Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
PRESENT DAY
[WiseWave620: Is nine cups of coffee a day too much?]
* * *
Tally woke at five-thirty in the morning when her alarm went off. The sound disoriented her, though, because it was coming from above her head rather than to her left as usual. The feel of microfiber under her and the smell of baking soda, polyester, and cotton clued her in quickly that she was on her couch, not in her bed.
Sitting up, she froze. Tally must have fallen asleep waiting for her mystery man to return. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d been holding one of her chef’s knives. She clicked her tongue. Where was it? She couldn’t feel around for something like that or risk losing a finger. But she couldn’t detect it.
Her phone’s alarm was not as distracting as people might think, but it was still annoying. Tally carefully checked herself and the couch next to where she was sitting up before scooting over to the edge to reach for her phone. Based on where the noise was coming from, she must have put her phone on the magnetic charging disk on the end table. Why couldn’t she remember doing so?
For that matter, when had she put a blanket over herself? A quick feel told her it was the crocheted blanket she’d made when Simone had dragged her to a class during her pregnancy with Amelia. Simone had been insistent that she would quilt, crochet, and sew all her baby’s clothes, blankets, diapers, and sheets. She’d wanted to be a ‘green mom’ after watching some videos online. That insistence had lasted less than two weeks before she’d thrown in the towel, went to Costco , and stocked up on disposable baby supplies. Tally didn’t judge her. She figured her bestie was growing a human inside of her and was allowed to do whatever the fuck she wanted. Plus, Tally had learned to crochet, which was a hobby she continued to this day.
Or she used to before she got extremely busy at her restaurant.
Her cane was still where she left it.
Most people didn’t realize that a blind man’s cane or a walking cane had different colors to signify the extent of the user’s blindness. Tally’s was all white. While that meant nothing to her, it did signal that she was completely without sight. It could also mean that the person had no usable sight. A cane that was white with a red bottom meant that the user had low vision, but some usable sight. If the user had a white and red striped cane, it signified that they were deaf and blind.
Since colors were just one of the things that Tally didn’t grasp as someone who was born blind, she had to rely on someone else to ensure she had the right equipment. Thankfully, that person was her father, who also modified all of her canes from their standard plastic or aluminum.
Tally carefully stood, detangling herself from her blanket. She did not hear anything fall, which meant there was a good possibility that her knife was on the floor next to her feet. She was still dressed from the day before and had on a pair of her chef’s shoes.
Fuck. She did not want to step on one of her knives! She really needed to ask her dad for a pocketknife or some throwing daggers. She should not be using her good knives for defense.
Tally took exaggeratedly high steps, clicking her tongue, and used her cane to get herself away from her couch. She knew the knife wasn’t on her, which meant she just had to avoid the couch area until she could get Simone over here to find the knife for her.
She had to be at her restaurant by seven. They didn’t open until eleven for lunch, but there was still a lot to be done prior to unlocking her doors.
After showering and getting dressed, Tally opened her bathroom cabinet. Feeling in a sullen sort of mood after the previous night, she grabbed for the jar holding the pair of blue eyes. After swapping out with the brown she had in, Tally headed for the kitchen. She forgot to prep her coffee pot the night before so she’d have to use her Keurig that morning. Despite her profession, Tally was not a big breakfast eater and planned on some toast with a scrambled egg that morning.
Stepping into her living room, she froze. Her hands were still locked in her hair, working on braiding the long, thick tresses. She didn’t have her cane on her, nor was she using echolocation at that exact moment. But she knew.
She was not alone.
* * *
[WiseWave620: Frankie and I are headed to visit Pumpkin today. She goes every day to bring SJ for a visit but the rest of us rotate to make sure he always has company. He’s doing really well and the doctors plan to move him to rehab next week.]
* * *
Scar watched as Tally slowly finished braiding her hair. He’d nearly come inside her apartment while she was still in the shower. While he’d spied on a lot of people in various compromising positions and locations, he was not a Peeping Tom. He waited for her to step into her bedroom before entering.
