8 JULIAN
We follow the three men through the back door into the alley.
My knuckles itch, knowing what's coming. The heavy metal door clangs shut behind us, muffling the bass from inside.
"You boys really picked the wrong night," Corey says, rolling up his sleeves. His watch catches the dim light from the security lamp.
"We just came to deliver a message," the leader starts, but Tobi's already moving.
His massive frame slams the first guy into the brick wall. The crack of skull meeting masonry makes me wince. "Message received."
I dodge a wild swing from the second guy. Amateur. My counter- punch connects with his jaw, the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles bringing back memories of the ring. He staggers, and I sweep his legs.
"You know," I say, driving my knee into his sternum, "there are easier ways to get our attention."
The third guy pulls a knife. Corey disarms him with a quick twist that probably breaks his wrist, judging by the scream. "That was stupid."
"Hold him," Tobi growls, and I lock the second guy's arms while Tobi works him over. Each punch sounds like a sledgehammer hitting meat.
The leader tries crawling away. Corey steps on his hand. "Tell your boss, whoever the pussy is, this is the last warning. Next time, we won't be so gentle."
"Fuck you," the leader spits blood.
I shake out my hand. "Wrong answer."
I pull out my phone, scrolling to a contact labeled "Clean Up."
Blood drips from my knuckles onto the screen as I type out an address.
"They'll be here in ten," I say, wiping my phone on my jeans.
"Gonna leave these idiots gift-wrapped on their bosses doorstep.
Titus will have them singing like canaries."
Corey leans against the wall, straightening his cuffs. The leader groans at his feet. "Getting real tired of these house calls."
"They're getting braver," I say, prodding one of the unconscious men with my boot. "Coming right up to the bar like that. How long before Rhea starts asking questions we can't dodge?"
Corey's jaw tightens. "She doesn't need to know about this side of things. Not yet. She's..." He pauses, searching for the right word.
"Pure."
A deep chuckle rumbles from Tobi's chest. "Pure? Man, she'd probably be out here throwing hands with us if she knew."
"What makes you think that?" I raise an eyebrow at him.
"You seen that Camaro she drives?" Tobi grins through his beard.
"Trust me, she ain't some delicate flower."
"Holy fuck, that's hers?" I won't lie and say I haven't considered sticking my nose in customer business to find out who owns it and offer them an amount of money they couldn't resist. I’ve still got some funds stashed away from my glory days.
"Still," Corey says, checking his watch. "I'd rather keep her away from this mess as long as possible."
A black van pulls up, cutting our conversation short. Titus, and two other guys in dark clothes hop out, nodding to Corey.
"Special delivery, T" I say, gesturing to our pile of problems.
“Looks like my lucky day,” Titus says with a gap toothed smile.
I’ve taken down many a men in the octagon. But there’s no fucking way I’d ever dance with Titus. That mother fucker is nightmare fuel.
The van peels away, leaving us in the alley with the lingering stench of blood and cheap cologne. My knuckles throb, but it's a familiar pain - almost comforting.
"So what's the play with Rhea?" I lean against the brick wall, crossing my arms. "She's sharp. Already caught those guys flashing hardware."
Corey runs a hand over his shaved head. "We keep her on the main floor. No basement access, no office visits unless absolutely necessary."
"She's gonna figure it out eventually," Tobi says, cracking his neck. "She's not one to miss details."
"Then we better get creative with our excuses." I push off the wall. "Haven can help run interference. Keep Rhea busy during...
events."
"Speaking of events," Corey checks his phone, "we've got one tomorrow. Make sure she's scheduled for the front bar only."
"What about when she starts asking about the noise?" I raise an eyebrow. "Can't exactly tell her it's a really enthusiastic book club meeting downstairs."
Tobi snorts. "Could always say it's my Zumba class."
"Yeah, because that's believable." I roll my eyes. "Look, I get wanting to protect her, but lying to her face? That's gonna blow up eventually."
"For now, we stick to the plan." Corey's tone leaves no room for argument. "Keep her focused on learning the bar. Standard operations only."
"Fine." I flex my sore hand. "But when this goes sideways - and it will - I'm telling you both 'I told you so.'"
Back inside, the bass thrums through my bones as I scan the crowd. My knuckles sting, but I've had worse. Way worse.
Rhea's behind the bar, mixing drinks with a natural grace that makes my chest tight. Her dark hair catches the neon lights, those wild highlights making her look like some kind of punk rock goddess. She glances up, catches me staring.
"Where'd you disappear to?" She slides a whiskey neat across the bar to a suit.
She’s fishing for info. Poor gal. "Just handling some business." I grab a towel, wiping blood off my hands before she notices. "Sorry about that."
She raises an eyebrow, those green eyes too sharp for comfort.
"Business that requires three guys with guns?"
"Don't worry about it." The words come out harsher than intended. I soften my tone. "Sometimes people get rowdy. That's all."
"Right." She doesn't believe me. Smart girl.
I move closer, lowering my voice. "Look, this job... sometimes it's complicated. The less you know, the better."
"That's not cryptic at all." She rolls her eyes, but there's tension in her shoulders now.
Haven appears like a guardian angel, touching Rhea's arm. "Hey, can you help me with the inventory count? I'm terrible with numbers."
I catch Haven's eye, grateful for the save. As Rhea follows her to the stockroom, my stomach twists. She deserves better than lies and half-truths. Better than the violence lurking beneath this place's polished surface. Better than me, with my scarred knuckles and bloody past.
But damn if I can stop watching her walk away.