Walker (Rescue Daddies #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Walker

I stood in the shadows of Salvation's main floor, watching the familiar rhythm of the club unfold around me.

The soft murmur of conversations, the careful choreography of scenes, the quiet authority of the monitors—it all felt like background noise tonight.

My shoulders carried their usual tension, the weight settling deeper since Gran's funeral two months ago.

The paperwork on my desk upstairs could wait. Hell, most things could wait these days. I'd been going through the motions, maintaining the security protocols, running background checks on potential members, but everything felt muted. Like I was operating underwater.

"You're doing that thing again." Dion's voice cut through my brooding as he approached, two cups of coffee in hand. He extended one toward me.

"What thing?" I accepted the coffee, grateful for something to occupy my hands.

"Standing there like a gargoyle, scaring off the newbies." His tone was light, but I caught the concern underneath. We'd worked together long enough that he could read my moods better than most.

I took a sip of the coffee—black, the way I'd been drinking it since basic training. "Just keeping an eye on things."

"Right." Dion settled against the wall beside me, his own gaze sweeping the floor. "Because that couple over by the St. Andrew's cross definitely looks like they're plotting to overthrow the government."

Despite myself, I felt my mouth twitch. The couple in question was clearly new, fumbling through their first public scene with the kind of nervous energy that screamed 'six months of YouTube research and a trip to the local sex shop.'

"Monitor's already talked to them twice," Dion continued, nodding toward Sarah as she made another subtle approach to the couple. "Third time's intervention."

I watched Sarah's practiced movements, the way she positioned herself just close enough to offer guidance without making the scene feel like a performance review. Good monitors made it look effortless. Bad ones turned every interaction into a power trip.

"They'll figure it out or they won't," I said, though my attention had already shifted to a different corner of the floor.

Old habits. My eyes never stopped moving, cataloging exits, noting who belonged and who might be trouble.

Military training didn't just fade because you traded fatigues for civilian clothes.

"Walker." Dion's voice had lost its teasing edge. "When's the last time you actually went home?"

The question hit harder than it should have. "I went home yesterday." The lie came easily enough.

"Sleeping in your office doesn't count." Dion turned to face me fully, those blue eyes seeing too much. "You're running on fumes, man. Even your coffee looks concerned."

I glanced down at the cup in my hands, surprised to find my knuckles had gone white around the ceramic. Slowly, I forced my grip to relax.

"Gran used to say that coffee could cure most problems, but it wasn't much good for broken hearts." The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted the admission. Dion didn't need to carry my grief on top of his own responsibilities.

But he didn't offer empty platitudes or change the subject. He just nodded, understanding passing between us in the way it did with people who'd seen too much together.

"She was right about most things," he said quietly. "Except maybe her insistence that you needed to eat more vegetables."

That pulled a genuine laugh from me, rough and unexpected. None of the team had met Gran, as she was really shy of strangers even after I got her into the apartment, and before, Grandad simply wouldn’t allow it, but I used to share some stories.

Just then my cell dinged with the notification that a manager was required by reception, and I pushed off from the wall, heading that way, Dion following me.

I moved through the security door and took in two men at the front desk, one gesturing aggressively while Leon, our duty manager, maintained his calm professional demeanor.

"Membership dispute?" Dion murmured, following my gaze.

"Something like that." I was already moving. Whatever was happening at that desk, it was escalating, and escalation in a place like this could turn dangerous fast. The safety of every person in this building was my responsibility, and that was one weight I'd never let myself forget to carry.

I reached the front desk as one of the men leaned forward, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was an intimidating whisper.

Leon's posture remained relaxed, but I caught the subtle shift in his stance—feet positioned for quick movement, hands loose at his sides.

Good man. He'd been in situations like this before.

"Gentlemen." My voice cut through their conversation, pitched low enough to command attention without carrying across the room.

Both men turned toward me, and I immediately catalogued the details.

The aggressive one—mid-forties, expensive suit, cologne heavy enough to taste.

His companion looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with his phone like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"There seems to be some confusion about our membership policies," Leon said smoothly, relief flickering in his eyes as I moved to flank the desk. "I was just explaining—"

"No confusion." The first man's jaw tightened as he looked me up and down, clearly trying to decide if I was worth backing down for. "I paid my fees. I should be able to bring whomever I want as my guest."

I felt Dion's presence behind me before I heard his footsteps. The man's eyes widened slightly as he took in Dion's imposing frame, and I almost smiled. Sometimes reputation worked better than words.

"Mr. Harrison, isn't it?" I kept my tone conversational, professional. The kind of calm that suggested I had all the time in the world to resolve this reasonably. "I believe you were provided you with our guest policy documentation when you submitted your membership application."

"I didn't read the fine print." His bluster was weakening, but pride kept him from backing down completely. "Look, my friend here just wants to observe. He's curious about the lifestyle."

That was where things always got complicated. Curiosity wasn't inherently problematic, but unvetted curiosity in a space built on trust and vulnerability could be dangerous for everyone involved.

"I understand." I glanced at the uncomfortable friend, who was now studying his shoes with the intensity of a man who wanted to disappear.

"However, our guest policy exists to protect the privacy and safety of all our members.

Your friend would need to complete our orientation process and background screening before—"

"That's bullshit bureaucracy." Harrison's voice rose again, and I felt the familiar tightness in my chest that came with escalating situations.

Around us, I was aware of conversations quieting, attention shifting our way.

The entryway was in a small reception area, separated from the club by a security door, but at this time there were plenty of people arriving and heading for the locker rooms.

The weight of responsibility settled heavier on my shoulders. Every person came here to explore parts of themselves that required absolute security, and men like Harrison threatened that foundation with their entitled assumptions.

I was about to respond when movement near the entrance caught my eye. A small figure with blonde hair had just stepped inside, looking around with wide blue eyes that took in the club with a mixture of nervousness and wonder.

Charlotte. The Little I'd seen here once before.

My mind flashed back to a couple of weeks ago—her first visit to the club's Little night.

She'd been wearing a pastel pink dress then, too; in fact I was pretty sure it was the same one.

I remembered how she'd tripped over her own feet near the bar, sending her stuffed bunny flying.

I'd scooped her up and examined her knees for booboos while she'd looked up at me with those big blue eyes, thanked me in a soft voice that barely carried over the music, and disappeared into the crowd before I could say more than "Be careful. "

"Mr. Harrison," Dion said, drawing my attention back to the situation at hand. His voice had taken on that dangerous calm that usually preceded someone being escorted from the premises. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private."

I nodded to Dion, silently communicating that I'd handle Charlotte while he dealt with Harrison.

The girl was clutching a stuffie to her chest, scanning faces as if looking for someone.

She seemed even more out of place tonight than she had during Little night, her sweet, innocent presence a stark contrast to the regular club atmosphere.

"Leon, please show these gentlemen to the office." Harrison looked ready to argue, but something in my expression must have convinced him otherwise. As Dion and Leon guided the two men toward the back, I made my way to Charlotte, who had moved to stand uncertainly near the coat check.

"Hello again," I said, keeping my voice gentle. Up close, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her knuckles whitened around her stuffed animal. "Little night isn't until Thursday."

She blinked up at me, recognition dawning. "Oh! You're the man who caught me. I remember you." A blush spread across her cheeks. "I'm Charlotte Summers. Most people call me Lottie."

"Walker," I offered. "Is someone meeting you here tonight, Lottie?"

She shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. "No, I just...I wanted to come back. Everyone was so nice last time." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I don't really know anyone yet. I'm still learning about all this."