Chapter 11
Swag
The report lands on my desk just after noon, like clockwork.
“You were right to send someone,” Talon says as he drops a manila envelope onto the scarred wood. “Thought you’d want to see for yourself.”
I don’t answer right away. I already know what’s inside. Still, I flip open the flap and pull out the photo clipped to the top. It’s of Jo-Leigh, sitting across from a man at some no-name diner, her head tilted in that soft way she does when she’s trying to be polite.
Ricky fucking Langston.
Of all people.
My jaw tightens as I study the uniform, the badge, the smug fucking smile. Langston’s the same fucker I pulled off Jo-Leigh that night at the bonfire. And now he's playing sheriff in Baton Rouge, cozying up to her like she doesn't know better.
“She looked uncomfortable,” Talon offers, like that’ll cool the fire rising in my chest. “Didn’t eat much. Hardly smiled. Tossed his card in the trash right after.”
“She what?” I ask, looking up.
“Tossed his number,” he confirms. “Didn’t hesitate.”
That shouldn’t fucking matter. But it does.
“Good,” I mutter, tossing the photo back onto the desk.
Talon lingers. “You want me to keep someone on her?”
I consider it. The smart move would be no. Let her have her life. Let her forget. But she’s already being watched by others—people who don’t follow my orders. If she’s going to be watched, it’s damn well going to be by me.
“Yes. But tell them to stay back unless something changes. I want updates. Daily.”
Talon nods once and leaves without another word.
Alone again, I sit back in my chair and look at the photo one last time. Langston leaned in too close. She flinched. He didn’t notice.
But I did.
And I always will.
Over the next two weeks, I get my fucking penance delivered in manila envelopes. Every afternoon, like clockwork. Talon drops them on my desk without a word, and every time, I say I won’t look. But I always do.
The first few days are boring as hell. She goes to work.
Comes home. Walks to the shitty little bodega on the corner for frozen meals and canned coffee.
One day she spends nearly thirty minutes choosing a shampoo.
She’s trying to make the best of her new life, her new job, her new apartment that’s a step above condemned.
One afternoon, there’s a photo of her crouched down next to a stray cat, coaxing it with a slice of turkey from her sandwich. I stare at that image for too long. Something tightens in my chest and stays there.
By the second week she’s getting more confident. Wears her hair differently. Smiles a little more. Still looks over her shoulder when she walks home, though. Smart girl. The city hasn’t dulled her instincts.
Then I get the Thursday report and freeze.
Subject was seen texting coworker. Surveillance overheard her mention plans to go to “Southside” Friday night for drinks. ETA unknown.
Southside.
I press the intercom. “Talon. Now.”
He appears in seconds. “Yeah, Prez?”
“Who’s her coworker?”
“Name’s Melanie. New hire at the clinic. Lives two blocks over. Been tagging along on lunch breaks and bus rides home.”
I nod once, absorbing that.
“And she said Southside?”
“That’s what was overheard, yeah.”
I stand slowly and push my chair back, tension pulsing in my jaw. “That bar’s one of mine.”
Talon lifts his brow. “You think she knows that?”
“Doubt it.”
“You want me to warn the staff?”
I shake my head. “No. Let her come.”
I walk to the window, hands on my hips, thinking. Let her come. Let her think she’s stepping out into freedom. Let her try to forget me over fruity cocktails and low lighting. But when she walks through that door tomorrow night, she won’t just be in any bar.
She’ll be on my turf.
And there’s not a damn thing in the world more dangerous than that.
Friday finally rolls around, and I have two thoughts on my mind.
My bar. My rules.
I’m not normally there on the weekends unless it’s club business, but tonight I’ll be behind the scenes, watching from the shadows. The upstairs office has a perfect view of the floor. Tinted glass. No one sees in, but I see everything.
I swap my kutte for a clean black shirt and jeans. Still wear my boots, though. Old habits.
“You sure you want to be here for this?” Talon asks from the doorway.
“Would you trust anyone else to handle it?”
He smirks. “Fair.”
The sound system is thumping by the time we get there. Neon lights buzz. Girls in tiny dresses are already lining up at the bar. And somewhere out there, Jo-Leigh is getting ready. Putting on something she thinks is cute. Probably overthinking it like she always did.
She has no clue she’s walking into my den.
I settle into the office chair and glance toward the bar staff logs just as a knock comes at the door. Talon opens it and hands me a burner phone.
“Got something you’ll want to hear,” he says.
I answer. “Go.”
The voice on the other end is tight. It’s Wrench, one of our prospects shadowing Jo-Leigh this week.
