Chapter 17
Wednesday nights are slow, but I don’t mind. Gives me time to think. And right now, all my thoughts are on her.
Elbows braced on the bar, I roll my glass of bourbon between my hands, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. It’s been three days since I kissed her, and I’m already losing my goddamn patience. The date felt perfect—better than I could’ve imagined it going—but now comes the tricky part.
How the hell do I play this?
I’m not trying to push, but I’m sure as hell not going to wait around, lovesick and passive, hoping she decides to act.
I want to see her. And not just for another dick-hardening kiss, though I wouldn’t complain if that’s all she wants to give. I want her time. Her attention. I want to learn everything about her. All the little things that don’t get put on display for the world.
A familiar blonde enters my periphery, walking past the bar outside.
Again.
Ashley Vaughn.
I pretend not to notice, but she’s there. And unlike Sable, I already know everything I need to about her.
A little digging turned up more than I expected. She rolled into town using a fake last name, but her Georgia record under the real one made for an entertaining read.
Shoplifting, bar fights, credit card fraud. She had filed a restraining order against a man who turned up dead six months later. I don’t know if she did it, but I’d bet every dollar in my register she knows who did.
I flex my grip around the glass, keeping my expression neutral.
She came in the next night after Sable and mine’s very public-social-media date. A Monday, when the bar is practically empty. As if I wouldn’t clock her reemergence.
Ashley’s a bloodhound locked onto a scent she refuses to lose. And she’s not subtle about it. Not in the way she watched me from across the room. Not in the way she lingered too long when she ordered a drink. And definitely not in the way she keeps sniffing around Sable’s life.
It took one loose hand around her arm and a whisper in her ear to make her tremble: “You’re not welcome here. Not tonight. Not ever. And if I catch you so much as breathing too close to Sable again, I won’t be polite.”
She hasn’t stepped foot inside since.
Apparently, though, that message didn’t register past the threshold. She’s still hovering by the curb, vermin eyes scanning for a crack she can squeeze through.
If she tries anything again?
Well. I’ll handle it in a much different way.
The only thing keeping me from being in a worse mood tonight is the fact that I look out now and see the usual bar regulars. The ones who aren’t predatory psychos. Just good people looking for salacious gossip and cheap pours.
And while the constant questions about Sable make me want to bash my head against the counter, I get it. I did what I needed to do. I made a statement.
Now I get to live with the consequences of opening my life up to people who know too much already. Nosy as hell, sure. But most of them are genuinely happy for me.
“Hex, my man, didn’t think I’d live to see the day,” Gus said last night, chuckling over his beer. “She’s a looker, that one.”
Lisa—bakery downtown Lisa, the one who keeps her pink nails pristine and pretends she’s not an espresso martini fiend—had raised her glass with a wink. “She seems like the kind of woman who won’t put up with your grumpy ass.”
I smiled back without word.
Because these are the same people I’ve done things for. Things we don’t say out loud.
Gus? Sweet old man now, sure. But back when his daughter’s ex wouldn’t stop showing up at her job, it was me who cornered him in a gas station parking lot and shattered his kneecap with a crowbar. No cops. No charges. Just a whispered promise: You come near her again, I fuck up the other one.
Lisa? She used to be married to a guy who dipped into her business funds and threatened to take everything. One night, he ended up in the ER with a busted orbital and a broken wrist. The story was he got jumped outside a grocery store.
I was the jump.
Even Frank—the younger guy sitting at the end of the bar who has a NASCAR shirt for every day of the week and stocks shelves at the corner store—once caught me in the middle of a Friday night shift, whispering about someone who’d been blackmailing his sister with a video she didn’t know they took of her.
I didn’t ask questions. I just made sure the video disappeared. And the man who took it left town with a permanent limp and three fractured ribs.
So yeah. These people? They smile when they see me. They clap me on the back, and I let them talk about love like it’s something soft and redeeming.
But I know better.
I’m not just the guy behind the bar. I’m the shadow they send their messes to.
And sometimes, I worry they like me more for it.
Even JT smirked when the topic of Sable came up, shaking his head with that familiar look that said I’d gone too far to save.