In the living room, he noticed the blanket he’d laid over her hours before was lying haphazardly off of the couch. Not wanting her to trip on the edge, he picked it up, folded it, and then laid it over the back of the couch where he’d gotten it from.
While waiting for her to come back out, he tried to determine why he was back inside her apartment. He knew she would sense him, yet he’d come back. Perhaps it was like that old saying about curiosity killing the cat. He was so intrigued by her and her lifestyle that he needed to learn more about her. Taking pictures of her seemed like more of an invasion of her privacy than standing in her living room did.
He should be taking pictures, sending them to Alpha, and then working on rebuilding his shoulder strength so he could go after Alpha. Coming to Atlanta was supposed to be a quick stop. One to two days of pictures, then gone.
Yet he found himself loath to leave. He wanted to learn more about Tally, to see what she was truly capable of. Perhaps he could even learn from her, as she had not allowed her disability to limit her potential as Scar had.
He’d been unable to find the thugs that had jumped her the night before. As he was unfamiliar with the underbelly of this city, he’d only looked in the obvious spots for the men. They’d been hurt enough that they might have sought medical attention, but all the free clinics were closed that time of night and none of the hospitals had shown any admissions that matched their descriptions.
It didn’t matter. They could run, but they couldn’t hide. Not from him. Scar would find them.
Tally was braiding her long black hair as she stepped out into the living room. He’d specifically worn different clothing this morning, thinking perhaps something on him from the night before had been how she’d detected him.
Yet she stopped after three steps and turned her head in his general direction. Her prosthetic eyes were blue today. Did she change them for a reason or was it hinting at something more internal, like her mood?
Scar didn’t like the second idea. She was far too amazing a woman to be having a blue day. The thought also made him think of his own eyes.
Both Harper and Sissy had referred to his eyes as bright sapphires or sapphire blue. His black hair and his pale and marred skin gave him a ‘dark and dangerous’ look, but they said his beautiful eyes contradicted his gloom because of how expressive they were.
As a young man, many women had admired his eyes at the bars he and his buddies frequented. All of him had once been beautiful. Now, he was missing too much of himself. Even if he could stand the touch of a woman, no woman would want his black, mangled soul.
“I know you’re there.” She finished braiding her hair, tying it off at the end with an elastic band. “Want to tell me why you’re here?”
Scar remained where he was. He was standing by her living room chair, not wanting to be in her way when she exited her bedroom area.
Her face scowled in that overexaggerated way she had. She put her hands on her hips. “Why the fuck are you in my apartment, asshole?”
Scar watched as she moved towards her kitchen. Her steps were confident, even though she wasn’t using her cane.
“I do not have time for this bullshit. I’m already behind schedule as it is.” She walked around her island and directly to her single-serve coffee maker. She pulled out a travel mug before putting it under the dispenser. Her movements were as confident as her steps. She knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. A stranger watching her would never guess she was born without eyeballs.
It was fascinating to watch.
“Do you have any idea how humiliating it was last night? To know you had been in my apartment but no one believed me—or worse? To have my friends only believe me out of pity? You tell Gordon Tremont that he will never scare me or intimidate me into selling.”
Gordon Tremont? Who the fuck was Gordon Tremont? Scar filed the name away to research later. Was that why she hadn’t been surprised to be attacked the night before? Was someone harassing her?
His fists clenched in anger at the very thought.
As her coffee poured into her travel mug, Tally pulled down a frying pan from the hook on the wall. She hadn’t needed to feel for which pan size she needed either. She’d known which one she needed and had known where it was. Fascinating.
Scar watched as she pulled out a carton of eggs, scallions, mushrooms, and milk from her fridge. She grabbed a cutting board, bowl, and whisk, too. The only time she hesitated was when she reached for a knife from her block on the island. Her fingers grabbed one, paused, and then lifted to feel around over the handles of the other knives.
