Chapter 5
Three days later, I return with my work bag and perch on a stool at the counter. For the first thirty minutes, I have the bar almost to myself, with only the two staff and a single guy at the end, nursing a bourbon.
I picked a spot three seats from the register, close to the service well so staff can’t ignore me, but far enough away to not be annoying once it gets busy.
My laptop sits open in front of me, a half-finished whiskey sour at my elbow. The cropped black sweater I chose for today flashes the bottom of my ribs when I lean forward to type.
The bartender on duty, Petra, is shorter than the average Beta, with cropped platinum hair, blue nail polish, and laugh lines at the corners of her mouth even when she’s not smiling.
She’s the bookkeeper, but she fills in when things run tight or someone calls off.
I track her movements, careful not to be obvious. She bounces around, prepping the drink condiments. She fills a bin with lime wedges while giving me a fast once-over, then flashes an easy smile.
“You’re new to the area, right?” She pops open a giant tub of maraschino cherries. “How are you liking Ashford Heights?”
“I’ve done a little exploring on foot, and it’s nice not to worry too much if I miss the bus and need to walk home at night.”
I play with the napkin under my glass. “Though, if I’m being honest, I’m a creature of habit, so once I stumbled onto the Blue Note, I stopped hunting for other options.”
She hums in approval and sets a fresh cocktail napkin in front of me. “No need to keep searching when you’ve already found the best.”
I tap my laptop, pull up the decoy work window, and keep an eye on the mirror behind the liquor shelves. The glass gives me a full reflection of the front of the house. “Are you running solo today?”
“Only until six. Ghost will be back before it gets too busy.”
“Understood,” I say. “I’ll be out of your hair by then.”
“What’s the rush?” She leans her elbows on the counter. “Are you not going to stick around for the band tonight? I’ll introduce you to some of my friends who are coming in after my shift. They’re all Omegas, so no pressure with us.”
I try not to appear too excited at the chance for an in with the Blue Note Crew. “That would be fun. New places are always hard.”
I offer a self-deprecating shrug. “Turns out adults get uncomfortable when you walk up and ask to be friends.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Never fear. A cutie like you won’t be lonely for long.”
I prop my chin on my hand and bat my lashes at her. “You think I’m cute, huh?”
Petra smirks, not missing a beat. “Don’t get cocky, kid. I’m immune to pretty faces in here.”
She pops a cherry into a glass, sets it down in front of the bourbon drinker at the end of the bar, and gives me a little wink on the way back.
“You should try that line on someone who isn’t paid to flirt back,” she teases, grabbing a rag to wipe the counter in front of me.
“Damn,” I say, placing a hand over my heart. “Harsh. I was hoping for a little ego boost.”
She leans in closer, dropping her voice so the bourbon guy won’t hear. “You want an ego boost? I can think of one person who would—”
She breaks off as a body slides up beside mine, and Ash, Rowan’s mate, claims the neighboring stool. I keep my reaction buried, offering him a distracted smile before returning to my “work.”
“Hey, sweetie.” Petra slides down the bar to him. “What can I get you?”
“A Shirley Temple, please,” he murmurs.
I peek at him from the corner of my eye. Ash Halloway. The name is burned into my memory from half a dozen surveillance files. Omega. Twenty-three. Legal guardian to a minor sister.
He’s the one whose life intersected with Daniel Humphry, the employee who vanished with our money laundering records. The one whose sister we tried to leverage for information, never suspecting his ties to Blue Note, or that he’d end up mated to their leader.
Every worry my family has about the Blue Note Crew circles back to him, and I have to pretend I don’t recognize him.
He turns toward me, taking in my laptop. “Here to work? Or here to avoid work?”
“Little of both,” I say, letting the corners of my mouth lift in welcome.
Petra sets a tall glass down in front of him, the pink, fizzing liquid packed with maraschino cherries. “You’re going to give yourself diabetes with these.”
He flips her off, but in a joking way.
Ash takes a long pull from his straw before turning back to me. “You’re new. Most people don’t come this early unless they’re regulars.”
I turn to him. “I’m aiming to become a regular. I recently moved here for work.” I thrust out my hand. “I’m Lee.”
“Ash. Welcome to the neighborhood, Lee.” He shakes, his grip firm, and peers at my screen. “What do you do for a living?”
I turn the laptop toward him. “I’m a freelance graphic designer, so I work out of my apartment. It’s smaller than my last place, so it’s a bit claustrophobic. The Blue Note has the right background noise.”
Ash sizes me up. “You’re the one who gave Reef some tips on the new logo, right?”