I could put up with it.
Because, for the first time in a long time, I have something good worth talking about.
Will drops onto the stool beside me, drumming his fingers on the bar top. “JT’s got some updates.”
I glance over at my younger brother, who’s perched on the opposite side of the bar closest to the door, scrolling through something on his phone. I have no doubt he’s got his eyes peeled in case Ashley enters.
“Anything interesting?”
“Just Bat Shit out there.” JT hikes a thumb toward the door and blows out a low whistle.
He shifts his focus back to the screen. “They know he’s missing. Only whispers. No names. No connections.” Then he glances up. “You’re in the clear.”
Good. Exactly how we planned it.
“Anyone sniffing around?” I ask.
JT hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Had a couple of Ned’s boys swing through earlier. Didn’t stay long. Just a beer and a little too much interest in the place, if you ask me. Didn’t say much, but they were watching. Not the kind of casual that feels natural.”
I exhale through my nose. “Ned himself?”
He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “Not yet. But when his bitch boys show up, it usually means he’s not far behind.”
I lean back, jaw clenched so tight it clicks. Ned Stauder doesn’t lose sleep over loose ends. He cuts them off before they fray. If this guy I killed was part of his portfolio, he’s already clawing through every missing dollar, hunting whoever made it vanish like blood in the water.
JT taps his phone once, screen going dark. “I’ll keep my ears open.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Do that.”
Will taps a clenched fist once against the bar and smirks. “By the way, the shovels and fertilizer? Nice touch. You really went for the full serial killer starter pack.”
I grunt. “Felt fitting. And I’m a fucking vigilante, not a serial killer.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I scrubbed the shower, took care of the mess. Body’s buried. No one’s finding him.”
“Good.” I glance at JT. “Make sure you get the shovels back to Allen.”
JT gives me a lazy salute. “Already handled.”
I nod, taking a reflective sip of my drink. Job’s done. I’ll save worrying about Stauder until it firms up. For now, all I want is to focus on more important things.
Like the long-legged woman who’s been taking up every square inch of my mind since Friday night.
I pull my phone from my pocket and tap out a message.
[Hex]: Afternoon, Legs.
Doesn’t take long before she replies.
[Legs]: Legs?
[Hex]: You expecting me to call you something else? Pancake Champion?
[Legs]: I just didn’t realize you were fixating on one specific part of me.
[Hex]: I assure you, I’m fixating on a lot of parts of you.
[Legs]: Oh?
[Hex]: Mhm. But I figured “Tits” might be a little forward for a nickname.
[Legs]: Jesus, Hex.
[Hex]: Just saying. But if you prefer something else, I’m open to suggestions.
[Legs]: Legs is fine.
I smirk, leaning back against the bar.
[Hex]: I’ve been trying to figure out how to see you again. Not easy when we work opposite schedules.
[Legs]: You could just ask. I know you’re a professional planner, but I’m pretty good at figuring things out too.
Direct. No bullshit. I like that.
[Hex]: Fair enough. I don’t want to impose on your time with your kid. We’re still figuring this out, and I respect if you want to take some space before bringing a new man around.
Her reply takes a little longer this time.
[Legs]: I appreciate that. Really. But I’d like to see you too. I can work around my schedule with him. He’s in school Monday-Friday.
Exactly what I’d been hoping for.
[Hex]: I’ll be in town early on Friday. Got a delivery coming in around lunch. Figured since you’re just two streets over, maybe you’d like to eat with me. *Not competitively.
[Legs]: Sounds good. I’ll drop in.
Not what I wanted to hear.
[Hex]: I could come get you.
[Legs]: I can walk two streets, Hex. I’m happy to come to you.
I grin, fingers poised over my phone before deciding to type my message.
[Hex]: Fine, fine. I’d be a lot happier if you’d come for me.
The conversation bubble pops up. Disappears. Pops up again.
[Legs]: You’re shameless.
[Hex]: And yet, here you are, agreeing to lunch.
I can practically hear her sigh through the phone.
[Legs]: I’ll see you Friday.
I pocket my phone, smiling to myself.
Yeah, Friday can’t come soon enough.