Chapter One
River
I know the second I walk into the breakroom and find Nadia in there that we’re going to spar. Every time I’m around her, I either want to kiss those unsmiling lips or make her melting chocolate brown eyes burn with anger.
The former, I try to ignore, while the latter, I thoroughly enjoy. She’s just too guarded, and I can tell that she’s hiding something. But the guys seem to find her harmless. I don’t.
I look around. The shelves are stocked. The coffee is full. The fridge has fresh creamer. Every cabinet is organized with the kind of precision only one person in this shop is obsessive enough to care about.
Nadia.
She’s standing on the small step stool near the top cabinet, reaching to slide another box of tea onto the shelf. Her long dark hair falls over one shoulder, hiding part of her face, and she doesn’t even glance in my direction as I enter the room.
Then I notice what’s missing. I stare at the empty basket where my protein bars should be.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Without looking at me, she says, “Good morning to you, too.”
“My protein bars.”
“What about them?”
“They’re not here.”
She finally climbs down from the stool, dusting her hands together before giving me the most innocent expression I’ve ever seen.
“Looks like they aren’t.”
I narrow my eyes. “You didn’t buy any.”
She shrugs. “You didn’t put them on the shopping list.”
“The hell I didn’t. I absolutely did.”
“Nope.”
I let out a sharp breath. “I write the same thing every damn week.”
“Oh, you do? Well, if you want something, write it clearly.”
I march over to the clipboard hanging beside the refrigerator and yank the shopping list free. “Look.”
She calmly takes it from my hand. “I have looked.”
I stab my finger halfway down the page. “Right there.”
She squints dramatically before tilting the paper sideways. “Huh. I honestly thought that said, ‘pickled pears.’”
“It says protein bars.”
She pretends to study it for another second before looking back at me with a blank face. “River, your handwriting looks like a drunken chicken had a seizure while holding a pen.”
I blink. I shouldn’t be shocked. But for some reason, she finds a different way to get under my skin. I want to shake her and kiss her full, inviting lips in the same breath. The thought makes me crazed with the need I’ve held back for months, fueling my anger.
“I tell you to get them every week. Why is today any different?” I shift closer. “You knew I was out. I know you skipped them on purpose.”
She rolls her eyes. “I have enough responsibilities around here without monitoring your snack inventory. Besides, I can’t read minds just as I can’t read your handwriting. And if you want them so bad, why don’t you buy your own damn protein bars?”
She turns her back to me, not knowing the beast she’s awakened. “It’s a good thing your tattoo work is incredible. Nothing like your scribbling.” She throws the off-hand remark over her shoulder, not giving me another glance.
The urge to fuck her, annoyance and all, goes through me like a live wire. One minute, I’m a few feet behind her; the next, I’m backing her into the counter, her back to my front. I plant my hands on each side of her, crowding her.
“I know you didn’t get them on purpose. You wanted to make me miserable,” I growl.
I expect the snappy comeback. It doesn’t come. She goes rigid under my hands, and her breathing changes to something harsh, fast…wrong. My years as a detective kick in before the rest of me catches up.
I register that she’s having a panic attack.
I turn her around quickly to find her eyes unfocused and her breathing erratic. “Nadia?”
She isn’t looking at me anymore. She’s looking through me. Her shoulders begin trembling. I straighten immediately. I’ve never seen her like this, and I realize I can’t stand seeing her this hollowed out. My heart thuds hard in my chest.
“Angel. Breathe.” The endearment escapes before I can stop it.
I have to touch her. I have to bring her out of it. The second I raise my hand toward her face to brush a loose strand of hair away, she flinches. Hard. Like she’s expecting me to hit her.
Someone has hit her before.
The movement feels like someone has driven a knife straight through my chest. I immediately drop my hand.
“Nadia…”
I take two full steps backward, giving her as much space as possible. Before I can say a word, she bolts. The bathroom door slams shut. Silence settles over the breakroom. I stand there staring after her, unable to process what just happened.