“You were right to have us keep tabs. That cop has been around again. Drove by her building this morning. Parked a few blocks away and stayed for over twenty minutes. Didn’t approach her. Just watched.”
I grip the edge of the desk hard enough to make the wood creak.
“Was she there?”
“No. Already at work.”
“Did she see him?”
“Doubt it.”
I end the call and toss the burner on the desk.
Talon whistles low. “Langston. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
“He’s sniffing around too much.”
“You want me to pay him a visit?”
“Not yet.”
Truth is, I don’t know what his game is.
Could be nostalgia. Could be badge bullshit.
Could be he got a taste of her sunshine and now thinks he’s owed more.
But one thing’s for damn sure. If Ricky fucking Langston thinks Jo-Leigh’s unclaimed, he’s dead wrong.
She’s under my watch now. Whether she knows it or not.
I try not to glance at the clock, but it’s useless.
Each minute that ticks by is torture. I’m just about to light a joint when she arrives.
The minute she walks in, the room changes.
It’s not just me who notices—half the bar turns to look.
Some out of curiosity. Others with hungry eyes. I clock every one of them.
Jo-Leigh’s wearing a flowy skirt and a soft tank top that shows just enough skin to piss me off. Her hair’s down, falling in golden waves around her shoulders. And she’s smiling as the woman next to her loops an arm through hers and whispers something that makes her laugh.
I don’t like it.
She’s too at ease. Too light.
She doesn’t belong in this bar full of wolves.
Talon steps up beside me, arms folded. “That the friend she mentioned?”
“Yeah. Works with her.”
“She brought backup. Smart girl.”
I grunt. But it doesn’t matter how smart she is. She shouldn’t be here.
Jo-Leigh pauses just inside the door, looking around. Her friend says something and points toward the bar. They start weaving through the crowd, oblivious to the eyes tracking them.
Including mine.
She’s wearing flats. Always trying to keep things practical. She’s got no idea how that kind of sweetness plays in a place like this. She’s soft in a room built for hard edges.
I watch her take a seat at the bar. One of my guys moves to serve them. Jo-Leigh gives him a smile, and he leans in a little too close for my liking.
Talon mutters, “You going down there?”
“Not yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I want to see what she does when no one’s watching.”
Talon scoffs. “You mean when she thinks you’re not watching.”
Exactly. And right now, she’s scanning the room like she’s looking for someone. Is she looking for me?
Her friend nudges her and whispers something else. Jo-Leigh’s eyes snap back to the bar and she laughs again. That sound goes straight to my gut like it always has. Light. Unburdened. Nothing like the weight I carry every damn day.
Then I notice someone new stepping up to the bar near them.
Langston in jeans and a button-down, trying to blend in.
Rage unfurls in my chest.
“You want him handled?” Talon asks, already tensing beside me.
I shake my head, though my jaw’s tight. “Not yet. Let him make a move.”
“You sure? ‘Cause I’ve got ten bucks says you’ll be down those stairs in sixty seconds if he so much as looks at her sideways.”
He’s not wrong. Because I can already see Langston inching closer. I lean forward, hands gripping the edge of the desk, eyes locked on the scene below. Let’s see what you do, Officer Langston. Let’s see if you’re brave or just fucking stupid.
Langston sidles up like he owns the damn place. Like he’s welcome here. He isn’t.
I can’t hear what he says over the noise, but I see the way he leans close. The way Jo-Leigh’s brows lift in recognition. She doesn’t smile this time, but she doesn’t walk away either.
And that’s what makes me snap.
My fist slams against the table so hard it rattles the monitor. Talon flinches beside me.
“Fuck, Swag?—”
“He’s still sniffing around.”
“You want me to pull him out?”
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
I shove back from the desk and storm out of the office. The door ricochets off the wall behind me. I don’t care.
Every step down the stairs is thunder. The music thumps, but it’s not louder than the blood pounding in my ears. People part for me without hesitation. They’ve seen me like this before. They know better than to get in my way.
Jo-Leigh sees me coming and something shifts in her face. It’s not fear. It’s something else. Like she knows. Like she expected this.
Langston turns just in time for me to grab him by the shirtfront and slam him against the bar. Drinks spill. The bartender yells. Jo-Leigh gasps.
“You lost, Officer?” I snarl, shoving him harder.
“It’s a public bar.”
“It’s my fucking bar. And I said you weren’t welcome.”
“I was just talking to an old friend. She didn’t seem to mind.”
“She doesn’t know what you are.”
He smirks. “Maybe she’s not yours to protect.”