“I could have sworn…” she said low, talking to herself. Then she lifted her head up. After a single click of her tongue, she faced his general direction again. “You moved my knife, didn’t you? Were you in my apartment last night after I fell asleep? I don’t remember putting my phone on the charger or grabbing for the blanket. I certainly didn’t get up in the middle of the night to put my knife back. So either you were here, did all that, and then left or I did put my phone on the charger and grabbed the blanket, then you found my knife on the floor when you got here this morning? Which is it?”
She was so fucking smart and quick. He knew her reputation as a chef, but damn, her mind and talents were wasted in a kitchen.
Scar flinched at the thought. An ambitious thought like that made him sound like Alpha. The man was always looking for talent, new blood he could exploit. He often said he hit the jackpot with Scar.
If cooking was what made her happy, then Scar was an asshole as she claimed, just not for the reason she thought. What had he been thinking, anyway? To put her on a battlefield? Fuck no. His thought had been more absentminded than anything, nothing specific. But it still bothered him that he’d had the thought at all.
Tally was free to live her life and do as she pleased.
“You know,” she snapped, “the least you could do is talk to me. Didn’t Gordon Tremont send you with a message for me? Some warning to sell him my building,” her voice deepened in a mocking tone, “‘or else’.” She pulled the knife she needed out of the block and started dicing up the scallions and mushrooms with impressive skill and precision. “If you’re hoping for a free meal, you’re SOL, asshole. I only give free food to my friends.”
Scar watched as she made an omelet. It was incredible how quick and proficient she was. She rarely used her tongue as she worked. While she brazenly put her back to him as she sat on one of the stools at the island to eat, he did notice that she kept the knife she’d used on the mushrooms and scallions within quick reach.
Good girl.
Tally ate quickly. Was that because of him or because she was already running late? What time did she get to the restaurant anyway? They didn’t open until eleven and she hadn’t walked out of there until after midnight. Why was she going in so early? Didn’t she have staff to help her prep?
When Scar had been doing research on her business, he saw a few one-star reviews by disgruntled customers who were upset that ‘The Blind Chef’ had not been the one to personally cook their meals. Either she’d been out of the restaurant or not scheduled in the kitchen that night, according to the reviews. Was that why she was working herself so hard? Scar could understand not wanting to disappoint her customers, but there still had to be a limit.
Tally finished eating, cleaned up, and then grabbed her coffee mug. At the door, she said over her shoulder, “I’m going to work, asshole. Don’t you dare follow me there. I’m done with whatever game this is.”
Then Tally closed the door behind herself and locked him in her apartment.
Outside, Tally was sipping her coffee as she exited the building. The door had barely closed behind her when she pulled the mug away from her mouth. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” She pointed a finger in Scar’s general direction on the sidewalk. “I don’t know how the fuck you are doing that and I don’t care! I’m late for work! Stay, follow, apparently I can’t stop you either way. My customers are off limits. You hurt anyone to get to me and I’ll serve your ass up as my special this week.”
* * *
[WiseWave620: Did you have a will? You didn’t sign any paperwork when you joined up like the rest of us did. A lot of us who didn’t have family had signed Steel as our Power of Attorney in case something happened, like with Lionheart. I asked Bulldog before he left and he got really pissed at me. Ghost Gibbs-slapped me, called me a moron, and said I should have known better.]
[WiseWave620: Sorry.]
* * *
The morning street was crowded, completely opposite to her walk home the night before. Scar did not follow directly behind Tally, but close enough to interfere if she needed him. The pressing question of who Gordon Tremont was and why she thought he had sent Scar after her was at the forefront of Scar’s mind.
Tally navigated around the people on the sidewalk like she was following a specific path laid out for her. If someone moved too close to her or stopped abruptly, Tally always shifted in time. Like she knew it was going to happen before it happened. She even put her cane out to stop a child who was texting and not paying attention to the crosswalk signals from stepping out into the busy street.