I’ve seen that look of fear many times as a detective. Seeing it on Nadia makes me want to destroy someone. Someone fucking put that fear in her. And they’ll pay.
“River.” Royal’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I glance toward the doorway to find him standing there with his laptop tucked beneath one arm and a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes flick briefly toward the hallway leading to the bathroom before settling on me. He takes one look at my expression and slowly lowers the coffee onto the counter.
“What the fuck did you do?”
I scrub a hand down my face, still trying to make sense of it myself. “We argued.”
His brows knit together. “About?”
“My protein bars. I told her she skipped them on purpose.”
He blinks. “And?”
“I was pissed.”
Royal’s expression hardens almost immediately.
“I wasn’t threatening her,” I say quickly. “I was trying to make a point. She always mouths off, so I boxed her in, expecting another smartass comment.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” The admission tastes bitter because I hate not knowing things. “She had a panic attack. She couldn’t breathe. So I reached toward her, and she flinched like she thought I was going to hit her.”
Royal goes completely still. The silence stretches between us until it becomes uncomfortable. Finally, he mutters a quiet curse beneath his breath.
“I knew this was going to happen eventually.”
I look up sharply. “What does that mean?”
“It means that there are things about Nadia’s background that you don’t know, and you need to back the fuck up and stop finding ways to rile her up every fucking minute!” Royal’s voice has gone somewhere I’ve never heard it go.
“What the fuck, Royal.” I’ve never seen him this pissed except when he’s researching our targets. The dregs of society.
“What is it about Nadia that you’ve kept from us?”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
“The hell it isn’t.” I step toward him. Anger flares hot beneath my skin.
I hold Royal’s gaze. And for the first time since I’ve known him, I don’t see the easygoing one—the man whose family wealth didn’t corrupt him, who spends half his day behind a computer cracking jokes.
I see someone protective. Someone angry.
Something ugly coils low in my chest before I can stop it.
Does he have feelings for Nadia? The thought fills me with more panic than I expect.
“You don’t need to know everything about her, River. Just know that Nadia isn’t just our receptionist,” he says, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
Relief sweeps through me so suddenly that it catches me off guard.
He gestures toward the front of the shop.
“She’s part of this family. She has been since the day she walked through our front door.
Raiden sees her like a little sister. Roman would flatten anyone who looked at her wrong.
I feel exactly the same way. We’ve all got each other’s backs in this place, and that includes her. ”
I don’t respond. Because he’s right.
4R Ink has never just been a tattoo shop.
We built this place together after walking away from lives that stopped making sense—Raiden off the prosecutor’s bench, sick of watching men walk free on technicalities.
Roman from the SEALs…and whatever disillusionment it dredged up for him.
Royal out from a father who has no use for him.
Me out of a badge I couldn’t stand to carry anymore.
We bleed together, fight together, and clean up each other’s messes.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a business and became a home.
“Nadia deserves to feel safe here,” Royal continues quietly. “Whatever happened before she got here stays with her until she’s ready to talk about it. You don’t get to force it out of her.”
I sigh. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I know.”
“But I am going to find out.”
Royal’s eyes meet mine. “Why?”
I don’t answer immediately because the truth sounds insane, even inside my own head.
I’ve spent the better part of a year convincing myself my interest in Nadia is professional. She works for us under a name that doesn’t quite fit, with a past she refuses to discuss and instincts that scream she’s running from something…or someone.
In a year, no one has ever picked her up after the shop closes. No one has ever called the shop asking for her. She goes home alone every night, and I have never once let myself examine why I keep track of that. The former detective in me has insisted I simply wanted answers.
Standing here now, I know that’s only half the truth. The other half is far more dangerous.
The thought of someone putting that fear into her eyes makes darkness unfurl inside my chest. I don’t just want to know the person responsible; I want them to regret it.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
It’s the first lie I’ve told all morning. Because I know exactly why. I just don’t like the answer.