Chapter 14
Clay
I want to smack Ares in the head for the way Kayla was creeping out of his room.
I didn’t ask her what went on; it’s not my business, not that she would have told me anyway.
But once we reached the diner, I thought of a way to make her feel better—watching me punch her ex.
I know it would have made me feel better if the roles had been reversed.
After I dropped Kayla off at her house, I went back to the island to check on the Vesper situation.
I collected Brawley since I needed him at my side because the psycho bitch is feral, and he is the only person she responds to without biting.
Last night she injured a man she was chasing and then lost it when he tried to role-play.
I didn’t ask for too many details because I only care that we don’t let her brand of crazy loose to do too much damage.
I spend the rest of the afternoon doing the job I’m actually paid to do, checking the cameras and walking the perimeter to make sure no one is trying to hide anywhere they shouldn’t. By the time I get home, everyone else is already back.
Brawley is at the table eating, and Vero sits beside him. Ares is leaning against the wall, and all three look at me as I walk inside. I drop my keys on the counter and glare at Ares. “What did you do to Kayla?”
As the question bursts out, I know I should have left it alone. But it has been eating at me all day, and I refuse to acknowledge why.
Ares glances over at me. “Nothing she didn’t consent to.”
“That is not what I asked, and you know it.”
“She was in my bed again.” Ares selects the right words to use in a measured tone.
He always fucking does this, and we let him because we are all monsters here.
The difference is we let our demons show, whereas his are on the inside—but he is a monster nonetheless.
“It was a physical response, a natural progression of the situation we were in. It doesn’t need to be made into something it wasn’t. ”
“A natural progression,” I repeat in disbelief.
“Correct.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It was an isolated incident. She is a grown woman who made her choice, so I do not see why this requires a debriefing.”
“Because this morning she walked out of your room looking like she wanted to put her fist through a wall,” I say, gritting my teeth. “And now you’re standing here talking about an isolated incident.”
“She was fine.”
“She was not fine.”
“Clay,” Ares warns, looking at me and then at Vero.
“She wasn’t fucking fine, Ares. And that says a lot coming from me.”
I hold his gaze, and he holds mine, and I see the moment that he is done engaging.
Vero must see it as well because he jumps up from the table. He has been quiet this entire time, and Vero doesn’t do quiet. He stares at Ares, his expression flat, and the Vero that we all love but all want to strangle is not there. “You made her feel like shit,” Vero snaps. “Didn’t you?”
“Vero,” Ares says in a voice he reserves just for him. “I think you’re reading too much—”
“Don’t you fucking dare use that voice on me!” Vero takes a step toward him. “I know what that voice is for, and I know what you do with it. Don’t you dare do it right now.”
Ares says nothing, which is worse than if he had kept talking.
“She is not an isolated incident.” Vero’s voice cracks. “She is a person, and she is our person.” He says our and not his, which means he is attached.
I won’t lie and say I don’t like having her around too. She challenges me in a way no one else ever has, and I think I like it.
“You want to sit there and talk in your robot voice, but you made her feel like she is nothing, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you did it,” Vero finishes.
“I didn’t intend—”
Vero cuts him off again. “You always intend what you want everyone to not notice or forget. You are so good at being the good guy and saying the right thing to make everyone feel safe. Every single thing you do is on purpose.”
Ares looks at Vero, and I see his walls come down a little, but it lasts all of two seconds before he straightens up and it’s gone again. “I’ll speak to her.”
“No, you won’t. Not until you figure out what you really want to say to her—not this bullshit you hide behind.
Rehearsed bullshit is not good enough for Kayla.
It’s okay to have feelings, even if they scare the shit out of you.
Ares, you can pretend all you like, but I know deep down there is some part of you that feels.
Kayla is smart enough to see right through you, so some lame-ass explanation will not cut it this time.
