Page 14 of Cold as Stone
Here we are, indeed. Emma’s best friend is back, she owns the bar, and I spent five minutes checking out her ass like some kind of pervert. This day just keeps getting better.
I glance over my shoulder to see Devil lurking in the hall. The bastard. He knows how in the shit the town is right now and he still decided to sell to Kya.
A muscle leaps in my jaw as I turn back to her. I’ll be having further words with him later.
Before I can figure out what to say to that, the door opens and Cash walks in, followed by Mack and Bones. They’re laughing about something and bringing the cold night air with them. Their voices carry across the room, and I see Kya tense slightly, her eyes tracking their movement.
They haven’t noticed me yet, but they will soon enough. And when they do, they’re going to want introductions to the new owner. They’re going to look at her the way I just looked at her, and for some reason that makes something dark and possessive twist in my gut.
Which is fucked up on about seventeen different levels.
“I should go,” I say, straightening.
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yeah, I do.” I drop a twenty on the bar, way too much for one beer, but my hands are apparently not taking orders from my brain right now.
She nods like she understands, but how could she? She doesn’t know about club business, or about the careful lines I have to walk as enforcer. She doesn’t know that I’m supposed to be the one who keeps everyone in line, not the one who gets thrown off balance by seeing an old friend.
An old friend who looks nothing like the girl I used to know. Now? She’s back, grown up, and way too sexy for my peace of mind. And, if I’m honest, a friend who’s definitely going to be starring in my X-rated fantasies.
“Lee.” My name stops me halfway to the door. When I turn back, she’s watching me with an expression I can’t read. “It’s good to see you.”
The words are simple, but they hit me harder than they should. Because despite the confusion, it is good to see her too.
Too good.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “You too, kid.”
The wordkidcomes out automatically, and the second it’s out, I flinch. I hate being called that. Every time someone does, it’s like they’re erasing everything I’d been through. And even as I say it, I know it doesn’t fit. In no way shape or form is Kya a kid. She hasn’t been a kid for a long time.
I watch as her expression cools, her smile disappearing. She takes a small step back, and I can feel the apology forming on the tip of my tongue.
Fuck.
I need to get the hell out of here before I do something stupid.
I push through the door and back into the cold night air. I settle on my ride, grateful when the engine roars to life, drowning out the music drifting from the bar and the sound of my own thoughts spinning in circles.
Kya Sullivan is back.
Kya Sullivan owns Devil’s Bar.
Kya Sullivan looks like fucking sin.
Don’t go there, Armstrong.
I rev the engine and tear out of the parking lot, but I can’t outrun the feeling that everything just got a lot more complicated. The careful order I maintain, the rules I enforce, the lines I never cross. It’s all suddenly a lot less clear than it was an hour ago.
3
KYA
The last interview of the day walks through my door at exactly four o’clock, and I already know she’s the one.
Mercy Rogers is confident but not cocky, aware but not defensive. She’s maybe early thirties, with wild red curls that catch light like copper wire, and intricate sleeve tattoos peeking out from under a crisp white button-down. She’s got the kind of curves that fill out her jeans and send men nutty—a woman who takes up space and doesn’t apologize for it. Her smile is genuine, reaching green eyes that have obviously seen some shit but haven’t lost their sparkle. It’s the kind of smile that will definitely get her tips even on bad nights.
She’s perfect.
