Chapter 1 – THE NIGHT THE TABLE BROKE
The first thing Victor Marshall noticed was the blood.
Not the broken table.
Not the shattered glasses.
Not the five men standing around me.
The blood.
It ran from a cut near my temple, down my cheek, and onto the wooden floor of Marshall’s Bar.
I was twenty-four years old, three nights into my new job, and struggling to breathe.
The man who’d thrown me onto the table stood above me.
His friends laughed.
One still held up his phone.
“Smile for the camera, sweetheart.”
Then the office door opened.
Victor Marshall stepped into the room.
The laughter stopped.
He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Tattoos covered his forearms, and the scar through his left eyebrow made his expression look permanently dangerous.
He looked at me.
Then at the five men.
“Take your hands off her.”
The leader smirked.
“And who the hell are you?”
Victor didn’t answer.
He looked at the tattoo on the man’s wrist.
A black snake wrapped around a silver dagger.
His expression changed.
“Who sent you into my bar?”
The man’s smile vanished.
Victor stepped closer.
“I’m going to ask once more.”
Silence.
“Who sent you?”
The man swallowed.
“Nobody.”
Victor glanced toward the bartender.
“Call an ambulance.”
Then he looked back at the men.
“And make sure they don’t leave before the police arrive.”
The leader laughed nervously.
“You can’t hold us here.”
Victor’s eyes turned cold.
“Then you’re free to explain yourselves to the officers outside.”
He crouched beside me.
“Clara.”
I flinched.
His expression softened.
“Don’t move. Help is coming.”
I tried to speak.
“My job—”
Victor frowned.
“What?”
“Please don’t fire me.”
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then his jaw tightened.
“Clara, you were just assaulted.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“I need the money.”
Victor looked at my torn uniform.
The broken glass.
The blood.
Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
“You’re not losing your job because someone hurt you.”
And for the first time in eight months, I believed I might not have to run again.
Chapter 2 – THE TATTOO VICTOR RECOGNIZED
The ambulance arrived twelve minutes later.
Victor rode with me to the hospital.
I didn’t understand why.
Men like him didn’t accompany waitresses to emergency rooms.
But he sat beside me while a nurse checked my injuries.
The doctor confirmed I had bruised ribs, several cuts, and a mild concussion.
I would recover.
But I needed rest.
Victor remained outside the examination room.
When I finally emerged, he stood.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I lost a fight with a truck.”
He almost smiled.
“Can you walk?”
I nodded.
Then winced.
He offered his arm.
I hesitated.
He waited.
Finally, I accepted.
Outside, a black SUV waited near the entrance.
Victor opened the passenger door.
“Where are you staying?”
I looked down.
“A motel.”
“Which one?”
I hesitated.
He studied me.
“Clara.”
I swallowed.
“The Sunset Inn.”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“That place isn’t safe.”
I laughed bitterly.
“It’s what I can afford.”
He said nothing.
Then asked:
“Do you know a man named Rafael Ortega?”
My blood turned cold.
Victor noticed.
“You do.”
I shook my head.
But my hands were trembling.
Victor’s voice softened.
“Clara, the men who attacked you were wearing his symbol.”
I stared at him.
Rafael Ortega.
The man who’d threatened me over my father’s gambling debt.
The man I’d spent eight months running from.
He’d found me.
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