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 wereprovided you with our guest policy documentation when you submitted your membership application."
