Chapter 9 Big News
Orphic is already beginning to hum, a low-frequency vibration that I can feel in the soles of my boots. Usually, the noise is a headache waiting to happen, but tonight, I’m craving the chaos. I need the bass to be loud enough to drown out the sound of a certain voice on a loop in my skull.
I’d spent the drive over feeling like a coward. Missing my weekly violin session at the elderly home. Playing for them usually keeps me grounded, but the thought of picking up my violin and trying to find a pure, melodic note while my mind was a gutter-fire of filthy images? Impossible.
I step through the heavy back entrance of the club, the smell of stale gin and expensive floor wax hitting me instantly. I’m twenty minutes early, but I don't care. I need to be behind that bar. I need my hands busy.
The main room is dim, the red neon "O" above the stage casting long, bloody shadows across the dance floor. A few of the floor staff are moving tables, their voices echoing in the vast space. It’s the calm before the storm, the Friday night rush that usually keeps me on my feet until the sun starts to think about coming up.
"Kaden! You're early, good!" Tony calls out from the DJ booth, waving me over. He looks stressed, more than usual for a Friday. He’s got a clipboard in one hand and he’s chewing on a pen cap, his eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for a leak in a dam.
"Yeah, well, I figured I’d get a head start on the prep," I say, trying to sound casual, trying to ignore the way my skin still feels tight and sensitized. "You said you had an announcement?"
Tony hops down from the booth, his eyes darting across the floor. He’s a guy who looks like he’s built out of espresso shots and late-night anxiety.....wiry, with a receding hairline he tries to hide under a permanent headset and a wardrobe of black button-downs that are always one size too small.
"I do," he says, tapping his clipboard against his thigh. "But I'm gonna wait for the whole crew to get here before I spill. No use doing the song and dance twice."
I shift my weight, my internal alarm bells still ringing. "Is it bad news?"
"Just... big news," he says, giving me a look that’s a little too intense to be casual. He pauses, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer than necessary. "Listen, Kaden. Tonight, I need you on your A-game. I mean it. Full professional. I don't care if a customer tips you a hundred or throws a drink at you....you keep that cool, calm 'Kaden' mask on, okay? No snapping back, no attitude. We might have some... high-profile eyes on the floor tonight."
I frown, a prickle of wariness crawling up my spine. "I’m always professional, Tony. You know that."
"I know, I know," he says, waving a hand dismissively as he starts to back away. "I just mean tonight is important. I know I can count on you to represent Orphic the right way." Before I can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, he’s already turned around, shouting at a busboy. "Hey! Those crates go in the cooler, not the fucking hallway! Move it!"
I watch him go, my frown deepening. I head to the back, tossing my jacket and violin case into my locker and slamming the metal door shut. Walking back out to the bar, I fall into the rhythm of the prep. I start with the citrus, the knife moving in a blurred, practiced arc as I slice lemons and limes.
I reach up to the top shelf to pull down a bottle of gin, and my hand pauses. There it is. Umbra. The shiny, frosted glass looks elegant and unassuming, I scoff at it. "Stupid," I mutter to myself, shoving the bottle back into its place.
I pull a small, battered notebook and a pen from the back pocket of my jeans. I need to get my head in the game, and inventory is the only thing that’s ever felt like a grounding ritual. I turn my back to the floor, facing the tiered shelves of glinting glass, and start scanning the levels. I’m making a mental map of the storage room, calculating how many trips I can make before the doors officially swing wide.
Then, the air in the room shifts.
It’s not a sound, but a sudden, localized spike in pressure. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, a cold prickle of awareness that zips straight down my spine. My hand freezes mid-word, the ink blooming into a dark blotch on the page. I’m holding my breath without realizing it, my body reacting to a presence I haven't even seen yet.
"Excuse me?.... Sir? We’re not open for another ten minutes," I hear Kimmy, one of the floor waitresses, say from somewhere near the entrance. Her voice is hesitant, lacking its usual bite.
I don't hear a reply. Only the steady, strike of shoes against the floor. I turn around slowly, my heart performing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs.
Bastian is cutting through the dim light of the dance floor like a blade. He’s ditched the suit jacket, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing tanned skin and the dark leather of a watch. He looks predatory, even in the shadows.
He walks straight for the bar. Straight for me. But he doesn't stop at the guest side of the counter. Instead, he keeps moving, rounding the corner with a fluid, arrogant grace that suggests he’s never seen a "Staff Only" sign in his life. He’s invading the only three feet of space in this city where I actually feel like I’m the one in charge.
He doesn't look at me immediately.... instead, his eyes sweep across the club, taking in the neon lights, the peeling gold leaf on the pillars, and the dust motes dancing in the rafters. He looks like an architect deciding which walls to tear down.
Finally, those lethal eyes swing back to mine. He doesn't say a word, but the look in them is a direct callback to that office. His gaze drops to my mouth for a split second before snapping back to my eyes
My own gaze narrows, my hand tightening around the inventory notebook. "What are you doing? You can't be back here. Behind the bar is off-limits."
"I’m sensing a tone, Kaden," he says, arching a dark brow. He looks down at me, his eyes tracking the frantic pulse at the base of my throat. "Is everything okay?"
I look around....most of the staff is busy, Kimmy is staring from the floor with wide eyes, and Tony is nowhere to be found. "Seriously. Get out from behind my bar. And we don't open for another ten minutes."
I turn away, clutching the notebook to my chest, and start walking. I’m using the restock as an excuse in my head....I need more vodka, more gin, more of anything that isn't him. I’m definitely not running. Why would I run? I’m not intimidated by a man just because he has a shark’s eyes and a mouth that says things that make my blood feel like it’s boiling.
“What’s with the rush?" his voice follows me, low and effortlessly mocking. I try to take another step, a desperate attempt to put some distance between my spine and his heat, but I don't make it.
He reaches out. His fingers snap around my wrist like a shackle.
The contact is electric. It’s not a violent grab, but it’s absolute. His palm is searingly hot against my skin. The effect on my system is instantaneous, a violent jolt of adrenaline hooks into my navel and pulls tight.
I stare down at his fingers against my skin. My pulse is thudding right against his thumb. My body humming with a panic that feels dangerously like anticipation.
"Let go," I manage to say through gritted teeth. I don't pull away. I can’t. My muscles have forgotten how to function under the weight of his attention.
He doesn't let go, instead, he slowly rotates my arm, his thumb ghosting over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. I turn my head, my jaw tight, recalling Tony's instructions. "I told you, you can't be back here. It’s against the rules–"
"I own the rules," he casually cuts in, his voice dropping into that dark, gravelly register that makes my stomach flip. He tugs, just a fraction, pulling me half an inch closer. "And right now, I’m finding the view from this side of the bar much more satisfying."