Once at her restaurant, Tally unlocked the front glass doors. Scar had expected her to go in through the back door and frowned when he watched from his place on the sidewalk as she continued into the kitchen, leaving the front open.
Had she done that for him? So that it would signal to her that he’d walked into her restaurant? If it wasn’t for him, if this was something that she did every morning, then she needed to reevaluate her morning routine. It was dangerous to leave the door open.
Scar headed around the back. Had she unlocked that one too? If so, it contradicted everything he was thinking about her up to this point. Someone had trained her to fight. His gut told him it was her father. Tally was proficient, skilled, and quick. It made absolutely no sense for her to leave the front door unlocked, as if she was encouraging someone to come inside.
The back door, as well as the roll up door in her loading dock, were both locked. That was something, at least.
Once inside, he stayed to the shadows of the dining room. She was clearly on a mission and he didn’t want his presence to distract her. What she was doing, though, Scar had no idea.
Tally had something in the crook of her arm, like a bucket or a jar, and was going booth to booth putting whatever was in that container into the cracks of the cushions. Once she got most of the booths, she moved onto the tables. Since the chairs were stacked up on top of the tables, she ducked down, dropping the items under the tables.
Scar’s eyes narrowed. Was that money ? He watched as she moved to a table closer to him and then verified that Tally was indeed dropping coins on the floor. What the hell was she doing? Most of the coins were quarters, but there were some nickels, pennies, and dimes sprinkled around too.
Scar was pretty sure she was missing the point of the tip jar. That was what was under her arm. When she’d moved closer he’d been able to verify where she was getting the money from. It was the tip jar that had been beside the register at her takeout and pick up counter.
After putting the jar back, Tally went into the kitchen. There were separate exit and entrance swinging doors. Several minutes later, Tally came out with a to-go container of food. Scar was even more confused now, because she’d already eaten at her apartment.
Out of the corner of his eye, Scar saw the front door creak open. His hand went to one of his knives, ready to defend Tally, when he saw it was a little boy who was creeping inside. The kid was keeping low and moving as quietly as possible.
Still, there was no way Tally couldn’t know he was there. She knew Scar was there and this little boy was not being nearly as stealthy. Yet, Tally acted like she didn’t know.
She put the food down as if she was going to eat at one of the booths. As she opened a fork and knife set from a rolled up napkin, the little boy started searching the booths. He was young, maybe six years old, and dirty enough that Scar couldn’t tell what color his hair was, which made him wonder when the last time he had showered. His clothes were too small for him and his toes hung over the front of the sandals on his feet. He looked far too gaunt for a kid his age, making Scar wonder where he had come from and where his parents were.
When the boy was nearly to Tally’s booth, having collected the money from all the other booths and under the tables, Tally suddenly slapped herself on the forehead. “Oh darn! I forgot my orange juice.” She put her fork down and used her cane to walk back to the kitchen. Scar had noticed that she’d used the fork to move the food inside the container around but she hadn’t eaten anything out of it.
The boy hesitated, as if checking to ensure she wasn’t coming back right away, and then ran to the booth Tally had vacated. He snatched up the food container, dropping the fork to the floor with a clatter, and bolted from the restaurant.
Less than a minute later, Tally exited from the kitchen. There was no OJ or drink of any kind in her hand. She also was no longer using her cane. She walked to the front door, locked it, and then started collecting the coins the boy had missed. She also picked up the knife and napkin from the table and fork from the floor.
On her way past Scar, who was still standing in the shadows by the restrooms, she paused. He saw the hesitation on her face before she spoke. Her voice was soft, almost pleading with him. “He’s homeless. If I try to interact with him, he runs. Doing it this way is a bit unorthodox, I’ll give you that. And don’t worry, I replace it with my own money so my employees don’t loose out on tips. It’s just the only way I can help him without spooking him. He thinks I don’t know he’s there because I’m blind, but I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I’m not as helpless as I appear. Best keep that in mind.”
Then she went back into the kitchen to start working.
