Chapter 1

Chloe

"What. The. Hell."

The voice comes from behind me, shocking me out of my thoughts, and causing me to jump. Losing my grip on the glass I'm holding, it smashes to the ground at my feet.

"Dammit." I turn toward the bar. "You scared the shit?—"

It's Dominick. He hasn't been into the club since I've been here, away on some type of business, and my jaw actually drops when I see him.

Well, goddamn.

The bad boy my brother was best friends with had always been cute. But this—this tall, muscular specimen of walking ferocity—is not what can be described as cute .

He's gorgeous and a bit scary. Okay, a lot .

"Apologies." I stare as Dominick speaks, unblinking. "Let me help."

Jesus, even his gruff voice is like something out of a filthy fantasy. And while I can't deny I had a few during high school when he would swing by to visit my brother, my imagination is a lot better now.

Whoa, pump the breaks, Chloe. You do not have the time or space for that. Let alone the fact that you could get him killed, or maybe vice versa.

The memory of an ominous black bag hits me as hard as a punch to the gut, and for a minute I'm distracted. I shouldn't have seen that, shouldn't have learned what I did, and now…

I stifle a shiver. "It's fine. I've got it."

As I kneel down to pick up the pieces of the shattered pint glass, a large shadow falls over the floor. Dominick perches on the balls of his feet as he stoops to help me, way closer than is strictly professional, and I sigh.

"Of course, you didn't listen."

The words are mumbled, but he catches them. When I glance up reflexively, Dominick is glaring.

"Considering I'm the boss—" He pauses, that velvety smooth voice absent for way too long. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Oh, come on, dude. Yes, Anthony's kid sister is infiltrating your club. Well, I assure you, I didn't want to go from a middle school teacher to a waitress in a club known for its sex appeal and hard liquor, but here we are.

"I told Anthony it wasn't permanent. He said it was fine." I raise my brows.

"Said what was fine?"

I frown at him. "He gave me a job here. Since I just got back in town. Didn't he tell you?"

Dominick narrows his eyes ever so slightly. "No."

"Oh, well, sorry. Is it still okay?"

He shrugs.

"Sure." Dominick pulls out a trash can from under the bar and starts tossing bits of glass inside. "I thought you had some teaching job. Why'd you leave?"

And there's the rub.

I had to leave. I didn't want to, and there's absolutely no way I'm telling him about Ethan.

"Homesick, I guess." I swallow and then take a deep breath, inhaling the fantastic scent of Dominick's obviously expensive cologne. "Be close to my Gran and all."

That part is somewhat true, but it's hardly a reason to move back here. Gran is between cities in a private facility, one I really can't afford, and this is no better a drive than it used to be.

"Not familiar with bartending, though, huh?"

I stop, glancing over at him with a frown.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Throwing tumblers around isn't usually a great way to drum up business."

I glare. Joke or not, Dominick knows he startled me. But shit, maybe it was my fault. I can't say I'm particularly good at this, and I'm consistently pulling in fewer tips than the others.

And if Friday's paycheck isn't backed up with some fantastic tips, I'm just going to fall further behind on payments for Gran's care, and I can't rely on the help I used to get.

"I didn't?—"

Dominick's fingers brush mine as we reach for the same chunk of glass. The buzzing electricity simmering in the touch is a surprise, causing me to jerk my hand back.

The sharp edge slices through my finger, and I curse.

"Ah, crap."

Ugh, I'm so clumsy . Looking down, I see the cut isn't bad, but I am bleeding, and I automatically reach for the rag to my left.

Dominick's hand snatches mine, and I jump again.

"Hey!"

"Don't use that. It's filthy." He stares down at my finger, concern knitted through his brow. "You're bleeding."

I'm a bit surprised by the worry I see in him. It's a minor laceration, nothing to get up in arms about.

"It's fine. It's just a cut."

But then Dominick pulls me up with him to stand and holds my finger under the bar sink to wash it.

"Dominick, really, I'm fine. It's not like a workers' comp thing."

I swear, if glaring at an injury got it to heal quicker, Dominick would be a highly sought-after medical professional. At any rate, he's turning my hand over in his, and the grip Dominick is using isn't letting me go anywhere.

