Chapter 3 Under His Shadow

The bar didn’t return to normal, not really. Laughter picked up again, cards slapped the tables, music thumped from the speakers, but Zuri could feel the shift. Every eye that slid her way carried a new weight now. Not just curiosity, ownership.

Or worse, jealousy.

She hated it.

She sat stiff on the barstool, trying to drink from her empty glass until she realized Amani had drained it. The bartender caught her look and hurried to slide another glass of water across, eyes flicking nervously toward the Enforcer like he needed permission.

Amani didn’t say a word. He just leaned against the bar beside her, big body crowding her space without touching her. It was a kind of dominance all on its own, silent, heavy, undeniable.

Zuri’s pulse hammered.

She needed air.

Her hand shot to her bag, and she slid off the stool. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Amani’s voice came low, close to her ear. “Sit down.”

It wasn’t loud, but the command rolled through her, deep and final.

She froze, heat rising to her face. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. “You don’t own me.”

One corner of his mouth curved, dark amusement sparking in his eyes. “Maybe. But they think I do.” He jerked his chin toward the room. “That keeps hands off you. You want me to take it back?”

Zuri’s stomach twisted. Every gaze on her burned. If he said she wasn’t his, the sharks would circle again. She could already feel the man who’d touched her before glaring from the corner, his pride wounded and hungry for payback.

Damn it.

Her jaw tightened. She slid back onto the stool, every muscle tense.

Amani chuckled, satisfied. He lifted his whiskey, downed it, and didn’t look at her again for a while.

Whispers stirred around the room as the night wore on.

“Who the hell is she?”

“Girl don’t belong here.”

“Boss ain’t gonna like this.”

Zuri caught snatches, each one making her spine stiffen.

The women were the worst. A cluster of them sat at a corner booth, heavy eyeliner and short skirts, tattoos curling over bare arms and thighs. They stared openly, some whispering, others smirking. One with platinum hair leaned close to her friend, loud enough for Zuri to hear:

“Won’t last a week.”

Zuri swallowed hard, keeping her face blank.

The truth was, she wasn’t sure she’d last a night.

Later, when the crowd thinned, Amani finally turned back to her. “Come with me.”

Zuri bristled. “No.”

His dark eyes narrowed. For a second, the bar seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

“You’ve got guts,” he said finally. “Most don’t tell me no.”

“I’m not most.”

He studied her, like he was peeling back layers. Then he tilted his head toward the back hallway. “Five minutes. Talk. Then you can walk.”

Zuri hesitated, weighing her options. If she stayed, the women would keep tearing her apart with their eyes. If she left the bar, the drunk biker from earlier might follow.

At least with Amani, she knew where the danger stood.

She slid off the stool and followed him.

The hallway was dim, lined with doors leading to storage and offices. Amani stopped halfway down, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms across his broad chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“I figured that out,” Zuri shot back.

“Then why’d you walk in?”

She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him the truth—not about running, not about the past clawing at her heels. So she lifted her chin. “Just passing through.”

Amani’s gaze sharpened, like he knew she was lying. “Passing through Spade’s? That don’t happen.”

“Guess I made a mistake, then.”

His mouth curved again, but it wasn’t humor. “Yeah. You did.”

Her pulse raced, but she held his stare. “Then let me go.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His silence pressed heavy, like the walls themselves leaned in.

Then he said, “If I do, they’ll tear you apart before you reach the street. You know that, right?”

Her breath caught. She hated that he was right.

“So what’s your angle?” she asked.

“My angle,” he murmured, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, “is keeping the wolves in line.” His gaze flicked over her face, intense and unblinking. “You walked into their den. Now you’re under me, whether you like it or not.”

Heat rose up her neck. Fear, anger, and something sharper tangled inside her.

She forced a step back, needing space. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Maybe not.” His voice dropped low, almost a growl. “But you’ve got it.”

Zuri’s chest tightened. The air between them felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

She wanted to tell him to shove it, that she’d rather take her chances alone. But deep down, a small, traitorous part of her was glad he’d stepped in.

That scared her more than anything.

A shout from the main room broke the moment. Someone yelling, then the crash of glass shattering.

Amani straightened, every muscle coiled. His eyes flicked back toward the bar. Then he looked at her once more.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

And before she could reply, he was gone.

Zuri’s stomach knotted. The sounds from the bar grew louder, angry voices, a scuffle, boots pounding against wood. She clutched her bag tight, every instinct screaming at her to run.

But her legs wouldn’t move.

Because for the first time since she’d stepped off that bus, she wasn’t sure if the danger was outside the bar… or right here, waiting for her.