Chapter Twelve
HIGH VOLTAGE HIT its rhythm by noon.
Music loud enough to vibrate through bone, fryer poppin’ in the back, conversations rollin’ over one another until the whole place blended into that familiar noise I called profit.
The bar breathed like a living thing, every table, every laugh, every goddamn heartbeat keeping time.
I could tell when somethin’ shifted in it without even lookin’ up.
And right now, my attention kept driftin’ to the new waitress.
Lark moved through the tables with Ruby at her side, watchin’, learnin’, keepin’ up with every damn thing thrown at her. She was careful—yeah—but not scared. Not timid.
The kind of careful you earn from survivin’ a world that tried to teach you pain before it ever taught you safety.
Every now and then Ruby leaned in to show her how to ring somethin’ in, and Lark nodded, that wild blonde hair slippin’ over her shoulder. It caught the light every time she turned her head—made it damn near impossible not to look.
I told myself I was just keepin’ an eye on her ‘cause she was new.
Half true. Barely.
“Man, you’re starin’ again,” Gatsby muttered beside me, dryin’ glasses.
“I’m watchin’,” I said.
“Yeah,” he drawled, grinnin’. “That’s what I said.”
I shot him a look. He just chuckled and went back to work.
Across the room, Roxanne slid too close to Lark’s section. I knew that look, the sharp one that said she didn’t like sharin’ space she thought she owned. Seen it play out a hundred times. Never once ended graceful.
Sure enough, it started small. Roxanne bumped Lark by the soda gun, her laugh practiced and too damn bright.
“Careful, sweetheart,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you spillin’ on your first day.”
Lark froze for half a second, then stepped aside slow, sure. “Guess it gets easier when people stay outta my way.”
Roxanne’s smile cracked—hadn’t expected bite.
Ruby popped up with a smirk. “Rox, help Cassie with table eight. Me and Lark got this side.”
Roxanne huffed, strutted off, hips swingin’ hard enough to break somethin’.
I watched Lark’s eyes follow her—quiet daggers—before turning to Ruby and sayin’ somethin’ low. Then she went right back to work. No whinin’. No shrank-back softness. No pretendin’ to be delicate.
Damn, I liked that.
Half the girls who started here either flirted through the shift or cracked the second someone breathed sideways at ‘em. Lark just squared her shoulders and kept movin’.
I respected that more than I wanted to admit.
Ruby came up for refills a few minutes later. “She’s doin’ good,” she said, noddin’ toward Lark. “Learns quick.”
“Knew she would,” I said before thinkin’.
Ruby arched a brow. “Knew, huh? Mighty sure for a man who don’t know her that well.”
“Got an eye for people.”
“Mmhmm.” She smirked and wandered off, hummin’.
Lark passed by with an empty tray, the faintest sheen of sweat catchin’ on her temple. Her hands tightened on the edge for a second—burn scars flexin’ in the light—and then she loosened, breath even again.
“Bar’s probably louder than you expected,” I said as she set the tray down.
“I don’t mind,” she replied. “Noise means life. Quiet’s what you watch for.”
That made me look up. “That from experience?”
“Everything I say is from experience.” Her mouth curved into a big smile before she walked off again.
Damn.
Tried to focus on inventory, but the numbers swam. Every time she crossed the floor my eyes followed. Not ‘cause she needed watchin’, but because somethin’ in me wouldn’t let her out of my sight.
When Ruby finally sent her on break, Lark slid into an empty booth near the window, sippin’ water and lookin’ out at the street like freedom was somethin’ she still couldn’t quite believe she had.
I leaned on the bar, wipin’ down a glass that didn’t need it, and wondered what the hell I thought I was doin’. I was Chain, for fuck’s sake. I knew how to handle a woman. But there I was, feelin’ like some green-ass kid seein’ a crush walk through the damn door.
I set the clean glass down and pushed off the bar.
Time to stop starin’ from across the room.
Time to go to her.
***
I PUSHED OFF the bar and headed her way, slow, casual, but not foolin’ anybody. Gatsby let out a low groan under his breath, “Here we fuckin’ go,” but I didn’t bother lookin’ at him.
