Lawbreaker (Unbreakable Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  He gave me a brief nod. All the praise I’d get. But I caught a glimpse of pride in his eyes.

  Not that I needed a gold star. Hadn’t gotten approval from anyone in a long time. Years.

  Yet a little bit of unsolicited recognition at a job well done? Felt...nice.

  Cade’s challenges and praise made me want to stick with it because each night proved an opportunity to grow, to better myself. The company itself did that too, which was rare. It’s what made the place family. We didn’t only belong to the bar. The bar was ours too: To work at Loading Zone meant we got a piece of the action, a percentage of the profits. If we loved what we did, and took care of the customers so they had an amazing experience, the company coffers didn’t just get fatter, our own wallets did too.

  And I liked that.

  People taking care of their own.

  What I’d done most of my life.

  Without another word or glance, Cade turned and disappeared to his section of the bar, before rackin’ and packin’ ’em.

  “School’s out for the night,” I murmured, okay with my relative independence. Probably wouldn’t talk to one another for hours, if Friday nights were like I’d heard.

  Back to the grind. Drink orders flew over the bar’s electronic system. Music blared. Bodies danced. Our third bartender came on shift with a chin-up greeting to Cade and me before he took responsibility for the far end.

  And in between nonstop mixing drinks for servers or fielding orders from the anxious throng at the bar, I still flicked the occasional glance at the door.

  Waiting.

  Wondering.

  Then doubt trickled in. Because I’d been there before, that warm fuzzy place where good things happened. Calm comfort sank into my chest to the point where happiness lulled me into feeling safe, complacent.

  That fairy-tale illusion had put me at risk long ago.

  Never again.

  And so, distrust had become second nature.

  I’d probably go decades into a decent and good life, and I’d still be watching the door, waiting for something bad to happen—expecting someone to snatch it all away.

  Recognizing the deep-rooted fear, miniscule but real all the same, helped me cope. But with a solid grip on my survival instincts, I tucked the steady awareness into the back of my mind and dove into the present.

  By muscle memory, I served up drinks, one after another. Margaritas. Manhattans. Whiskey neat. Bourbon sour.

  At some point over the course of the busy next hour, my restless mind drifted from drinks back out into the place around me, then toward Cade at my left. The rundown of his good makeup flashed again, that damned analysis-mode kicking in, no matter how I tried to mute it.

  But instead of fighting the impulse, I rolled with it, reprogramming the data streaming in. “Cade: not a mark. No one here is. No one anywhere.” I exhaled in relief at my small mental progress. Old habits die hard? A phrase coined by the weak-minded. Make new habits.

  The next time I glanced toward the door, I imagined the boss coming through it, Cade’s ex-partner. The one I hadn’t met yet but knew by everyone’s reverence for him. The one who apparently surpassed Cade in his goodness. And according to Cade, the guy was razor-sharp, genius in both reading people and running his business.

  But rumors painted the now-sole owner of Loading Zone as darker, edgier. Especially in the last month. Before he’d taken the most recent couple of weeks off—unheard of in the almost two years since they’d been open, according to Jillian.

  “Ben!” Some overly excited female across the room shouted the name at the exact moment it settled into my mind.

  An instant wave of energy crackled through the nightclub, hotter and more alive than anything the music or dance floor pulsed out. Slight movement rippled through the vast space of the reclaimed warehouse—toward the same metal roll-up entrance door that had been haunting me all night—as heads craned to see, breasts pushed out a little farther, and bodies pressed closer, like a powerful magnet pulled them uncontrollably forward.

  Even I couldn’t look away.

  After the initial crowd crush, I could see his occasional nod, a brief smile. He angled deeper into the club and scanned an assessing look across the bar, starting at Cade’s section. Seconds later, his sights landed on me—and stayed there, fierce gaze locked on to mine.

  My breath caught at the intensity radiating from halfway across the room.

  Ben. His simple name echoed larger than life in my head.

