to the deck flew open and Justin and Tank walked in with Justin’s brothers and a handful of other guys wearing black vests with Dark Knights’ patches. They stood by the door, a mob of grim scowls, silencing the din of the crowd like a wave of darkness. Their clothes were torn and bloody. There was an angry bruise on Justin’s cheek, scratches on his arms, and a tear in his jeans, exposing a bloody thigh. Tank motioned toward a table in the corner where more Dark Knights were sitting, and several of the men headed that way. The crowd parted, wide-eyed, for Tank, Justin, Blaine, Zeke, and Zander as they strode toward the bar shoulder to shoulder, heads down, moving like they carried the weight of the world on their backs.
Justin lowered himself to a barstool, and Conroy set a beer in front of him. He served Tank and the others as Ginger inspected their cuts and bruises. They were too far away for Chloe to hear what they were saying, but Justin was shaking his head. The grave tone of their voices gave Chloe chills. She was riveted to the scene unfolding before her, her worst assumptions appearing to be true—a good reminder of why she dated pretty boys who cared too much about their faces to get in fights.
Justin leaned his elbows on the bar and lowered his forehead to his hands. It was such a strange, unreconcilable sight to see her strong, able-to-handle-anything friend look so defeated. But despite the fears rattling inside her, Chloe ached for him. “They look like they had a rough night.”
“Yeah. I guess things didn’t go well,” Madigan said, watching her brothers.
Chloe saw Leah heading toward the bar, looking down at her order pad. Tank turned just as Leah looked up, and she froze, eyes wide. Tank was intimidating on any given day, but with the scratches on his face and arms and the grim look in his eyes, he was downright terrifying. Ginger put a hand on Leah’s shoulder and leaned in close to say something. Chloe couldn’t imagine what she might say to take away the fear in that girl’s eyes, but Leah scurried away like a frightened mouse. Chloe imagined Leah was probably rethinking her new job right about now.
Tank’s shoulders sank, and he turned to Blaine, motioning toward the table where other Dark Knights had gathered. Blaine nudged Justin, but Justin shook his head. Blaine and the others headed for the table in the corner, leaving Justin to stare into his untouched beer alone.
“Is it always like this?” Chloe asked, unable to look away from Justin.
“Sometimes,” Madigan said. “They do what they have to.”
“Since when does anyone have to fight?”
“They’d do anything to save another life,” Madigan said softly.
Chloe didn’t know what that meant, but she was done trying to guess about Justin and his life. It didn’t matter how she felt about fighting. She couldn’t just sit there and watch him suffer. “Would you mind if I went to check on Justin?”
“Not at all. I want to check on the others, anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow night at the book club meeting.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Chloe stepped from the chair and grabbed her bag.
With her heart in her throat, and not entirely sure she was doing the right thing, she made her way across the room.
JUSTIN STARED BLANKLY into his drink. He’d had a shit day. Douchebag Alan Rogers had been home when Justin and Blaine had gone to check out his property that morning, and it had taken all of Justin’s restraint not to give the guy hell when he’d talked down to them. But that had been nothing compared to the rest of the day. The day’s events must have messed him up even more than he’d thought, because his skin prickled the way it did whenever Chloe was nearby. But he knew that was just wishful thinking. She never went to the Salty Hog. He closed his eyes, willing the sensation away, but it only became stronger. He finally lifted his head and looked around, sure he was losing his mind. He scanned the crowd, and when a group of people sat down, his chest constricted. As if he’d conjured her, Chloe came into view across the room—a beacon of hope on the darkest of nights, bringing as much relief as anguish.
Her steps were tentative, her eyes wary. If it were any other night, he’d worry that maybe he’d taken their sexy