I’d been watchin’ her all damn day.
Lark sat in the corner booth near the window, fingers wrapped around her water glass like she needed the chill. Sunlight slid through the glass behind her, catching in her hair, turning it pale gold. Not loud, not showy, just the kind of pretty a man felt before he admitted he’d been lookin’.
She felt me comin’ before she turned. Her hand stilled on the glass, chin lifting, sure as ever. Calm. Guarded. Already bracing.
“You survivin’ your first shift?” I asked.
Her lips curved. “Barely. But I’m still standing.”
“Standin’ is more than half my staff manages on day one.” I leaned in just enough she had to decide whether to pull back. She didn’t. “You didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, and you didn’t quit. Around here, that makes you damn near exceptional.”
She huffed. “That’s a depressing standard.”
“Sets you up to shine.”
Her eyes flicked over my face, quick but not quick enough. “Are you watching me shine?”
“Watchin’?” I let a smile tilt slow, deliberate. “Darlin’, I’d have to be blind not to.”
She didn’t look away, but somethin’ flickered in her eyes like she regretted asking. “You making sure I don’t quit?”
“Makin’ sure you don’t stab Roxanne with a butter knife.” I lowered my voice. “And makin’ sure you stick around long enough to see this place ain’t half bad.”
“Tempting,” she murmured. “But I don’t quit easy.”
That did somethin’ to me, right center mass. “Good. We’re short on women who don’t scare easy.”
She looked at me for a beat longer than she meant to. “I’ve had enough of people trying to break me. I’m not giving anyone the chance again.”
My jaw tightened. She wasn’t tellin’ me a secret, just laying down rules. But the honesty hit like she meant me to hear it.
“You won’t find that here,” I said. “Least of all from me.”
Her eyes flickered. Barely. But I caught it.
“This job has to work,” she said, steady but too controlled.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I can hear that.”
Her brow lifted. “Hear what?”
“The fear under it.”
Her breath stilled, not offended, just caught. “There’s no fear.”
“Right,” I said, leanin’ an inch closer. “And I don’t notice things I’m not supposed to.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Darlin’… I’m real bad at not noticin’ you.”
Her lips almost curved. “You always talk like that to new employees?”
“Only the ones who make my pulse do somethin’ stupid.”
She looked away, but not fast enough to hide the blush that spread across her cheeks.
“You really think this charm of yours works on everyone?”.
“I don’t think,” I said. “I know.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “it’s about time you learned disappointment.”
I leaned in, just an inch, enough to send a little heat across the space. “You plannin’ to be my lesson?”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. “If it keeps you honest.”
A rough laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “Sweetheart, nobody’s accused me of lyin’ when it comes to women.”
“Figures.” She turned back toward the window, but that ghost of a smile didn’t go anywhere.
“You’re somethin’ else,” I said.
“So I’ve heard.”
“I mean it.”
She angled her face back toward me, eyes narrowin’ just a touch. “I bet you mean a lot of things.”
“Only when it’s true.”
For a heartbeat, the bar noise dimmed. Just the two of us hangin’ in a quiet so tight it felt like any wrong word could snap it straight into somethin’ hotter.
She broke it first. “I should get back. Ruby’s waiting.”
“She can wait.”
“I can’t.” She slid out of the booth.
Her shoulder brushed my chest as she stepped past, soft, brief, accidental only if I let myself believe it. Her scent—clean soap, nothin’ else—hit raw and honest as a punch.
I didn’t turn. Just watched her walk, no sway she didn’t mean, no tease she was aware of. Just confidence. Strength. And hell, that was more dangerous than anythin’ she could’ve done on purpose.
Back behind the bar, Gatsby smirked like he’d been takin’ notes. “That your famous Chain charm?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
“Didn’t look like she was buying.”
“Didn’t have to.” I grabbed the rag and kept watchin’ her across the floor. “She looked.”
Gatsby snorted. “You’re hopeless.”
“Not hopeless,” I murmured, eyes on the way she laughed at somethin’ Ruby said. “Just payin’ attention.”
Because I’d seen it, the spark right before she turned away.
And a man like me knew damn well what a spark meant, even when she fought like hell to smother it.