  The crowd parted as he strode through the room. He stood a good head taller than other men he passed. Broad shoulders strained his black T-shirt with every slight rolling turn as he moved. Dark hair, cut closer on the sides, curled down over one side of his forehead. Shadowy stubble covered a defined jawline as it clenched. Thick brows drew together over eyes that narrowed as he stared hard at me. He stepped through the now three-deep crush at the bar, then planted flat palms on the edge of the metal bar top in front of me.

  “What are you doing back there?” he snarled, tone low, heavy with accusation.

  Cade braced his arms on the bar beside me, mirroring him. “She’s a new hire.”

  Ben never looked away from me. “I asked her.”

  Holding his unwavering gaze, I straightened my shoulders, undaunted. “Her name is Shay. And she’s behind your bar...working. Hard.”

  Dark eyes narrowed a fraction more, boring into mine. “How old are you?”

  Great.

  Here we go.

  “Old enough.” All he needed to know.

  A muscle in that clenched jaw tightened. “Not what I asked.”

  “You sure about that?” Because yeah, I looked young, no matter how old I really was. But his heat-seeking-missile aggression? Totally unwarranted.

  “ID.” He kept at the groundless demand.

  “I’m not some underage club-bunny at the door. I’m an employee. I’ve already been hired.”

  “I don’t give a shit. I’m the boss. And I want to see your ID.”

  “No.” Not gonna happen. I couldn’t risk it.

  He gave a slight nod, smug satisfaction in his eyes. “So, you’re not eighteen.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Yet somehow, I sensed our verbal tug-of-war had dragged me across lost ground.

  “Are you or aren’t you?”

  “I am,” I gritted out, angry that I’d been foolish enough to want something so bad.

  “Then no big deal.” He rose back to his impressive height, crossing his arms, confidence plastered on his face. “Prove it.”

  Damn. My first weekend night, not even a full one, and already the life I’d earned, had fought and bled for, had begun to slip through my fingers.

  Disappointment seeped heavy into my chest. What naïve people got for having hope.

  The inborn fight in me remained. Pride too. With every tightening breath, fury burned my lungs, for being judged without cause.

  “No. You either believe me…or you don’t. I filled out my application. Gave my ID then. Got interviewed. Got hired. And I’ve proved myself over the last few days, tonight. Ask anyone here.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. My actions mattered to me. They were all my life had been based on. Everything I’d ever accomplished had been from what I had done—not who I was, what anyone thought, or what society believed.

  I crossed my arms too, refusing to bend, by principle, if not more.

  His expression hardened.

  Commotion grew around us, two immovable blocks of granite, as thirsty patrons called out for drinks. Cade steadfastly remained beside me. While the poor lone fresh-shift guy hustled ass to fill orders.

  The atmosphere grew charged between Ben and me. The sounds of the club faded to background noise as my heart thumped harder against my ribs, my pulse drummed louder in my ears.

  Ben planted his hands on the bar again, staring me down as he leaned forward inch by inch. His eyes bored deep into mine, penetrating. Any othe
r girl might’ve thought intimidating.

  I didn’t twitch a muscle.

  He towered over the bar, head lowered, a ferocious wolf who’d cornered an unknown threat. That shaggy dark hair spiked over darker piercing eyes. Unshorn scruff peppered an unforgiving jaw. An unhidden snarl curled his lip, baring white teeth.

  No resemblance to the wholesome happy guy I’d spied on in the pictures hanging on his office wall.

  Oddly, more attractive.

  Most women would’ve gone weak in the knees. Some would’ve put on a layer of flirt, feigning vulnerability or exposing true fear, hoping to snag the obvious alpha in spite of the glaring warning signs. Maybe because of them.

  I’d never been a bleating sheep in my life, wasn’t about to pretend with fluffy false clothing.

  Wolf, too, buddy. I leaned forward, matching him inch for inch. My trim nails clicked on the bar top as I dug in, holding my ground.

  Alpha all the way.

  But then my breaths quickened, some ancient response forged from tens of thousands of years of saber-toothed tiger versus spear-wielding hunter. I knew it was coming. Had been on the powerless side enough to know when the ground was about to spin under my feet. I skimmed my hands back and gripped the edge of the bar, bracing for the inevitable as I swallowed hard past a thickening throat.