* * *
[WiseWave620: The others look like they’re having a blast in Disney. It really was so sweet of you to buy them tickets. I wish you were here to see the pictures.]
* * *
Tally knew she was being watched. Over the next week, she continued to feel him. Everywhere. He was never far. It still annoyed her, but it was more frustrating because he never did anything. He never spoke to her, never attacked her, never interfered. He just watched .
The worst part was when she tried to point out his presence to others and they claimed no one was there. Tally knew he was. It was like the world was conspiring to convince her that she had an imaginary friend. What the fuck was going on?
Simone, Tom, and even Mark had been by her apartment when she knew her mystery man was inside. Yet they still said he wasn’t. Of everyone in her life, she knew that those three would not lie to her.
Tally had even gotten so furious one evening that she’d tried to find him herself. But he moved every time she got close and she never touched him. Even when she located his exact position and threw something, it never hit him.
Maybe she really was going insane.
About a week after she’d first sensed him and called the police, she got a call from her dad. Since they were both extremely busy, they didn’t talk as often as Tally wished they could. More often than not, they ended up playing phone tag. It was a lot easier to get her mom on the phone than her dad.
“Hey, Dad,” Tally answered her phone. She was in her office at the restaurant. She was feeding the latest invoices and stack of papers in her inbox through her braille machine. Simone usually helped her with such but she was busy recovering from her in-laws’ visit. The device, which according to Simone looked like an old fax machine, interpreted the text of whatever paperwork she fed it and then printed out a braille translation.
The fact that it was a prototype from MIT and not yet available to the public was thanks to her father’s vast connections. His private military security company actually sponsored the project for her, though the public believed that they did it to help improve the lives of disabled veterans. She knew the truth, though, and it always made her smile.
“Tally Ally. How are you, baby?”
She loved her father’s voice. His deep baritone always soothed her. In a way, she supposed it was like a child clinging to a teddy bear or a favorite blanket. Her father’s voice was the first sound she could distinctly remember as a child. Even as an adult, it brought her serenity.
Tally opened her mouth to answer and hesitated. Something sounded off with her dad’s voice. The average person would not detect it, but Tally was not ‘average’. She’d spent her lifetime listening to every nuance and emotion in her dad’s voice. He sounded exhausted and a bit worried.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she lied. “How are you?”
“Busy at work. I’m sure you can understand. I’m sorry I haven’t been down to visit you recently, but things have been… Well, there was an incident a couple of weeks ago and I’m still picking up the pieces from that. Maybe in a couple of weeks your mom and I can come down. Does that work for you?”
Tally added ‘distracted’ to the description of her dad’s voice. She knew her mystery man was around. He’d done something that morning to make the little boy who visited her restaurant very happy. Maybe gave him money? She wasn’t sure but the boy had been so excited he’d left the rest of the coins and breakfast behind. When Tally had been upset that the boy hadn’t taken the food, the to-go container had vanished off of the counter and she’d known her mystery man had left the building. Was it too much to hope he’d tracked the little boy down and given him the food too?
Tally knew she should tell her dad about her mystery man. After all, security was her father’s forte. But her dad also had a habit of turning a raindrop into a tsunami. He dealt with big, real-world security problems. A single man following Tally around? Her father would bring an army to Atlanta and lay waste to find him.
It seemed too extreme. The man hadn’t done anything . He was there, but that was it. And yes, he was in her apartment without her permission. But he also never entered her bathroom or followed her into her bedroom. He remained in the living room. Tally wasn’t sure why that distinction mattered, but it did.
Both her parents had been extremely concerned when she moved to Atlanta after college. They understood her desire to be independent, but they wouldn’t be doing their jobs as her parents if they weren’t worried for her. Even with the training she’d received from her father, it was a fact of her life that there were some things Tally just couldn’t do. Her parents felt a lot better after she met Simone and they saw how Simone was willing to step up when Tally needed something, even if Tally still tried to do it herself. And they were thrilled when Tom came into their lives and brought Mark with him.
