Chapter Four #2
What do you even see in her anyway?
Nancy’s words slice through the noise of the restaurant, her voice dripping with confidence and cruelty. Warren doesn’t answer, just studies her with that unreadable look that drives me insane. But I don’t need him to defend me.
I lean forward slightly, keeping my tone sweet but steady. “Maybe he just enjoys the company of someone who doesn’t bore the fuck out of him.”
The table goes deathly still.
Nancy blinks, momentarily speechless, and for the briefest, most glorious second, I feel powerful.
Then her eyes narrow, lips curling into a sneer. “Excuse me?”
I smile pleasantly. “You’re excused.”
Warren’s hand lifts to his mouth, and I swear there’s the faintest twitch of amusement tugging at his lips.
Nancy, on the other hand, looks ready to stab me with her dessert fork.
I sit back, heart hammering, pretending to study my napkin. My pulse is racing, my hands are shaking, but for once, I don’t care.
I might look out of place here, but I’ll be damned if I act like I don’t belong.
Nancy recovers fast. The pause between her shock and fury is barely a heartbeat.
Her red lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Cute,” she says coolly. “You’ve trained your assistant to bark.”
Warren exhales quietly through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh, and sits back in his chair, watching us like he’s enjoying the show.
I feel the anger intensify, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Only when someone steps out of line,” I reply, keeping my tone light even though my fingers are gripping the edge of the table hard enough to hurt.
Nancy tilts her head, that fake smile widening. “How sweet. Maybe he’ll teach you to sit next.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, but I don’t look away. “If that’s your thing, maybe you should volunteer. You seem more like the type who enjoys being on her knees.”
Warren chokes on his drink. The sound is small but enough to make my stomach twist with equal parts horror and pride.
Nancy’s face flushes a deep shade of red, the polite veneer slipping for the first time. “You really don’t know who you’re talking to,” she hisses.
I meet her glare evenly. “No,” I say softly, “but I’m starting to get the picture.”
The air between us crackles. The restaurant noise fades into a dull buzz. For a second, no one moves as we stare one another down, and then Warren clears his throat.
“Ladies,” he says smoothly, though I catch the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “Shall we talk business?”
Nancy leans back in her chair, all smug poise and poisonous charm, while Warren’s calm facade gives nothing away. The room feels too bright, too polished, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
Enough.
I push my chair back and stand. The scrape of wood against marble makes half the restaurant turn to look. “You know what?” I say, my voice steady in a way that surprises even me. “I’m no longer in the mood.”
Warren’s brows lift slightly, curious but silent.
“You can cancel that room downtown,” I add, straightening my shoulders. “Find another toy to play your little games with.”
Before he can respond, I lean down, press my hand to his chest, and kiss him.
It’s quick, unexpected, my soft lips meeting his in a spark that lasts only a second, but I feel the jolt of it right down to my toes. When I pull back, his eyes are wide. The unflappable Mr Baxter finally caught off guard.
“Consider that my resignation,” I murmur, “Again.” My fingers are already slipping into his jacket pocket. I pluck his wallet free, open it, and take out a fifty.
He’s still staring at me when I straighten.
I turn toward the bar, ignoring the stares, and find the same waitress Nancy almost reduced to tears earlier. I press the note into her trembling hand. “For the trouble,” I whisper. “And next time that witch orders a drink, spit in it.”
Her eyes widen, and then she snorts, trying to hide her smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
I flash her a wink, then walk straight out of the restaurant, head high and heart pounding, leaving Warren, Nancy, and the entire damn Mayfair staring after me.
WARREN
I watch her go, lips twitching when I see her hand the waitress a fifty. She’s got a pair of balls; I’ll give her that. And I’ve got a raging hard-on from a single fucking kiss.That’s never happened before.
“Jesus, Warren. You need better company,” Nancy snaps.
I grin, nodding. “You’re right.” I stand.
“Where are you going?” she demands.
I throw a handful of notes on the table to cover the bill. “To get better company.”
Outside, the chill air hits me like a slap as I shrug on my jacket. I scan the street; her coat clutched in my hand. There’s no sign of her, but she couldn’t have vanished that fast.