  Honed survival instincts kept me on my toes as I widened my stance, pulled in a deep breath, and tightened my thigh muscles. Ready or not, I’d fought too hard for solid ground to flinch now.

  Not that it made a difference. The rug was about to be yanked out from under me anyway. And the asinine quick-to-judge man staring hard at me, but not seeing a thing, held the carefully knotted corners in his tightened fists.

  “You’re fired.”

  The soft-spoken words punched through me with punishing force.

  Moisture stung my eyes and my chest burned, but I drew in a slow, deep breath and held his unwavering gaze. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I had ever cared one bit about his stupid job. “Fine by me.”

  What didn’t escape me was the steady way he breathed in and out. Like he worked to control his breaths too.

  Good. Let the jerk suffer for the mistake he’d just made. Because I was done with the place. Done with him. Done with hope and that naïve vow.

  Only little girls believed in fairy tales.

  I tossed the bar towel between us.

  “Obviously, you’re not the man I’d heard you were.”

  Ben…

  “Fuck.”

  Shay’s cutting judgment shot straight to my gut and churned there.

  Because she’d shrewdly pointed out that I’d become no better than a man I’d grown to hate.

  I huffed out a regretful breath, disgusted with the cold realization of what I’d done—shredded someone without pausing to think, bothering to care.

  With her head held high in spite of the misery I’d caused, she casually turned her back on me. Then she sidestepped Cade and soon vanished into the thick crowd on the dance floor. I stared off at the dark ceiling of the hallway she’d been aiming toward, where the locker rooms were.

  Why do I now give a damn?

  The walking contradiction? Young, yet somehow hardened?

  Maybe it was her rare fire and grit. Stubborn beyond reason, she’d stood her ground.

  And I’d been a barreling train wreck and exploded right through her.

  “What just happened?” Uncertainty fogged my brain.

  Cade eased closer until he stood where she’d been, across the bar from me. He planted his palms on the space between us and leaned forward as he pegged me with an unforgiving look.

  “You just kick-punted a great employee.”

  “Was I wrong?” Couldn’t tell anymore.

  He glanced at the still-visible wake she’d left on the dance floor. “You tell me.”

  “You hired her?”

  His face contorted into a brief scowl. “No. You know better than that. I’m filling in for a couple of weeks. As help, not management. I’m not here to confuse your crew.”

  Right.

  Don’t be an idiot. Cade’s your best friend. Get your head screwed on straight.

  We’d created Loading Zone back when I’d first graduated college and Cade had begun earning his masters. But even though he’d sold his share to me last year to chase other ventures, Cade’s help, dedication, and a big piece of his heart still remained.

  For his unshakable loyalty, to the club, to me, I remained eternally grateful.

  Especially after the last weeks from hell.

  I gave him an apologetic nod.

  He chuckled, then shook his head. “Dude. You were a heat-seeking missile. Most people introduce themselves, offer a hand to shake. You? Boom! Carved a right hook” —his fist arced through the air then jarred to a stop halfway across the bar top— “outta nowhere.”

  I winced at his take of the unprovoked damage I’d done.

  His gaze held mine a beat, then scanned my jawline. “You look rough. Lose your razor?”

  “No.” I scrubbed a hand along the short beard I’d developed. “Just the give-a-fuck to use it.”

  “That bad.” His words flattened into a statement. My best friend knew without explanation: no rose-colored glasses would fix that clusterfuck.

  “Yeah, that bad.”

  He gave a curt nod but said nothing further. Not the time or place.

  Instead, he spun around and gripped the neck of my favorite scotch. Amber liquid filled a tumbler two fingers tall before he pulled back. I didn’t object. As I stared at the alcohol, I accepted what it was: temporary salvation and permanent curse.

  Even with the stinging reminder, I knocked back my medicine.

  Just to take the edge off.

  But I left a quarter inch behind. Always. A reminder. My control test.

