Chapter 4 – Vivian
“ I don’t care.” The transplant from up north raised her hands. “Violence is never the way.”
“But surely the troops fighting overseas deserve our support! They go where they’re sent, willing to die for our country,” a man with loose, leathery skin insisted. The faded eagle on his arm said he was probably a marine back in his day.
My heart tightened for him. It had to suck to be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice—to see your buddies do that!—and then hear civilians with self-righteous streaks mouth off about topics they couldn’t survive.
I poured a shot of rye and slid it to him. “On the house,” I murmured on my way to the kitchen window.
Picking up the burger baskets for table seven, I blew the curls that had fallen from the pony. And nearly dropped the damn baskets. There was a pair of icy eyes watching me. And that permanent smirk heated two degrees when he realized he unsettled me.
“Didn’t think you were coming,” I scoffed as I passed his seat at the bar.
“And miss this.” His gaze skated pointedly down my work uniform of black on black, skimpy and skintight.
Warmth trickled through me, and my heartbeat doubled.
But he didn’t need to know he affected me. Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “Typical chauvinistic bull.”
I dropped the burgers at the table, made sure they had the condiments they wanted, and then went back behind the bar to help make drinks. The spring break rush was done, but now it was summer tourism season. The grunge bar feel of The Warf attracted all types. People with high seven-figure beach houses came here for a good time. College kids could drink cheap. And before late night, we had plenty of families grabbing a quick bite.
“They just need to leave,” the transplant sneered. “Violence breeds violence.”
“So I don’t know you, but my heart has a special place for our troops,” Luka said, butting into the conversation. “They’ll take a bullet, so we don’t have to.”
I slid a look between the original arguers and the newcomer. Oh, this will be good.
We called Kathryn Holtz the transplant. She owned a huge monstrosity just down the beach. Always wearing Lilly Pulitzer and looking expensive, she never came with the same man. Probably in her mid-fifties, although who really knew, it was hard not to think she was lonely.
I was too.
Maybe she bothered me so much because it was like looking into a mirror of the future. Only, the way I was making money, I wouldn’t be able to afford bougee clothes again. Not anytime soon.
“They’re brave,” Kathryn agreed, giving him a sugary sweet smile. “But I’m talking about the concept of fighting, and those tricked into thinking it’s for a good reason.”
I gagged. At least I never had to be that fake.
“But it’s your premise that’s flawed.” Luka’s voice took on a sharp edge. My pulse skipped, and I shot him a look.
“Oh, and how’s that? I can prove that the military is just a cover-up to protect overseas interests.” Kathryn leaned forward, too firm breasts pushing up on display.
“And there might be instances where militaries are used that way—most corruption is hidden by just causes. But where you’re wrong is thinking that violence is never the way.” Luka took a vodka on the rocks from the other bartender with a head nod. “Violence is very much needed in this world. It’s the only thing capable of standing up to violence. Fire fights fire. If you aren’t willing to fight to protect yourself and your kith and kin, someone with no sense of morality will do unspeakable acts and you’ll be powerless to stop them.”
Those words turned in my mind as I took the tray of beers away from the moral debate at the bar. Fire fights fire. My tongue worked against my inner cheek. What if I went back and fought?
A long breath whooshed from my lungs. While I might love the idea of standing up to my problems, it was also easier to be free of them.
At what cost, Viv?
I handed out the beers with a forced smile. After making a pass of my section, I returned to the bar to find Kathryn storming out. The old marine was chuckling with the glacial stranger.
“Did you scare off our best customer?” I drawled.
“’Bout time someone gave it to her good,” the marine chuckled. “That’s what she needs, to be bent over and pounded. Hard.”
Some emotion spiked in my veins. Whoa!
I shook my head. I did not want to name that feeling. Shoving it down, I busied myself with helping pour my own drink orders and making a dent in the line of tickets.
The stranger leaned over the bar, speaking conspiratorially. “Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?”
“I never wished for you—you know what? It’s Luka, right?” I arched a brow.
He nodded, teeth catching his bottom lip.
I stared at his mouth for a moment too long, before shaking my head. “I don’t know what your angle is, but I’m not interested.”
“Your mouth says one thing, but your eyes are begging me not to go,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that seductive tone.
My traitorous stomach erupted in a flurry of butterflies.
“I’m working,” I clipped out.
“I’ll wait.”
Which was exactly what he did.