Mind, her parents were not aware that Tally and Mark were not as well suited a romantic couple as Tally portrayed them to be.
Tally needed to prove to herself and to her parents that she was capable of living on her own, of having her own career and life. She loved her parents, but they both could hover.
A thought occurred to Tally then. What if her mystery man didn’t work for Gordon Tremont? What if he worked for her father? It would explain why he hadn’t hurt her or spoken to her. Knowing her father, he had ordered the security detail not to interact with her. But he should have known that Tally would discover the man’s presence anyway. He’d trained her to hone her remaining senses.
Not wanting her dad to think anything was wrong, she quickly said, “Yes. Just let me know when you’re coming and I’ll do my best to clear my schedule. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to take off completely but I’ll try.”
“Of course, baby girl. If anyone understands a busy schedule, it’s your old man.”
Tally smiled. “I know, Dad. I’m glad you’re going to find time to take off, even if I can’t. You work too hard.”
“Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, little miss.”
Tally laughed. “Fair point.”
No, she decided, she wouldn’t tell her father about the mystery man. If he was working for Gordon Tremont, she’d take care of him herself. If he was working for her father, then she didn’t want him to get into trouble.
Time would tell, though.
“Dad, are you sure you’re okay? You sound…tired,” she decided. It seemed nicer than saying ‘worn out’, ‘exhausted’, or ‘stressed’.
“I’m fine, baby. You’re the one I’m worried about. Please make sure you’re taking care of yourself. And always sense your six.” It was their own play on the traditional ‘watch your six’, because Tally couldn’t watch anything.
“I promise, Dad.”
She was definitely leaning more and more towards her mystery man working for her dad because he acted like a guard rather than a threat. Whatever it was her dad was working on the past couple of weeks must be serious if he sent a bodyguard down to Atlanta to protect her.
“And call your mother.”
Tally snorted. “I talked with her yesterday.”
“Texting and talking are two different things!”
“Not to me,” she reminded him playfully.
“Tally Ally, I am aware you are in your thirties, but I will still put you in time out for sassing me.”
Tally smiled. “I know. Love you, Dad.”
“You too, baby. I’ll call you once I figure out what’s going on here and can get some time to come down to visit.”
“Looking forward to not seeing you.”
Her dad finally let out a rough chuckle. “Bye, baby.”
“Bye, Dad.”
Tally put her phone back in her pocket after hanging up so she didn’t accidentally bury it on the mess that was her desk. Less than five minutes later, her hostess came into her office to tell her that Gordon Tremont was in the dining room and asking for Tally.
* * *
[WiseWave620: Star’s cat is a psychopath.]
* * *
Scar’s eyes narrowed on the stout man in a fancy business suit who was currently standing by the hostess stand. The hostess, a young college student named Chelsea, had gone to get Tally. As soon as she was gone from the podium, a tall man with a military haircut went around the podium to start taking pictures of the tablet Chelsea had left behind. Scar scowled for two reasons. He would put money on the fact that the man with Tremont, despite his haircut, had never served in the military in his life. But the biggest issue was the fact that Scar could not reveal himself in a crowded restaurant to scare Tremont off prior to Tally coming out of her office.
The dining guests who were enjoying their lunch did provide a modicum of protection to Tally. Scar had looked Tremont up. He was a real estate developer who was using various shell corporations to purchase the riverfront properties surrounding Tally’s restaurant. Scar hadn’t deduced why he was buying all that real estate, but he’d get there. He might not be as proficient as Keys, but he’d discover what he wanted to know soon enough.
Tremont presented himself as a member of high society in Atlanta. He dined with congressmen, golfed with the governor, and had the mayor on speed dial. But a man like him had skeletons in his closet. Men like him always did.
Scar just needed to find them.
He would not attack Tally inside her restaurant with witnesses.
Tally believed the thugs who had jumped her last week worked for Tremont and Scar believed it too. There were other such reports about harassment against Tremont that always got swept aside until the owner finally caved and sold his property.
