7. Lee
SEVEN
lee
The coffee shop feels like a cage after two hours of waiting. Two hours of watching tables fill up and people coming and going. Two hours of growing certainty that Salem isn’t going to show up, no matter how long I sit here.
My fingers drum against the table, creating chaotic rhythms that would probably drive her crazy. Good thing she isn’t here to hear it. Good thing she isn’t here to see how fucking frustrated I’m getting, watching that perfect corner stay empty.
I need her. Need her patterns and counting and carefully measured world. Need her to help quiet the chaos in my head that’s getting louder with each passing minute. Need her to agree to this fake dating scheme so my family will back off about finding someone suitable.
But more than that, I need her to need me.
Need her to see how I could protect her.
Need her to understand how perfect we’d be together, even if it’s just pretending to start.
The barista side-eyes me, probably wondering why the campus bad boy is posted up at a table for two hours, getting more agitated by the minute. If she only knew. If any of them knew how much I’d thought about this, about Salem. About how I intend to make her see how perfect we are for each other.
Even if I have to manipulate everything to make it happen.
Fuck this. She’s not coming, and I need a real drink. Something stronger than coffee. Something to help me think clearer about how to make this work. I could go to her house and confront her. No, not a good idea. I’m not certain I could control myself, and when it comes to Salem, the slightest thing can set her off.
It doesn’t take long to get to the corner pub frequented by most of the football team. Even at this time of day, it’s busy.
The bourbon burns going down, but not enough to quiet my obsession with Salem Masters. Three drinks and a couple of hours later, all I can think about is how she stood me up and how I guess I failed at making her feel safe enough to accept meeting me at a fucking coffee shop.
The bartender knows better than to make small talk—the Sterling name and my reputation ensure privacy, ensure no one asks why I’m drinking at noon.
I trace patterns in the condensation on the bar top, thinking about how Salem would count the water droplets. She’s so careful with everything, so desperate for control. It’s beautiful, really. The way she creates order from chaos. The way she measures her whole world into manageable pieces. The way she could be manipulated using that very need for control.
“Another,” I tell the bartender, mind racing with possibilities. I’ve watched her enough to know her triggers, her fears, her desperate need for safety. Watched how she flinches when people get too close and how she retreats when chaos threatens to destroy her world.
If someone were to threaten that safety …
If someone were to make her feel like she needed protection …
If someone were to create just enough chaos to send her running toward control …
Movement at the end of the bar catches my attention. Marcus Chen sits at the far end, looking smug and untouchable as always. The same Marcus who torments Salem, who makes comments about her gloves, who seems to know way too much about why she needs such careful control of everything.
The doctor’s notes from the hospital mentioned him, but I skipped over his name, hunting for more about Salem. I might have to go back and read.
Anger burns hotter than bourbon in my veins. Not just because he hurt her but because he knows her secrets, knows things about her that I need to know. Things that could help me get closer to her. I watch him through the bottom of my glass, plans shifting and reforming like a game of Tetris . Maybe it’s time someone taught Marcus a lesson, to show him what it’s like to lose control.
Maybe it’s time I did something about anyone who makes Salem feel unsafe.
Starting with him.
I spend the rest of the day drinking while waiting for Marcus to pay his tab. Following him outside is easy—he’s too busy texting to notice my shadow trailing him into the alley. The neon LED mask sits heavy in my hands, retrieved from my car’s trunk where I keep it for nights exactly like this. Nights when chaos needs direction. Nights when violence needs anonymity.
The mask glows softly in the dim alley, casting eerie patterns against the brick walls as I slide it over my face. The alcohol in my system makes everything sharper somehow, more focused. More purposeful.
Marcus doesn’t hear me coming. Doesn’t sense the danger until I’m right behind him. He doesn’t have time to react before my fist connects with his kidney, the hit dropping him to his knees.
“What the fu—” His words cut off as I grab him by the throat, slamming him against the wall. The mask distorts my breathing, making it sound mechanical and threatening. Perfect.
I don’t speak. Don’t give him any hint of why this is happening or who I am. Don’t risk my voice or words giving me away. Instead, I let my fists do the talking. Let violence speak what words can’t. Let him feel what it’s like to be powerless.
