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“O h my God, I can’t believe she’s doing that in here.”

“It’s disgusting. Miss? Could you go and do that elsewhere?” A snooty-looking older woman stared down her nose at Ryleigh, who sank back into her chair.

Oh, hell, no.

Opal didn’t think so.

This bitch wasn’t going to make her best friend feel bad about breastfeeding her baby in public. Ryleigh had had a tough time getting Kye to breastfeed. Mostly, she used bottles. But she’d given him a bottle at home and he was still acting hungry when they got here, so she’d decided to feed him again.

“I should have brought a bottle with me,” Ryleigh whispered. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

“No, this is not your fault,” Lilac told her.

“Could you take your face elsewhere,” Opal shot back.

“Opal,” Ryleigh said, attempting to stand.

But Lilac reached over and placed her hand on Ryleigh’s shoulder. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Excuse me?” the woman asked Opal. “What did you say to me?”

She had gray hair styled into tight curls and was wearing a high-necked button-up cream shirt tucked into a pair of brown pants. Her friend sitting at the table with her had her hair dyed so dark that it looked shocking against her pale, wrinkly skin. She wore a tweed skirt and jacket set.

And both of them were giving their table judgmental looks.

Opal leaned back and crossed her arms underneath her impressive boobs, pushing them up so they strained against the button-up shirt she was wearing.

She did it on purpose and she was happy at their outraged gasps. Then she leaned forward, placing her arms on the table with her boobs resting on top so they got the full show.

“I said, can you take your face out of my view? It’s offending me,” Opal told them slowly and loudly.

“You cannot speak to Wendy like that!” Mrs. Brown Pants said.

“Why not? Wendy asked my friend to leave,” Opal pointed out.

“Because she’s doing that!” Wendy cried, waving her hand at Ryleigh.

“What? What’s she doing? She’s looking gorgeous? Yeah, she is. The two of you jealous because you’ve never looked so hot?” Opal drawled.

“You know full well what she’s doing!” Mrs. Brown Pants huffed. “She’s exposing herself.”

“Exposing herself?” Opal looked Ryleigh over. Kye was completely covering her boob. Opal was definitely more exposed than her friend. “Exposing these?” She waved at her own breasts.

Both women looked horrified. Awesome.

“There is no need for her to feed her baby here,” Wendy huffed.

“Um, hate to tell you but this is a fucking restaurant. Eating is what people do in here.”

Around her, several people laughed.

Wendy went bright red. “How dare you swear at us! Just what I would expect for a friend of someone who willingly exposes themselves. We cannot sit here and eat with that going on!”

“And I’m having trouble sitting here and enjoying lunch out with my two best friends while the two of you are staring at us like we’re strip dancing on the tables. She’s feeding her baby. Get over it or leave.”

“You cannot tell us to leave,” Wendy said, rising. “I will be making a complaint.”

“Oh, jeez,” Ryleigh said, looking worried. “Maybe we should go.”

“You can’t let them bully us,” Lilac told Ryleigh as Wendy sat, looking smug.

Opal leaned back as an older man stormed out of the kitchen. He had dark hair that was touched with gray and a short beard that was more gray than not.

He wore black pants and a white chef’s shirt.

Ooh, yes.

She’d always loved a man in uniform.

“I heard there’s a complaint out here,” he said with a scowl. He folded his arms over his chest. Hell, yeah, he’d pulled the sleeves up on his shirt.

And the man had sexy forearms.

“Um, yes,” Ryleigh said. “I’m so sorry.”

“What’s the complaint about?” he snapped.

How was it possible for a man to look so sexy while he was scowling? Too bad that she was gonna have to eviscerate him if he hurt her friend.

Nobody hurt Opal’s friends.

“What are you sorry about?” the chef asked.

“About causing issues because I’m feeding Kye,” Ryleigh said.

“Why would you apologize for feeding your kid? Who has got a problem with her feeding her kid?”

Opal stared at him, mesmerized. He was amazing.

“We do.” Wendy stood. “I made the complaint. We are trying to eat, and we should be able to do it without having to watch that. She is exposed.”

His gaze flicked to Ryleigh, then away. “She doesn’t look exposed to me.”

“It’s not . . . it’s not right,” Mrs. Brown Pants added.

“What’s not right is that you’re wasting my time on this. She’s got a right to feed her baby. Got a right to do it wherever she likes. Unless she comes to your house and wants to do it, then you don’t have a say about where she does it. Last I looked, this wasn’t your house. But it is mine. Now, get out. You’re banned. You have two minutes to leave and do not come back.”

“We will be complaining to the police about this!” Wendy said.

