“Thanks for the offer,” I say, pulling my hand back and folding my arms, “but I'm not interested.”
The trio exchanges a puzzled glance before retreating, their words sharp and low, no doubt saying what a dick I am for refusing their advances.
I watch them go, aware that Isla's gaze has not left me. In that moment, an idea pops into my mind. Maybe I should just ask her out.
But nothing is that simple. I’m her boss now - which doesn't bother me, but it might be a boundary for her - I’m not a good man. I’ve done evil things, and my past leaves a lot to be desired. She’s so pure, so innocent, I don’t know that I can taint her. I want to, but can I live with myself if I do?
“That’s a bad idea,” I say to myself, as if I can talk myself out of the idea.
I glance at Isla and see her making her way toward me.
“Sorry, did you need something?” she asks, her voice soft, uncertain.
“No,” I say.
“I thought I heard you say something.” The slight smile at the corners of her lips has bad thoughts crossing my mind.
“I was just thinking out loud.”
“About...?” Her question trails off as she reaches out to take my empty glass, her hand grazing mine and staying as her eyes meet mine.
In that simple touch, electricity surges through me, fierce and undeniable. I catch her wrist gently, our eyes locking. I see her chest rise and fall sharply, her breath hitching, and despite every alarm bell ringing in my head, I can't release her.
“Careful,” I say, my low voice laced with a warning. “I'm not the kind of man you want to play with.”
“Who says I'm playing?” She’s breathless, as if genuinely confused by my words, and that stirs something primal within me. I can feel her trembling and know she’s off-balance. She covers quickly with a smile, leaving me wondering if some risks are worth taking, after all.
“Are you always this intense?” she asks in an almost playful voice, her cheeks flushed. There's a tremble in her slight frame, a shiver that might be fear—or anticipation, desire, need.
“Only about things that matter,” I say, unable to tear my gaze away from her face. I search her eyes for signs of discomfort, ready to back off if I've crossed a line. Instead, I find a flicker of excitement dancing behind her surface-level apprehension. Her gaze is an unspoken invitation that snares me like a trap.
“Things like... personal space?” she says, wiggling her fingers. Her attempt at a joke is cute, but the way her voice cracks betrays her frayed nerves.
“Something like that.” The corner of my mouth twitches upward as an unfamiliar warmth spreads through my chest.
I let her wrist go and she takes the glass. “Would you like another drink?” she asks, her voice breathy and quiet, as if we’re the only two people in the bar.
And I’m comforted by the knowledge that she feels it, too, this undeniable pull between us.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask, voicing the question before it fully forms in my thoughts.
Her gaze flits to the door then back to me, a silent war waging behind those pretty brown eyes. I can almost hear her thoughts tumbling over each other, weighing the risk of staying against the risk of leaving with a man whose reputation is as dark as the ink on his skin.
“That sounds tempting,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m working, and I don’t think my boss would be okay with me just taking off.”
I can’t hold back a chuckle and a smile crosses her lips. Still, I have the oddest feeling there’s something she’s holding back.
“I could talk to him, see if there’s any way to get you off for the night.” As I say the words, my body responds and her sharp inhale tells me she caught the double meaning, too.
“I don’t want my coworkers to think anything’s going on between us.” Her eyes reflect her worry about what others might think, and I understand that. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, but I do want to get her out of this place and somewhere a little more private. And not just because I want to feel her body against mine.
“Because there’s nothing going on between us,” she says, and I wonder if she’s trying to convince me or herself.
“You could leave, then I could follow in five minutes.” I want to offer solutions, and I’m intrigued she’s considering my offer.
She nods, her delicate throat flexing as she swallows hard. “Where would we go?” she asks, her question punctuated with a thrill she can't quite hide.
“Anywhere,” I respond, my voice steady. “Anywhere you feel safe and free.”
We both hear the sound of her phone ringing, and she gives me an apologetic smile and answers.
I see the change in her features, feel the shift in her mood, and watch the possibility of time alone with her slip away.