He tries to fight back, but the bourbon has made me stronger and given me a sharper focus. It allows me to be more deliberate in each punch, each kick, each moment of controlled chaos. I release my disappointment and anger toward Salem’s rejection out on him.
The LED lights reflect in the growing puddle of blood from his split lip. Red and blue and violence paint the alley in abstract patterns. His attempts to speak are met with more force, more silence, more purposeful pain.
This is only the beginning.
The first step in a much bigger plan. I need to create one piece of chaos before I can offer her the careful, ordered protection she’ll need. He can’t know that, can’t suspect who’s behind the mask. If he does, things for Salem will only get worse. Which will, in turn, make me lose my fucking mind. Maybe the next time I go to jail, it will be for something worthy, like killing the next fucker who dares to touch her.
My muscles burn, and my chest heaves when I leave Marcus in a bloody mess in the alley. It feels unfinished, like I didn’t complete the mission. He’s still conscious, still breathing, and still able to pick himself up. Eventually.
For now, he got a glimpse of fear and felt what it was like to be helpless. Discovered that sometimes chaos finds you without warning or reason.
Once I reach my car, I strip off the mask, the neon lights dying as I shove it under the seat. My knuckles throb beneath leather gloves, split and bloody but worth it. The bourbon buzz has faded, replaced by something more intoxicating—power, purpose, possibility.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel. It’s not enough.
Violence alone won’t get me what I want.
Won’t get me who I want.
To get Salem, I need to make her see how much she needs me … I need something more calculated. More purposeful. More designed to her specific fears.
My phone contains numbers of terrible fucking people, friends, family, and people who owe me favors. Guys who don’t ask questions. Guys who understand the value of making someone feel unsafe without actually causing harm. Guys who know how to create just enough chaos to send someone running toward protection.
Toward me.
It would be so easy to orchestrate an encounter. A threatening moment in the library. Nothing too extreme—just enough to make her feel like she needs someone to keep her safe. The irony of creating chaos to offer protection isn’t lost on me. The need to have her in my grasp burns stronger than logic, stronger than morality, stronger than anything including the bourbon in my blood.
I park behind The Mill, already scrolling through my contacts. I know exactly who to call and what to offer. Know exactly how to make this work.
Because I’ve seen how she flinches from disorder.
How she retreats from uncertainty.
How desperately she needs control.
And I can give her that.
Can be that.
Can become everything she needs.
Even if I have to manipulate everything to make it happen. I hate that it got to this point, but I’m running out of time. I’ll have to make her biggest fears a reality so I can protect her from them. I’ll become chaos to become her peace.
I hit the first number in my phone and wait while the line rings.
A gruff voice answers, “Hello.”
“Yeah, I got a job for you.” My voice sounds steady despite the adrenaline still coursing from the beating I laid on Marcus. “Nothing too rough. Just need you to make someone feel unsafe.”
Jake’s voice crackles through the phone, asking for details. He’s done jobs like this before—subtle intimidation, careful threats, nothing that leaves marks but everything that elicits fear.
“Tomorrow. The library. Around noon.” I think of Salem’s usual study schedule and how she always takes the corner table near the emergency exit. “She’ll be alone. Wearing gloves. Just crowd her space a bit, make her uncomfortable. Maybe mention how isolated that corner is.”
Jake listens, professional in his silence. No questions about motives, no concern about morality. Just business.
“Bring someone with you,” I add, remembering how Salem counts everything, memorizes faces, and creates patterns from threats. “Two guys are more intimidating than one. Make sure she sees you clearly. I want her to recognize you when I step in.”
The price we agree on is nothing—pocket change for a Sterling heir. Worth every cent to create the perfect scenario where I get to swoop in like a knight in shining armor. If only she had shown up to the coffee shop. I could’ve explained my plan to her and made her see how much she needed someone like me in her life.
I’m fucked up; I know this, but that doesn’t stop the grin from appearing on my lips. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I outline the final details. Nothing physical, nothing traceable, nothing that could lead back to me. Just enough to make her feel unsafe. Just enough to make her reconsider my offer when I make it the second time.
The plan feels solid now. Simple. One encounter, well-orchestrated and perfectly timed. I’ll be nearby, so there’s no chance of things going too far. Satisfaction slithers through my gut.
By this time tomorrow, Salem will understand how much she needs someone to keep her safe. How much she needs me.
Whatever it takes.