Then I spot her through the window of a small bar a few doors down, already perched on a stool with three shots lined up in front of her.
I enter, and the bartender clocks me instantly, nodding in recognition. Great. For once, I’d love to walk into a place where nobody knows my name.
I take the stool beside her and, without asking, steal one of her shots and down it in one.
“She’s tough to handle,” I say.
Leoni glances at me, and my chest tightens. Her eyes are red, rimmed with tears she’s clearly trying to blink away. I hate drama. But seeing her like that—broken, angry, still holding herself together—does something to me.
“Why did you take me on that lunch date?” she asks quietly.
“First of all,” I say, “it wasn’t a date. Secondly, I figured Nancy might back off if she saw me with a gorgeous, sophisticated woman.”
Leoni snorts, downing another shot.
“I wasn’t prepared for you to turn up dressed like you’d crashed into JD Sports.”
“I wasn’t prepared for her to be that awful. I like to give people a chance, but she’s just—” she exhales shakily, “—nasty.”
“Surprisingly, you’re not wrong. No one likes her, but she’s the police chief’s daughter, so she gets away with being a bitch.”
Leoni rolls her eyes. “Well, good luck with marrying that. Your future kids don’t stand a chance.”
I laugh, shaking my head. The thought of kids makes me shudder.
“Why did you come dressed like that?” I ask, curious now rather than annoyed.
She stares into her empty glass. “To teach you a lesson,” she mutters. “It’s rude to tell someone to dress better and get their makeup done. I was insulted. I don’t need a man telling me I’m not good enough.”
Her words hit harder than I expect. I frown. “Leoni, that’s not what I meant. I just knew Nancy would be a complete cow.”
“Then you should’ve spared me by not taking me there,” she says softly. “I could’ve shown up in head-to-toe designer and she still would’ve hated me. She’s jealous, Warren. She likes you.”
I smirk. “Is that why you kissed me?”
Her lips curve slightly. “You said to make her think you were taken. I took the challenge into my own hands.”
I lean closer, eyes on her mouth. “You don’t know what you’ve started.”
Because she hasn’t just started something with Nancy, she’s started something in me. And I’m looking at her completely differently now… even in that ridiculous outfit.
“I miss being out there,” I say quietly.
Anthony grins from the driver’s seat. “You mean cracking skulls and chasing trouble?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m hungry for the violence. Sitting behind a desk isn’t me.”
He chuckles, eyes on the road. “If you’d carried on down that path of destruction, you’d be rotting in a cell right now.”
He’s not wrong.
Growing up, I was a ticking time bomb. I’d watched my father treat my mother like dirt, learned every cruel habit like it was a rite of passage.
Violence was how he solved everything, and I soaked it up like a sponge.
Every punch, every scream, every broken thing etched itself into my brain until there was nothing left but anger.
When my mother died, he told us it was an accident.
I’ve never believed him. My theory? She tried to run.
And he made sure she didn’t make it far.
And it never bothered me. I didn’t cry a single tear, and still to this day, I feel nothing but numb when I think about her.
She was weak. I lost respect for her many years ago, angry she didn’t get out.
Pissed she didn’t take us away from it all.
Anthony’s voice breaks the silence. “That secretary of yours is pushing your buttons.”
He says it lightly, but there’s weight behind it. He’s ten years older than me and thinks he’s full of wisdom. Maybe he is.
I glance into the back seat. Leoni’s slumped against the door, fast asleep. Her head lolls with the movement of the car, hair tumbling over her face. Even drunk, she’s beautiful, but she’s chaos. Unpredictable.
“She’s too volatile for my liking,” I mutter. “I’d never be able to tame her.”
Anthony smiles faintly. “Maybe she doesn’t need taming. Maybe that’s exactly what you need. And she is definitely the one to do it.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “I don’t need anyone complicating my life.”
The car rolls to a stop outside our building. I get out and open the back door, the cold night air hitting me as I lean in.
She stirs slightly when I slide my arms beneath her. Her head falls against my chest, soft and warm, a small sigh escaping her lips.