“He already had a lot of good stuff to work from,” I deflect, aiming for modesty. “I only made some suggestions.”
“It was good.” He arches a brow. “Are you open for new clients?”
My fingers still. If I say yes, it could be an in with the Blue Note Crew. I don’t want to appear too eager, though. But wouldn’t a freelance employee jump at the chance for more work?
Before I can respond, the door opens, and a man steps inside, pausing a beat on the threshold while he waits for his vision to adjust.
He’s dressed with the unmistakable air of a man who owns one blazer and saves it for every important occasion, paired with dark slacks polished shiny at the knees from wear and a pale blue shirt whose damp collar has started to collapse.
The lines around his eyes and gray in his thinning hair place him in his mid-forties at least. He carries a cheap black folder under one arm, his left hand gripping the edge so hard the cardboard corner is starting to bend.
Petra moves down the counter and pours three fingers of house vodka into a lowball as the man approaches.
He remains standing, scanning the space. “Is Rowan in?”
“Not at this hour,” Petra says, but not in a discouraging way.
The man’s shoulders slump. “Can you let him know Greg from Cornerstone Kids Center came by?”
I glance at Ash, whose attention is fixed on the man, but he doesn’t step in.
Petra’s face remains neutral. “Sure.”
Greg takes a breath, steeling himself. “We need help. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
Petra plants both palms on the polished wood and leans closer. “What’s going on?”
His shoulders hunch. “I can’t talk about it here. But it’s about the summer fund. The whole thing’s gone.”
He sets the folder down. “I don’t trust the cops with this, not in Brickwell. They’ll write it off as community risk.”
Petra pushes the lowball toward him. “Do you have any idea who took it?”
Greg’s jaw tightens. “If I did, I’d handle it myself.”
Petra purses her lips, then says, “Rowan will figure out what to do. I’ll have Ghost give you a call.”
Greg swallows the vodka in one go, wheezes a little, and sets the glass down. “Thanks.” He doesn’t acknowledge Ash or me, a few stools down from him. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Not a bother,” Petra says.
He leaves, his coat swirling as he shoulders out into the cold, folder tight to his chest.
Petra lets her head hang for a second before she pivots to me as if nothing happened. “You want another, Lee?”
“Sure,” I say and reach for my glass to finish my first one.
She mixes the whiskey sour on autopilot, not watching the measure, and sets it in front of me with a coaster this time.
As she wanders away, I turn to Ash and take a risk. “Do you know what that was about?”
He tilts his head, deciding how much to tell me. “Missing money.”
“Yeah, but…” I scan the bar before leaning closer. “Shouldn’t he be reporting it to the cops?”
Ash snorts and rolls his eyes. “The cops around here are all on someone’s payroll. If you want guaranteed results, you have to go outside the box.”
I raise my brows, feigning surprise. “And what, the Blue Note offers…loans?”
Ash snorts. “Not money. Solutions.”
When I continue to stare in confusion, he elaborates. “Sometimes Rowan handles it himself, sometimes he has someone else take care of it. Doesn’t matter who does it, as long as it gets done.”
“And the cost?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.
Ash studies me. “You think it’s about leverage, like the movies?”
“Isn’t it?” I say, a hint of challenge slipping through.
He shakes his head. “If you can pay, you pay. If you can’t, you owe a favor. Not a blood debt or anything. But the next time Rowan needs something, you pick up the phone. It’s a trade.”
“But what if you can’t pay?” I ask, digging for more. “Or the favor is too much?”
Ash shrugs, an elegant roll of the shoulders. “Nobody asks for more than you can handle. That’s not the point.” He stabs a cherry with his straw and brings it to his lips. “It’s about keeping things even.”
I think of my family’s operations and the way Alexei would calibrate every debt, never letting a single one go unpaid. He would burn a person to the ground before forgiving a debt. This is… different.
Petra comes back down the bar. “You two need a refill?”
Ash rattles his glass. “Even I can’t go through this many cherries that fast.”
“I’m good,” I say, and she returns to the service well.
I turn back to Ash. “You make it sound almost altruistic.”
He laughs. “Nobody’s a saint here. But it’s better than letting people drown. Most of us, if we’re lucky, get to tread water. Rowan teaches people to swim.”
I turn Ash’s words over, trying to fit them into the framework of my family’s operations. Favors instead of debts. Community support instead of leverage.
The math doesn’t align with a crew preparing for war. It is… sustainable, not expansionist.
Ash studies me for a moment. “You seem all right, Lee. I hope you find what you came here for.”
Startled, I straighten. “Excuse me?”
His brow furrows. “You’re hoping to become a regular, right?”