I have always known who you are, and I love you anyway, the same way as you see me and love me. ”
Brawley tenses, but he keeps quiet, even though every fiber of his being wants to murder Ares because Vero mentioned him and love in the same sentence.
Then Vero storms out of the kitchen with a huff.
Brawley watches him go, then looks at Ares and shakes his head.
“You better fix it, because you have caused this spiral. When someone gets hurt, it’s on you.
Deny it all you like, but if Kayla didn’t call to you, there is no way you would have agreed to wear that wristband, whether or not you fucked her while wearing it. ”
Brawley pushes back and stands, following Vero.
I grab my keys off the counter and leave Ares to think about what he has done.
The bar is quiet, with just enough people to give me something to look at while I take up the end stool. Nobody sits here because it faces the door, and most people don’t want to watch who comes in, but I do.
Rogue gives me the look when she brings my drink over, the one that says: “You better not cause any trouble, or I will mess up your pretty face.” It’s exactly what she told me the last time I was here.
Kayla is behind the bar, but she doesn’t acknowledge me when I sit down, which is fine. I don’t need her to; I simply watch her work. She is good at her job, and she has packed whatever happened this morning down somewhere it doesn’t show.
My phone buzzes and I flip it over to read the text in case it’s one of my sisters.
Vero: Send me a picture of her.
I stare at the message for a moment, then at where Kayla laughs at something the other bartender said, her head tipped back, throat exposed.
I want to bite her . . . I shake off that thought before my cock gets hard in the middle of a bar like some horny teenager.
Snapping a picture before I can think about whether I should drag her out of here, I send it to Vero and type underneath it.
Clay: She’s okay.
His response takes a few minutes.
Vero: I know. I just needed to see it.
Putting my phone face down on the bar, I pick up my drink and watch the door, trying not to think about the fact that I took the picture faster than I should have or that I have looked at it twice since I sent it.
The bar fills up over the next few hours. Rogue has stopped giving me the stink eye, and she slides a nonalcoholic drink my way every time my glass gets empty. I don’t dwell on why I am actually here because I wouldn’t have a legitimate answer, and I would lie to myself if I even tried.
It gets increasingly harder to ignore the drunks who get louder with each drink, vying for Kayla’s attention with messy attempts at flirtation.
She politely serves them but doesn’t linger.
Even though she returns their smiles, I have figured out it’s just her work persona.
The way she smiles at Vero lights up her entire face, but she never does that here unless Rogue or the male bartender are around.
As I pick up my drink and ponder the reason, she gets further under my skin.
I didn’t want to think about it, but it is hard not to when I never let people in.
Sure, I have my sisters and certain people on the island, but that is the complete list. It works just fine for me and has for a long time.
I do not need to add anyone else, especially not a tattooed bartender who is not afraid to headbutt, talks back every chance she gets, and looks at me like she knows exactly who I am and really doesn’t give a fuck.
I’m almost ready to leave when I notice a guy sitting three stools down.
He has been there for maybe half an hour and is watching Kayla with more than just casual interest. This guy gives me the creeps, and that is really saying a lot considering the company I keep.
His eyes track her, and he hasn’t touched his second drink.
He keeps his body angled toward the staff end of the bar and keeps glancing furtively toward the door marked private near the back wall.
I have seen enough predatory behavior to know exactly what this is and where it is going, so I watch him closely. When he gets up to leave without finishing his drink, slipping some cash down onto the bar, I follow him outside.
He turns left and heads down the sidewalk, and I leave enough distance between us so he doesn’t notice me as I keep to the edge of the building.
Then he rounds the corner into a narrow alley that runs along the side of the bar, and sure enough, he stops at the staff exit door.
He reaches out and pulls to test it, but finds it locked.
I approach silently behind him and take him by the back of the collar, using my hold to slam him face-first into the brick wall beside the door. Then, with my forearm, I press across the back of his shoulders.
“Hands where I can see them,” I say close to his ear, though of course he tries to fight. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“What the fuck? I wasn’t doing anything.”