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CHAPTER 1
LIAM
The neon "Sunshine Diner" sign flickers in the gray Chicago drizzle as I pull my black Audi up to the curb. Another shakedown, another punk-ass small business owner who thinks he can skip out on the O'Connor family's protection fees and get away with it. Well, unlucky for him, Declan sent me to personally collect. And I never leave a job unfinished.
I step out of the car, the damp chill instantly seeping through my tailored wool coat. The door chimes with a perky little jingle as I push into the diner, my Ferragamo loafers squeaking on the checkered linoleum. Fucking perfect.
The scent of coffee and bacon grease hangs thick in the air, making my empty stomach clench traitorously. A petite Asian chick in a poodle skirt eyes me warily from behind the counter, clearly clocking the bulge of my Glock under my arm. She opens her red-painted lips to say something, but a warm tenor cuts her off before she can speak.
"Welcome to Sunshine Diner! Sit anywhere you like, I'll be right with you."
I turn to see a man emerging from the double doors to the kitchen, a bright smile lighting up his boyishly handsome face. Sandy blond hair, a few shades darker than the whipped butter on the pies lining the counter, falls over his forehead. His lean frame moves with easy grace as he wipes his hands on the blue apron tied at his trim waist.
My breath catches in my throat. I'd pegged the owner, Asher Davis, as some sniveling old fucker, not this fresh-faced pretty boy. But that megawatt grin falters as those honey brown eyes find mine, a flash of fear darkening their sunny depths. He knows who I am. Good.
"Mr. Davis," I say, my voice a low rasp. "I'm here to collect the protection money you owe my family."
Color drains from Asher's face, but to my surprise, his jaw firms with stubborn resolve. "I'm sorry, but I won't be paying. Please leave my diner."
Well fuck me sideways. Declan's little dossier didn't mention the kid had a backbone of steel along with that tight little ass. Irritation and grudging respect war in my gut as I take a menacing step forward.
"Listen, sunshine," I growl, watching him flinch slightly at the nickname. "You're three months behind. You pay up now, with interest, or I start removing some of these tacky-ass flamingo salt shakers from the tables. With a baseball bat."
Asher's throat bobs as he swallows hard, but those amber eyes never leave mine. "I don't respond well to threats, Mr...?"
"O'Connor. Liam O'Connor." I flash him a grin full of teeth. "And trust me, boyo, that ain't a threat. It's a fucking promise."
We stare each other down for a suspended moment, the air between us fairly crackling with tension. Heat licks through my veins, fierce and startling. Christ, this kid's defiance is getting me hard. I want to see what other passions are hiding under that aw-shucks exterior. Want to hear that soft mouth shaping my name in broken pleas as I take him apart with teeth and tongue and cock.
As if sensing the direction of my filthy thoughts, a flush stains the sharp cut of Asher's cheekbones an alluring pink. He darts a glance toward the waitress hovering protectively nearby. "Mia, could you please go check on Table 6's order?"
Mia shoots me one last poisonous glare before disappearing into the kitchen. The diner hums with quiet conversation and clinking silverware, but it feels like Asher and I are alone in the world, locked in an explosive impasse.
"I won't pay," he says again, quieter but no less steely. "I've poured my heart and soul into this place. Every cent I make goes back into keeping the lights on, paying my staff, feeding my regulars. Most of whom can't afford to eat anywhere else." His gaze is piercing, stripped bare of the congenial mask. "What your family is doing... it's wrong. I won't be a part of it."
The words hit like a gut punch. It's been so long since anyone's had the stones to stand up to us, to me. I almost forgot what integrity looks like. What it feels like, that heady cocktail of fear and exhilaration, knowing you're risking everything for what you believe in.
Slowly, deliberately, I slip off my coat, relishing the way Asher's eyes dart to the muscled bulk of my arms, the lethal grace of my movements. I drape the coat over the back of a stool and roll up my shirtsleeves, never breaking eye contact. His lips part slightly, a subtle hitch to his breathing.
"Have it your way, sunshine." I jerk my chin toward the kitchen. "After you."
Asher leads the way on stiff legs, pushing through the swinging doors. I follow close at his heels, my body unnaturally attuned to the heat of him, the tantalizing scent of vanilla and male musk that clings to his skin. The kitchen is small and tidy, pots bubbling on the stove, a prep table scattered with various ingredients. It's a dead end, no rear exit.
Asher turns to face me, hands clenched at his sides, eyes lit with wary confusion. "What-"
I don't let him finish. In two swift strides, I've got him crowded up against the stainless steel fridge, one palm braced beside his head, the other curled loosely around the warm column of his throat. Not squeezing, just... holding. His pulse throbs wildly under my fingertips.
"One last chance, Asher," I murmur, my lips a hairsbreadth from his. This close, I can see the striations of green and gold in his widened eyes, the scatter of pale freckles across his nose. "Pay up, or face the consequences."
He wets his lips, fighting to control his breathing. My cock throbs in denim confines, achingly hard. "Do what you have to do," he whispers, "but I won't change my mind."
Bloody fucking hell. Every instinct honed by years in this savage business screams at me to make good on my threats. To take this green little pissant apart bit by quivering bit, until he's sobbing for mercy. But stronger than that is the foreign urge to protect him. To spirit him away from the soul-corrosive filth of my world and preserve that pure, lambent flame.
"You don't know what you're asking for, kid." My hand flexes gently around his throat, thumb stroking the delicate skin under his ear. He shivers, a breathy little sound escaping him, and my control cracks like sugar glass.
I slant my mouth over his, swallowing his gasp, licking hungrily into the sweet heat of him. Asher tenses for a split second before melting against me, his hands fisting in my hair as he kisses me back with shocking ferocity. The wet slide of his tongue, the nip of his teeth in my bottom lip, sends lightning skittering down my spine.
I turn the kiss brutal, one hand diving into his hair to tug his head back, baring the pale line of his neck for my teeth. He cries out, hips jerking reflexively into mine, the thick ridge of his arousal searing me through our clothes. I can't remember the last time I've been so furiously turned on, every atom of my being trained on the beautiful man trembling in my arms.