  Cade stared at the symbolic portion I’d left, fully aware of my challenge, then capped the bottle. “Not rock-bottom bad, then.”

  “Nope.”

  Not yet.

  But not far.

  I’d just walloped abuse on an undeserving girl. Asinine. Reckless.

  With a resigned sigh, I faced what had to be done. I had to fix my fuck-up before it was too late—before my random carnage proved I was no better...than him.

  Actions. Thoughts and intentions didn’t mean shit. Reality got better by doing not thinking. “What do you know about Shay?”

  “Besides a girl working her ass off that has a great personality?” He shrugged. “Gabe hired her. Rafe vouched for her, knows her personally.”

  Rafe. Our head of security. Someone we’d hired without much checking. His reputation had been that good.

  My thoughts drifted back to that young, beautiful landmine of attitude: strong jaw, squared shoulders, and glinting eyes…full of fire. Damn, her determination and fight had been something. But for a split second at the end—when she’d let that granite control of hers slip—a flash of hurt had sparked in her eyes. And the wound seemed deep, old.

  Not that it’d mattered.

  Nothing could’ve stopped the avalanche of anger and frustration I’d needed to blow.

  And the defiant lawbreaker behind the bar?

  Had dared me from across the room like a shining fucking test.

  After weeks of bottled frustration, hands tied to be able to save someone else, to suddenly see a giant red bullseye target? One I had the power to do something about?

  No brainer.

  Literally, no brain cells had been involved.

  My harsh judgment had been pure reaction. Yet it had felt justified. Cathartic, even.

  But after her inadvertent flash of hurt then rapid exit—dark brunette head held high in spite of the devastation she’d been dealt—I felt like shit.

  I was a motherfucking shit.

  The fogging mental haze cleared enough for me to focus back on Cade’s grinning mug.

  “What?” The uncontrolled word had growled ou
t. Great. Caveman. I let out a weary sigh.

  Mirth glittered in Cade’s eyes before they widened. “You’re going after her.”

  He knew me well.

  His approving expression gave me the mental shove I needed to fully commit.

  I straightened from the bar with a nod. “You bet your ass I am. Any idea where to find her?”

  “Nope.” The smartass laughed. “But have fun figuring it out.”

  I got the sense he meant more than simply discovering her whereabouts.

  No surprise there. I’d been lost without a compass when it came to understanding women. And lost felt stamped across my forehead lately in every corner of my life.

  I scrubbed a hand over closed eyes and concentrated on the task at hand. Rafe. Cade had said Rafe had vouched for the girl personally. Vouched for Shay. Use her name, Cretin. My anger kept flaring, itched under my skin like a rash: a side effect of stifling true feelings for too many days on end, grinding teeth on bitter words that I’d badly needed to use, but hadn’t.

  Stuffing down my unresolved issues, I searched out our head of security toward the entrance where I’d earlier caught a glimpse of him through the thick crowd on the way in.

  Rafe caught sight of me seconds before I approached and gave me a chin-up greeting. “Hey, Boss.”

  I popped a chin-up back at the hulking guy overseeing our door flow. “How’s it going?”

  “You want it for real or for Fire Marshall?”

  I blinked.

  He suppressed a smile. “Just kiddin’. Busier than the last watering hole in the Sahara.” With a clipped wave of his fingers, he beckoned his second to relieve him.

  “Good to have you back.” He folded his arms while he scanned the crowd.

  Not everyone shared his opinion. “Rumor has it you know where to find Shay.”

  His gaze cut to the bar. “Rumors tend to be wrong more than right.”

  “I pissed her off. And she left.” The nuts and bolts of it. “Know where to find her?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How close to a yes is that?”

  “With Shay?” He huffed out a short laugh. “As close as anyone’s ever gonna get.”

  Shay…

  The industrial back door slammed shut behind me as I slung my backpack over my shoulder. I hoofed it out of the back alley, rounded the corner, and stepped into the far shadows of the side street before the drops of moisture leaked from my eyes. With a frustrated headshake and a slow, deep breath, I blinked the stupid tears away and set myself straight again.