The chef smiled. It wasn’t a pretty smile. “You don’t live in Haven, do you?”

“No, we live over in St. Barts,” Mrs. Brown Pants said. “We came here because the food is meant to be the best in the county.”

“It is,” the chef said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Too bad you won’t ever get to eat any more of it. Get. Out.”

The two women looked around as though searching for support and even though the restaurant was mainly filled with tourists from out-of-town, they didn’t receive one look of sympathy.

Instead, they rushed out of there, and the chef turned to their table. “You all good?”

“Well, hellooo, Daddy,” Opal purred as she placed her elbow on the table. She rested her chin in her hand as she looked him over. “Where have you been all my life?”

He didn’t look shocked or terrified.

More points in his favor.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow and pointed at her. “Behave yourself.”

“Or what?” She grinned. “I’m not that good at behaving.”

“Um, Opal, I’d really like to taste the fried chicken and mashed potatoes I ordered,” Ryleigh said.

“You don’t need fried chicken and mashed potatoes,” he said. “When you’re breastfeeding you need fresh vegetables and lean protein. I’ll sort something for you.” He strode back into the kitchen.

Opal whistled as she watched his tight butt disappear through the kitchen door. “That man is fiiinnee.”

“Darn it. I really wanted fried chicken,” Ryleigh complained.

“Don’t worry, you can have some of mine,” Opal told her as she turned back around. “Do you think he goes to the club?”

“You haven’t seen him there?” Lilac asked.

Opal shook her head. Nope. But she was definitely going to look out for him from now on.

* * *

Renard woke up in a cold sweat.

The nightmare had felt so real, and he quickly rolled out of bed to rush into his bathroom.

Shudders ran through his body as he threw up what little was in his stomach.

Breathing heavily, he stood and flushed the toilet before cupping his hand under the running tap to rinse his mouth out.

Fuck.

It had been at least a month since he’d last had that particular nightmare. As he grew closer to the anniversary of that day, he knew the nightmares were going to ramp up.

This time of year was always a fucking nightmare for him.

He stared into the mirror. The man looking back at him wasn’t the same man he’d been back then.

Yeah, he was older with more lines around his eyes and gray in his hair and beard. But it was more the look in his eyes.

He’d been through hell and come out the other side.

And a lot of time he didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d survived.

Sometimes, he thought that living was his punishment.

Punishment for being a bit of a bastard. If it was, well, the universe had well and truly spanked his ass until it was black and blue.

Living through this was hell.

There were also times where he wondered if he wouldn’t have been better staying on the streets. His punishment would have been swifter and harsher.

Now, he had a place to live and a job. He was warm in winter And he could shower daily.

He had . . . people he was friendly with.

Would he call them friends?

Do you deserve friends?

God.

He cupped some more water in his hand and splashed it on his face before brushing his teeth.

He needed a drink.

Moving into the shower, he quickly washed himself before getting dressed. It was close to midnight, but it was a Friday night and Dirty Delights would still be open.

He could go to Saxon’s, which was closer, but he wasn’t in a good headspace to be at the club tonight. Plus, he didn’t need any well-meaning busybodies trying to fix him.

You had to want to be fixed first.

And he didn’t.

Renard walked out of the small apartment that Saxon had arranged for him as part of his salary, although he called bullshit on that because he got paid exceptionally well.

Still, he was a talented bastard. He deserved to get paid well.

And he worked all the time. Although Saxon tried to get him to take time off. He’d even hired another chef to help him.

But what the hell was he meant to do with time off?

Sit around and twiddle his thumbs?

Go to the club and spank naughty subbies? Tie up a masochist and whip her ass? Or his ass?

He preferred to fuck a woman, was attracted to women, but he was fluid when it came to play. Sometimes he couldn’t go as far as he sometimes wanted to with a female sub. Even with a masochist who really desired his firm touch.

Sometimes his protective instincts reared their heads at the most inconvenient times.

And when they did, people usually got all grateful to him for saving them . . . blah, blah, blah.

He didn’t want to deal with people.

And yet they kept inserting themselves into his life.

He glanced at his calendar on the way out of his apartment. In six months’ time, he’d have enough money.

And then he could get out of this place.

Renard had plans. Something he hadn’t told anyone about because he knew they’d try to talk him out of it.

But it was for the best.

This life wasn’t what he deserved.

* * *

“Don’t do it, darlin’,” a voice drawled from beside him.

Fuck.

He glanced to his side. He hadn’t even heard her approach, which wasn’t usual for him.

Renard was always on guard.

“What?” he snapped.

Shit. He didn’t mean to snap at her. His demons weren’t her fault.

