MOLLY“You close early on Sunday nights?”I almost screeched as I jumped backward.I grabbed onto the counter, glaring at him behind me. “Why are you still here? What do you actually want from me?”I was scowling as he stilled, his own eyes narrowing, and I had an image of a cobra raising its head, eyeing who it was about to attack.A chill went down my spine, and I shook my head, trying to clear the unsettling image from my mind. Then I remembered what he’d originally asked. “We do. Ten.” I looked at the clock. I’d made Pialto leave an hour ago, along with the rest of the staff. I could handle the last three customers, but they’d just left as well. I was ignoring the pit in my stomach because I didn’t think Ashton remembered what usually happened on Sunday nights here.“Why?”The bell above the door jangled again, and I looked over, half expecting one of our customers coming back. A lot of people forgot their jackets, but it wasn’t a customer. Two men were coming in, their badges fla

Molly They hated my father, but that wasn’t new. I barely registered it, but I had that morning because it felt wrong, not wanting my dad to go inside when normally I knew it was only better when he was away.Then Ashton came out. They bypassed each other, and the look Ashton gave my father.He hated him. He wanted to kill him. The sneer. The disdain, and a surge went up in me.He was cute. So cute.I didn’t remember what he was wearing that day, just how he looked and how I knew, no matter how old he was, that he had darkness in him.He could do what I couldn’t, and even back then, I hadn’t wanted to admit what I wanted to do.That darkness inside of me.I wanted to be away from my father.Ashton, this boy going past him, could do that for me.I knew it then, and that’s why I never forgot him. I couldn’t.He was the prettiest and cutest boy I’d ever seen. Beautiful black hair that he’d been raking a hand through. Eyes that were so dark I was sure they were black. Eyelashes that fram

Her eyes flickered, seeing me, and the ends of her mouth curved down. “What do you mean?”“I need you to ask your father to do something. That means I need you to bail him out, first step. You are blocked from doing that. What can I do to help remove that block so you can stomach the idea of seeing your father?”She lifted a shoulder. “Beat him up? I don’t know . . .” She looked away.I frowned, moving closer. “That’d make you feel better? If I beat him up?”Her head folded down, and she was tapping her pen down onto her desk.I looked her over, seeing the rigidness. The tension, so I took a moment, one moment, and put myself in her shoes. I considered what I’d told her, what she’d said. Her mother. The truth. Her father. His hand in how he helped to take away her mother.My gut flickered. “I could have that done. Easily.”She looked up, her eyes clouded over. The tension still visible on her face, tightening around her mouth.She didn’t agree, but she didn’t disagree either.I took a

ASHTON“One of our judges got picked up by the Feds.”Marco was on speaker as I was at Katya, a nightclub Trace and I owned. The same nightclub where Jess’s second job had been as well. I was in our private area, the windows overlooking the club below. We had a box to the side with a patio that extended out with a bench by the back wall. I was standing at one of the walls overlooking the section that Jess Montell used to cover. It was being handled by another bartender, but not one as good as Jess. I never cared much for the employees at Katya, one of the legit businesses that Trace and I both owned. It seemed pointless. They were fine. The business was fine. There was no worry about it. My attention went toward our other endeavors or the family business because I’d always been more active than Trace had been in the earlier days. And by earlier days, I meant in the time before the Worthing family put out a hit against both of our families.Those days. Back when we still thought we had

ASHTON“Goddammit, Walden.”Jess was seething when I got upstairs. That was her greeting as I came through the door.Trace was at the bar, pouring himself a drink, and he slid one across the counter for me. I picked it up, taking a sip before focusing on the love of his life.“Trace explained to you that Molly Easter is my business. He told you the situation. I was told you agreed to step back because of it. What is your issue?”“My issue?” Her hands went to her hips, and her eyes narrowed, and she looked like she was daydreaming about pulling her weapon on me. “My issue is that you look like you’re fucking her. Are you?”“You were at my place. You saw that we get along.” I was lying then, and I was lying now, or . . . somewhat. “Why are you pissed about this now?”“Because despite what you wanted me to think at your place, I knew you hadn’t fucked her. She just got out of the hospital.”“She’s my business.”“A cruel business.” Her hands went in the air, and she twisted around, her ba