Chapter 13 #2
We follow Saint through the door into what appears to be an office. A man stands with his back to us, counting bottles on a shelf. When he turns, I’m struck by his eyes first, one warm brown, one pale blue, both focused on me with unnerving stillness.
“Ghost, this is Ash.” Rowan makes the introduction. “Ash, this is Eli, but everyone calls him Ghost. He runs the front of the house.”
Ghost moves around the desk with unconscious grace. Unlike Saint’s obvious Alpha presence, a distinct lack of scent comes from Ghost, speaking of heavy suppressant use, far outside the recommended daily dosage. Interesting.
“You have experience with security systems?” Ghost asks, the quiet delivery forcing everyone to listen.
“Yes.” I resist the urge to elaborate.
Ghost sets his inventory sheet on the shelf. “We’ve had issues with the back entrance. The keypad gets stuck.”
My professional interest overrides my caution. “Show me.”
Rowan motions for him to do so and takes a seat at the table Saint abandoned earlier, Saint joining him.
As Ghost leads me through the building, I take in our surroundings, attention sliding from décor to function.
I clock the extra exits first, then the doors reinforced beneath decorative trim, and the way sound drops off too fast once we leave the main room, the air swallowing footsteps before they can travel.
My attention tracks hardware instead of décor. Panic buttons set flush into tabletops and locks appearing standard at first glance but revealing custom modifications to anyone who knows where to search.
This is no simple bar. It’s a fortress, and Rowan owns all of it.
I’ve spent years patching together small pockets of safety, but walking through here, I understand the difference money can make, and what unsettles me isn’t the scale of it. It’s how easy it would be to stop struggling alone.
Ghost shows me the lock at the service entrance. “Here it is.”
I trace the frame of the keypad where sun exposure has warped the plastic housing. The three, five, seven, and nine buttons show visible wear, their surfaces dulled compared to the pristine finish of the other digits.
“This needs replacing.” I tap the keypad with my knuckle. “Since this model uses a four-digit entry code, any halfway competent thief would narrow their attempts to combinations of these four numbers, reducing thousands of possibilities to only twenty-four.”
Ghost stands beside me, tracking my movement.
I move to the hinge of the door, crouching to inspect the metal. “This is rusted through. Listen.” I pull the door open, and a high-pitched squeal cuts through the quiet hallway. “That sound carries. Anyone approaching from outside would hear you coming from thirty feet away.”
“We oil it weekly,” Ghost says.
“Oil is a temporary fix.” I run my finger along the corroded metal, rust flaking under my touch. “The metal itself is compromised. It needs a complete replacement.”
My body settles into the familiar rhythm of assessment, muscles relaxing as I slide into professional mode. This, at least, I understand. This, I’m good at.
I continue my circuit of the back area, noting each flaw with growing concern.
A security camera angled too high, creating a blind spot wide enough for a person to slip through.
A fire exit with a sticky latch, requiring extra force to open.
A supply closet with a standard lock, easy to pick in under thirty seconds.
“Your entire northeast corner has no coverage.” I gesture toward the ceiling where two corridors meet. “Anyone who makes it past the front could move freely through this section.”
“How would you fix it?”
“The hinges need full replacement with marine-grade stainless steel.” My hands sketch shapes in the air as I explain.
“The keypad should be a model with a randomized display that changes digit positions each use, so wear patterns don’t give away the code.
Add two cameras in the corner, overlapping fields to eliminate the blind spot. ”
Ghost’s head tilts. “What about the fire exit?”
“Replace the push bar mechanism. The current one is at least ten years old, judging by the wear pattern. Newer models have smoother action and better panic functions.” The words flow with ease, my hands moving with them.
“You could add an alarm that triggers only at the security desk rather than a full siren, so you know if it’s been used. ”
“What else?” Ghost asks.
I lead them through each area, pointing out vulnerabilities and offering solutions without hesitation. For the first time since losing my diner job, satisfaction fills me at being useful, providing knowledge they don’t have.
My shoulders straighten, chin lifting as I explain the difference between mechanical and digital fail-safes, the proper placement of motion sensors, and the advantages of progressive security zones.
“The supply room lock is a joke.” I tap the doorknob with my knuckle. “This five-pin tumbler is sold at any hardware store. I could open it with a paper clip and a tension wrench.”
Ghost’s eyebrows lift. “Show me.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth as I pull out my wallet and extract a credit card and a small metal tool disguised as a key fob. Never leave home without the basics.
Thirty seconds later, the door swings open.
“Jesus,” Ghost mutters.
“If this were my job, I’d install a biometric reader for sensitive areas.” I close the door, running my hand along the frame. “Fingerprint, not facial recognition. Facial can be fooled with photos.”
Ghost frowns. “What’s your assessment of our overall security?”
“Decent front-of-house security to keep casual threats out. Mediocre back-of-house that won’t stop anyone determined.
What you have might have worked when this place was first built, but it’s all out of date now.
” I meet his stare. “You’ve focused on keeping people in their proper zones but not on protecting what happens inside those zones. ”
Instead of defensiveness, Ghost says, “That matches my concerns.”
A validating warmth rushes through me.
We return to where Rowan waits with Saint, his long frame relaxed in a leather chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee.
“Your locksmith is good,” Ghost tells him. “He found flaws we’ve overlooked for years.”
“Of course he’s good.” Rowan’s eyes find mine, pride and possession mingling in his stare. “That’s why I brought him.”
Ghost takes a seat beside Saint, perching on the edge. “We need those fixes implemented. Soon.”
“I can start this week,” I say, then catch myself.
The job hasn’t been offered yet, and here I am, already planning the work.
Rowan smiles at my enthusiasm. “The position is security consultant, exclusive contract. You’ll oversee all locks, access points, and security systems for The Blue Note and associated properties.
” His fingers steeple beneath his chin. “Retainer plus hourly rate for installations, paid weekly in cash. No paperwork beyond what you need for your records.”
I freeze. What Rowan is offering is my dream job. No more job insecurity, no more meeting people in back alleys, wondering if the cops will come knocking on my door for letting someone into a place they don’t belong.
But if I quit Ironclad to work for Rowan, and his interest in me fizzles out, I’ll have no job on my resume to prove my work ethic, which will make finding a new job that much harder.
Rowan cocks his head to the side. “What’s the hesitation, precious?”
I lick my lips. “I want a severance package in my employment agreement, pre-funded.”
The corners of his lips lift. “How long?”
My pulse races as I reach for the stars. “Six months.” As Rowan’s lips part, I rush to add, “And a ninety-day termination notice, effective today.”
Rowan throws his head back and laughs.
Fuck, I shouldn’t have been so greedy and asked for so much.
But then Rowan stands and holds out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Ash.”
Heart in my throat, I reach out to shake it, and as his hand closes around mine, I can’t tell whether it’s a door opening or a lock sliding shut behind me.