Sometimes pain led you to do or say things you didn’t mean.

However, she didn’t scatter away. Instead, she just folded her curvy body into a chair next to him.

“Please, have a seat,” he said without any real sarcasm.

“Thanks. I’m tired as all heck, today.”

His gaze moved over her. She didn’t look just tired, she appeared exhausted. What the hell? Weren’t the men in this town meant to take care of the women who lived here?

“Why isn’t someone making you rest?” he demanded.

Her lips twitched. She had a bright red lipstick tonight and her hair was a bleached white-blonde and teased up so high that he wondered how she could walk with it like that.

She had the sort of body men might fight wars over. Curves in all the right places. A tucked in waist, wide hips, breasts that . . . well, a man could get lost in.

Her bright pink shirt had rhinestones along the collar and she’d undone several of the buttons down to nearly the middle of her chest.

The woman was fucking beautiful.

And not for him.

No matter what his dick might think.

“And who is going to demand that I rest?” she asked, leaning forward.

He had to force himself to raise his gaze from her breasts to her face. There was a hint of unease that she quickly hid.

Renard doubted that she let anyone see her unease. He got it. She wore her clothes, her personality like a shield. She was used to men staring at her body, lusting after her.

That was normal.

Looking her in the eyes? Not so much.

However, most of the men around these parts respected women so she best get used to it.

“Problem?” he drawled.

“I haven’t got one, darlin’.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “You know that the men in this town take care of the women.”

“Well, so they say. I’m Opal, by the way.”

Yep. She was still protecting herself. And he already knew who she was. The people in this town enjoyed a bit of gossip. And for some reason, people liked to talk to him.

He had no idea why.

From all accounts, her life had been pretty shit up until this point. He’d heard whispers of abuse at the hands of her last boyfriend.

Renard grunted. “Renard. And it’s true. I’ve seen it. Not saying they always do a good job, though. Often thought they don’t go far enough, myself.”

Opal raised her eyebrows. “You’d go further? What would you do?”

“Depends on the situation, doesn’t it?”

“Say someone was threatening your woman, what would you do?” she asked.

“I don’t have one of them and I will never have one.”

The idea made him feel ill.

He didn’t want a woman. He also wished that he didn’t feel so protective of the women in Haven.

But that was the price of living in a town like this. And even he had to pay his dues.

Until he left . . .

Which would be soon.

Opal sighed and waved her hand through the air. She had a number of gold and silver rings on her fingers. She looked tired.

Concern filled him, but he pushed it down.

She had people looking after her.

Yeah, but it was those damn Malones. Who knew if they were doing a good job or not? He still had to keep a close eye on Lara. And, hell, he was the one who had basically kept Hannah alive. Delivering her much-needed food. Where had her man been then? Renard couldn’t remember which one she was with. They all looked the same to him.

But they were supposed to be taking care of this woman, too. However, he bet she didn’t make it easy on them. Opal had the look of someone who had seen it all and was used to taking care of herself.

It was no wonder she didn’t fully drink the Kool-Aid.

But the people here were mostly decent.

They tried to take care of their own.

“Fine, but hypothetically, if you had a woman and she was threatened by someone, what would you do?”

“Easy.” He grinned, aware that he probably looked feral. “I would lock her up and go hunting.”

Opal didn’t shy back or look uncomfortable. Then again, he hadn’t really expected her to.

Instead, she nodded slowly. “That’s what I thought you would say.”

“You here alone?”

Opal glanced around. “I sure am.”

“Bit of a smartass, huh?”

She grinned. “I try.”

“I know what to do with smartasses.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. “I spank their little asses until they can’t sit down for a week.”

There.

That ought to get her to back the fuck off and disappear.

She smiled. “Hmm. Promises, promises.”

Fuck.

“I am not for you, girl,” he told her in a rough voice.

That smile disappeared. “Didn’t say you were. Had plenty of men spank me before, doesn’t mean they became mine. And I’m not a girl.”

No, she wasn’t.

But he’d chosen to call her that on purpose. To put a barrier up between them.

Because there was something there . . . something he could almost touch and taste.

And he didn’t want it there.

He didn’t want to look at her and think that she was sexy as fuck. He wasn’t looking for a quick fuck or a relationship.

You need to go to the club.

He hadn’t been into Saxon’s for months. Something that was making him antsy. Itching away at him.

It was too bad that he had to steer clear of this woman.

She was fucking gorgeous and in a past life he would already have her in his bed.

“Aren’t you?” he murmured.

“No. I’m definitely not. And I’m not talking about my age. I could be ten years younger and still not be a girl.”