I look down at her, this messy, infuriating woman who somehow slipped under my skin, and something tightens in my chest.
“Goodnight, Anthony,” I say quietly.
He nods, watching as I throw her over my shoulder and carry her inside.
I step into the elevator and scan my card. The doors slide shut and carry me up to Leoni’s floor.
At her door, I shift her weight slightly and fumble through her bag for her keys. It takes me a minute as I sift through lip gloss, receipts, God knows what else, before I finally find them. I slot one into the lock, but before I can turn it, the door gives under the slightest pressure.
Unlocked.
My chest tightens.
Using my foot, I nudge it open slowly. The door creaks on its hinges, spilling a thin strip of light into the apartment. Everything looks normal at first glance. I step inside cautiously, every sense on high alert.
Then I see him.
Isaac.
He’s slumped forward beside the couch; his body folded awkwardly like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
For a moment, I freeze, unsure if I’m just seeing him passed out drunk. I consider laying Leoni on her bed and leaving, but something about his posture—it’s too still. Wrong.
I move closer, lowering my voice. “Isaac.”
Nothing.
I nudge his arm gently with my foot. No response.
“Isaac,” I say again, firmer this time, and push him a little harder.
His body topples sideways with a dull thud, and my stomach drops. His eyes stare blankly toward the ceiling, glassy and lifeless. A dark red bloom stains the side of his T-shirt, spreading outward from the knife buried deep in his chest—right where his heartbeat used to be.
“Fuck,” I whisper, taking an instinctive step back and lowering Leoni into my arms. Her head falls against my chest, her eyes firmly closed as light snores fill the silence.
The metallic scent of blood hits me then, sharp and real. I clutch Leoni a little tighter, her oblivious breathing a cruel reminder of what she’s about to wake up to.
Backing out of the apartment, I hit the wall beside the door, my pulse hammering. For the first time in a long time, I have no idea what the hell to do.
I step back into the elevator and press for my floor. It opens straight into my apartment, and my father is waiting, a dark shape by the window against the city lights. He’s turned away, but I know he can see me in the reflection.“About time,” he mutters.
“Was it your doing?” I hiss.
He turns, eyes flicking over Leoni’s sleeping form in my arms. “Is she dead?”
“No, she isn’t fucking dead. Why would I bring a dead girl into my apartment?”
I head for my room and set her down on the super-king bed, tucking the duvet over her, before closing the door.
When I come back out, he’s still there, patient, smug.
“I’ve just been in her apartment,” I whisper-hiss. “Guess who was lying there cold as your heart?”
His mouth quirks. “Enlighten me.”
“Isaac Dove.” My voice is flat.
He smiles like he’s hearing a joke. “So, you brought your little dove back here to ‘protect’ her?”
“I could hardly leave her in there with her dead fucking brother,” I hiss. “What did he do to deserve that?”
“Why do you care?” Erik’s voice comes from the doorway. He’s clean-shaven, freshly showered and annoyingly composed. “We finished what you started.”
I narrow my eyes, dragging them back to my father.
“This is personal for you,” I guess. Personal wars are the ones we handle ourselves; that’s been drilled into us since day one.
“I dealt with him the way we always deal with men like him that get too big for their boots. But you… you’ve got something more on him. ”
My father’s expression grows colder. “You need to win the girl over, use your charm… fuck her into submission, whatever it takes,” he says, like he’s naming a to-do list. Bored. Casual. I laugh once, because he must be joking—he isn’t.
“If you’re not up to it, Erik will step in.” His tone is almost conversational.
Erik grins. I scowl at him, the laugh dying in my throat. “Tell me what’s really going on,” I demand.
“All in good time,” my father drawls. “We should go. Before this place is crawling with cops.” He turns as if that settles it.
They leave together, the two of them comfortable in their assumption that I’ll bend, that I’ll fall in line.
When the door clicks shut, I feel the hot, familiar spike of rage and something colder underneath — calculation. Anthony needs to dig deeper on Leoni. I need answers. Who she really is, how her brother is linked to our world, and how much my father already knows.
If I’m going to keep one step ahead of him, I can’t go in blind.