"You'll need some antibiotic ointment. And a bandage. Come on."

Without another word, Dominick pulls me back toward the break room, and even as I try to free my hand, dragging my steps, he easily gets me to the table in the back and into a chair.

"You know, saying please would go a long way." I hold up my hand, directing the blood flow away to slow it.

Dominick returns to the table with the first aid kit. He slides on the provided gloves, which are way above and beyond, opens up an alcohol wipe, and retrieves one of those large square bandages at the bottom.

"It's not good for a cut, no matter the size, to go uncleaned around a bar. Breeding grounds for infection." He meets my gaze as he presses the alcohol wipe to my finger, and I hiss.

"Sorry."

If anyone else had said the word, I may have believed them. But as it is, the apology Dominick offers for the sting is less than empathetic. Nice bedside manners, buddy .

"Cleaned a lot of wounds, have you?" I keep my hand steady as he smears a bit of Neosporin on it with a Q-tip.

"Yes."

He's concentrating on what he's doing, so Dominick doesn't see the shock register on my face. Did he really just say yes? The hell?

"Yes? Should I think twice about working here?"

I'm not looking for more violence. I ran to get away from all that, and I'm in no hurry to start up another doomed relationship with a morally grey man.

Relationship? Did I actually just think that? Where is your head, Chloe? This is Dominick we're talking about.

"It wasn't here." Dominick finishes with the ointment and wads up the bandage to cover the entire wound before taping it down. "Military."

My mind clicks, and I nod. "That's right. Anthony said you'd enlisted right after high school. But you've been back for a while, haven't you?"

As Dominick finishes with the last bit of tape, I notice the way he smooths it down gently, holding my hand for a moment as we both look at each other.

"I have. But some things you don't forget."

I struggle to maintain eye contact as Dominick seems to search my face for something. I have no idea what.

We sit at the table together for a moment, and it occurs to me that Dominick hasn't let go. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, and my cheeks are on fire.

"Am I good?"

He looks up, the glow of his hazel eyes bright in the fluorescence. Damn, he's enormous, muscles on muscles packed over a frame that's at least six feet two.

He's so different from the guy I met when I was thirteen, when he transferred into Anthony's sophomore class, and I can't help but stare a little.

"You'll need to clean it and change the dressing regularly. I'll be keeping my eye on you to see that it's done."

My body stills.

Keeping an eye on you. It's what Ethan texted me at least once a day. Controlling, possessive, demanding.

Dominick is pulling all the same shit. No, no, no. I can't do this again .

I abruptly stand from the table and go back to the bar. I need space. I need air. I need to not be so fucking close to Dominick Shaw, who's apparently just as much of a troublemaker now that he's thirty.

Air whooshes past my ears as I hurry back to the bar without really knowing why. My hands shake as I push through the swinging door, and my T-shirt feels too tight.

When I hit the rubber mat where the rest of the glass is still waiting to be cleaned up, my boss is right on my heels.

"Chloe—" he steps around me, holding a hand over the mess "—don't. I'll deal with it."

I'm in no place to argue. Hell, I can barely keep it together as the wave of panic gets higher and higher, and I feel like I'm drowning.

What if Ethan finds out I'm here? What if Dominick is no different? I mean, this club has a reputation, and I'm working here.

This was a terrible idea, and I'm the queen of terrible ideas. Memories of being deliriously happy filter to the surface, but they quickly turn sour as I recall Ethan's "check-in" calls and texts getting worse.

You'll wear what I tell you to wear. Don't ask, Chloe. It's none of your business.

Another pang of terror wafts over me like a frigid breeze, and I have to fight to clear my eyes. I had no idea what was going on until it was too late.

A moth to the fucking flame, and boy, did I get burned.

Fuck, this isn't right. I need to leave. Go away. Get farther away.

Suddenly, Dominick is in my face, raising his brows like he's waiting for an answer.

"What?"

"I said, are you okay?"

I nod my head, brushing off his concern. Nope, not at all, but that's my problem .

"Yeah. Yes. I'm fine. I need to get changed for opening. Thanks for the help."

"Chloe, I?—"

I don't wait for him to finish. I hurry to the back room, where I have a locker, and don't look back.