Chapter 16
The second I recognize the danger, I jerk forward, putting myself between Orien and the intruder as my hand drops to my waist before I remember Lee doesn’t carry a gun.
The intruder braces one hand on the doorframe as he shouts into the room. “Where the fuck is Rowan?”
I flinch, remembering where I am, and when I turn back to Orien, I find him studying me, his usual reserve firmly back in place, all hint of gentleness gone.
Slowly, he draws me backward, stuffing me back into the booth behind him, in the position of the person who needs to be protected.
“Rowan!” the intruder shouts again, louder this time. “Get your fucking ass out here!”
The chess players react first, pieces sliding into their pockets and closing the board before they slip toward the back exit without a word, leaving their drinks half-finished on the table.
Two other regulars, a woman in a leather jacket and a man with a scar down one cheek, follow suit within seconds, moving like it’s a fire drill, as if stepping out for air rather than escaping a potential shootout.
No rush, no panic, just quiet efficiency as they vanish through the same door the chess players used.
Across the room, Ghost drifts down the length of the bar, a rag in his hand as he wipes the counter in slow, even strokes. He remains calm, but he tracks the intruder as if assessing a predator from a distance.
The intruder stumbles farther into the room. “Bring him out here! He can’t hide from this!”
“Stay here,” Orien instructs before he stands in one fluid movement.
My hand drops to the knife tucked into my shoe, fingers already curling around the grip, but Orien touches my wrist before I can draw it, the single point of contact stopping me cold.
“Stay put,” he repeats. “Don’t get involved.”
He doesn’t tell me to leave with the others, and that distinction rings through me, as if my presence is assumed. As if I belong here, bearing witness.
I release the knife, and Orien turns toward the bar.
The intruder stands with his back to us, still shouting at the empty room, and Orien moves with unhurried confidence toward him.
“Hey,” he calls. “You need to calm down.”
The man wheels around, wild-eyed and flushed with either alcohol or rage. Probably both. “I need to see Rowan, not his fucking guard dog.”
Orien stops with several feet still between them, his hands loose at his sides. “Rowan’s not here right now. What do you need?”
The man takes a swaying step forward. “You know why I’m here. My friend is missing. He was supposed to meet me yesterday. He hasn’t answered his phone. No one’s seen him since he came here to talk to your boss.”
Orien doesn’t move. “Does your friend have a name?”
“Don’t fucking play with me.” The man takes another step. Sweat beads on his forehead, and a tremor runs through his hands. “He took money that wasn’t his, and now he’s gone. You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”
“He took money from who?” Orien asks, still calm.
“From the kids!” the man shouts. “From the fucking after-school program. Twenty grand, gone, and my friend with it.” His hand drifts toward his waistband, movements unsteady. “I can accept Rowan taking it back, but he doesn’t get to keep the interest.”
My body tenses, muscles readying for movement, but I force myself to stay seated. This isn’t my fight. These aren’t my people.
No matter how much I might wish otherwise.
The man’s hand disappears under his jacket, and Orien shifts his stance a fraction. “Listen. If you’ve got a problem with Rowan, you should come back when he’s here. We’ll talk it through.”
“I’m done talking,” the man snarls and pulls a gun.
Ghost knocks a glass off the bar, and the sudden crack of it hitting the floor jerks the man’s attention to the side for half a second.
Orien strikes, his palm connecting with the man’s throat.
The gun fires as it flies from the man’s hand, the shot going wide into the ceiling before the weapon skitters across the floor to stop beneath an empty table.
The man crumples to the floor, clutching his throat as he struggles to breathe.
Orien bends, grabs the man by the ankle, and drags him toward the back hallway. “Everyone, get back to work. Nothing to see here.”
No one moves to help him. No one flinches at the violence, the gunshot, or the man being hauled away like garbage. They just wait until Orien disappears through the secured door with his burden.
Then, the band starts playing again while Ghost cleans up the fallen glass, dropping the pieces into a small bin behind the bar. The chess players reappear, resetting their board, and they pick up where they left off while a server brings them fresh drinks.
I cross the lounge to the bar and slide onto a stool beside Ash, who’s working through a plate of food, a timer counting down beside his elbow.