Over the past week, Scar could see how much Tally loved her restaurant. Saw the joy on her face when someone complimented the chef. Saw how much of her heart and soul went into this brick and mortar riverfront restaurant. Scar sure as fuck would not allow a man like Gordon Tremont to take that away from her.
The man would be face down in the river if he tried.
Tally came out of her office. She was wearing a white chef’s shirt, black pinstriped chef’s pants, and had her braid pinned up under her chef’s hat. Two thermometers with circular tops were in the sleeve under her left shoulder. While other chefs kept a pen there too, Tally did not.
Normally, Tally did not carry her cane around the restaurant. The fact that she had it now was telling. Scar had taken a look at all her canes in her apartment. Every single one was weighted and could be separated with a quick twist.
“Mr. Tremont.” Tally tapped her cane on the ground as she approached. She also held her hand out like she was searching for something. When her fingertips skimmed the podium, Tally quickly gripped the edge and used it to guide herself over to stand in front of him.
She’s acting like she’s blind , Scar thought to himself. And then realized how stupid that sentence sounded. But it was the only way to describe it. Tally was acting like someone would expect a blind person to act. She wanted Tremont to underestimate her.
She even held out her hand too far to the left of Tremont, even though Scar knew damn well she knew where the man was standing.
Tremont shifted so he could accept her handshake. “Ms. Meacham, I hope you’re doing well.”
“I am.” Tally dropped her hand. She tipped her chin up slightly as if she thought he was standing directly in front of her. “What is it I can do for you?”
“Well, my lawyer received your refusal to sell from your lawyer. I wanted to come by in person and… express how much it would be in your best interest if you sold. Once my restaurants go up, yours will go under in a matter of months.”
Scar had looked into Tremont’s various holdings. He didn’t own any restaurants. It made no sense why he would suddenly want to build some now and required this specific land to do it. In fact, Scar doubted that he wanted to at all and was only using the prospect of future restaurants in the area as a scare tactic against Tally.
“I’ll take my chances,” Tally told him smoothly. “After all, my restaurant will always have something that yours lack.”
“And what’s that, Ms. Meacham?”
She smiled widely at where she was faking believing him to be. “Me.”
She couldn’t see the hatred on Tremont’s face, but Scar could. He palmed the hilt of one dagger. If Tremont or his lackey so much as twitched in Tally’s direction, Scar would not hesitate to kill them. Witnesses be damned.
The lackey seemed to sense that Tremont was about to do something stupid, though, and put a hand on his arm to caution him.
“Very well, Ms. Meacham. Just remember, I tried to help you.”
“I’m sure you believe that but I require no one’s help, Mr. Tremont. Now, unless you would like to stay for lunch, I suggest you leave my restaurant. I have to be getting back to work.”
A feeling of pride rose up inside Scar for her show of strength. She truly was an amazing woman. It was too bad she was Alpha’s daughter. Scar thought she and Sissy would get along famously.
Tremont left, his lackey following close behind. That was his mistake though, because now he was fair game for Scar. He didn’t like leaving Tally at the restaurant, but she was capable of taking care of herself and she had employees around her.
The lackey drove Tremont in a town car to another restaurant. As soon as he stepped out of the car, other men in expensive looking suits came up to him. Scar scowled. He’d been hoping Tremont would lead him back to his place of business. Not the suite he kept in a downtown Atlanta high rise. No, his real office. The place where he did his actual business.
When the town car drove off, Scar followed it. Perhaps the lackey would lead him there too. Instead, the lackey pulled up behind a closed night club. Leaning up against the car, he pulled out his phone and texted someone.
A few minutes later, the back door to the club opened up. The two thugs that had tried and failed to attack Tally the week before walked out and headed straight for the man with the military haircut.
Scar pulled out two blades. He didn’t mind the single witness. Dead men tell no tales, after all. Someone would have to take the story back to Tremont that his thugs were dead.