As I settle beside him, he keeps cutting his steak into perfectly even pieces, each bite the same size as the last, without acknowledging my presence. Steak isn’t even on the menu, which means he brought the food in from outside, or the limited kitchen made it special for him as Rowan’s mate.
Probably the latter.
Distracted as I’d been by the altercation, it hadn’t escaped my notice how he never flinched, as though more concerned about finishing dinner before the timer ended than about getting shot.
“You got a minute?” I ask, flagging down Ghost for another whiskey.
“Twenty-three.” Ash checks his timer. “And forty seconds.”
I wait for Ghost to deliver my drink before speaking again.
Around us, the lounge is already settling back into its normal rhythm. The band hasn’t stopped playing. Someone laughs near the dartboards. A waitress squeezes between tables, carrying a tray of drinks.
As though a man hadn’t stormed in waving a gun moments ago.
“What just happened?”
Ash cuts another piece of steak. “Guy made a bad decision.”
“That’s your official assessment?”
“You asked.”
I stare into my drink. “He pulled a gun in a crowded bar.”
“Yeah.”
The casual agreement irritates me more than denial would have. “And nobody seems particularly concerned.”
The comment finally earns his attention. “You’ve been coming here long enough to figure out why.”
He’s right. A month ago, I would’ve assumed everyone was pretending not to be afraid.
Now I’m not so sure.
My eyes drift across the room. Nobody is watching the back hallway. Nobody is whispering. Nobody is checking the exits. They’re moving on with their evening while trusting Rowan and his people to handle it.
“So what happens to the guy?” I ask. “The one with the gun.”
“Depends. If he’d come in sober and ready to talk, probably nothing. But he pulled a gun and put people in danger. He’s of a mind for revenge. So…” Ash picks up his fork, spinning it between his fingers as he considers it. “Recoup the loss and make him disappear.”
The door to the back hallway opens, and Orien returns.
Whatever happened back there, no evidence remains.
There’s a new stain on his sleeve, patches of it already drying to a dull brown on the black fabric.
He moves through the room as if nothing had happened, stopping to exchange a few words with Ghost before continuing toward the bar.
Toward me.
My pulse jumps, a physical reaction I can’t control and don’t bother trying to hide. Not anymore.
Orien stops beside my stool. “You stayed.”
“You told me to.”
Orien’s hand slides around my waist, and he leans in close. “Come to my place tonight, after closing.”
Not a question. Not quite a command. Just an offer, open and waiting for an answer I can’t give.
Because I can’t go to his place and keep pretending to be Lee when Lee is a role I’m playing, a lie built to get me access to information that doesn’t exist.
Desperation drives me to pull Orien down into a kiss, my eyes open and locked with his. I put everything I can’t say into the kiss, every desire, every regret, every moment of wanting to stay when I have to go.
Orien’s hand comes up to cup my jaw, fingers gentle as he kisses me back, and I memorize the warmth of his palm, the slight calluses on his fingertips, and the careful way he holds me like I’m worth being gentle with.
The gentleness breaks me in the end. Because this stopped feeling temporary somewhere between waking up in Orien’s arms and walking into the Blue Note beside him.
And that’s the real danger.
Not because I want him, but because a part of me wants to stay.
I pull back, my hand lingering on his collar for one last moment. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
Orien searches my face. “When will you be back?”
Never, I think, the word a physical pain behind my ribs. But what comes out is, “Thursday.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. I’ve never once shown up on Thursday.
Orien accepts it without pushing and steps back, giving me space to slide off the stool. “I’ll see you then.”
I turn and walk toward the door, each step taking me farther from the first thing I’ve ever wanted in my life.
The night air shivers through me as I step outside, and I suck in an icy breath as pain tears through my chest.
My phone sits heavy in my pocket, a single text away from ending this mission for good.
All I have to do is send it.
But as I stand at the crosswalk, watching the light change from red to green, I can’t bring myself to reach for it. When the light changes again, I’m still standing there, caught between duty and desire, between the family that raised me and the people who’ve started to feel like home.
Between being useful and being wanted.
And for the first time in eight years, I hesitate over which one matters more.