He wondered how old she was, but he knew not to ask. A man never asked a woman her age unless he was willing to risk his life.

Or his balls.

“I get that,” he said gruffly, staring down at the glass of rum still sitting in front of him.

Where it had sat for the last hour without him taking a sip.

Devon, the owner of Dirty Delights, had come over to check on him a few times.

Nosy asshole.

“Yeah, of everyone in this town, I figured you were the one who would get it. It’s why I came over when I saw you staring at that glass of rum that you’ve got no intentions of drinking.”

“You don’t think I will?”

“How long have you been sober?” she asked.

He sighed. Christ save him from women who saw too much. “Five years.”

“So you’re not going to drink that. Because you don’t want to unravel those hard-earned years of sobriety.”

“I don’t? Maybe that’s exactly what I want. To drown myself in alcohol.”

“Oh, darlin’, if that’s what you wanted, you’d already be doing it.”

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

Opal held up her hands. Her nails were long and painted a bright red that matched her lipstick. “I wasn’t offering it. Wouldn’t dare.”

He eyed her.

“Just figured I’d come sit over here for a few minutes until I’m on.”

“On?” He glanced around again. “What are you doing here on your own? Shouldn’t you be home in bed, asleep?”

Her lips twitched. “Remember, I’m not a child. And I can decide for myself when I need to sleep. I’m singing. And yes, I came here all by myself.”

He didn’t like that at all.

“You drove? Do you have a car? Did someone walk you in? Will they walk you back out?”

She stood and patted his arm. “Go home. Get some rest yourself.” She stood and turned toward the small stage area down the other end of the bar.

Damn.

His mouth went dry as he took in that pert ass in her tight jeans. They were molded to her body, and he couldn’t help but think about peeling her out of them.

Her hips swayed as she headed to the stage and picked up a guitar.

Was she going to play the guitar? Sing?

He’d come a few times to listen to Lara perform, but he hadn’t been here in months.

“She’s really good.” He glanced over as Devon sat in the same chair Opal had just been in.

“Jesus,” he sighed. “Why does everyone think I want to talk?”

“Must be your cheerful personality,” Devon replied. “Just draws people in.”

“I’ll have to work on changing that.”

“You do that.” Devon nodded at Opal as she settled herself on a chair and adjusted the microphone. “Opal has talent. Real talent. She came in and asked if I minded her singing here once in a while. Mind? Fuck. I wish I could have her here every night.”

“It’s not safe for her to come out at this time of night. Who the hell is making sure she gets home safe?” he demanded.

“I know how to take care of my people,” Devon replied defensively. “I give her a ride home each night.”

So she waited around until Devon was ready to leave? Nope. He didn’t like that.

“Which nights does she come in?” Renard asked.

“Most Fridays. Why?”

“No reason.”

Devon stood with a sigh and nodded at the glass. “You gonna drink that?”

“Nope,” he replied.

“You want me to take it away?”

“Nope.”

“You’re punishing yourself by staring at it and not having it?” Devon asked.

“It’s just a reminder,” he said.

Of how far he’d come.

And how far he might fall if he let go.

So he’d stay the course, hold on tight to the top of the cliff and hope like fuck that he didn’t freefall.

The time might come where he had to let go. But it would be best for everyone if that was short and sharp.

* * *

Opal finished singing her final song, letting the last note linger in the air.

There weren’t many people left in the bar, but the few who remained clapped.

She preferred it this way. She needed to sing; it was an ache inside her. As necessary as breathing.

But what she didn’t want was a huge audience. She didn’t want the attention.

Might seem strange considering the way she dressed and acted.

But flying under the radar was what she really needed to do. So she balanced her need to sing for people with her desire to stay hidden.

Hidden from the past.

Something she wished she could forget.

It was impossible to escape the past when it was living inside you.

That was something he knew.

Renard.

She knew someone fighting inner demons when she saw them.

And that was a man who had some demons.

The way he’d stared at that glass of rum . . . like it was his worst nightmare and yet held the answers to life’s biggest questions.

Yeah.

She understood that all too well.

There had been a time when she’d tried to quiet the screaming in her mind with all sorts of things.

Drugs.

Drink.

Sex.

None of it had worked. The only time she’d come close was when she submitted. But it was nearly impossible for her to find a partner who she trusted enough to let go with. Still, she kept going back to Saxon’s in the hope that someone would be able to step up.

Moving to the bar, she took the diet soda that Devon handed her.

“That stuff will rot your teeth,” Renard said from behind her. “And your brain.”

Turning, she drank down the soda in front of him.

Was it a red flag in front of a bull?

You bet.

Ask her if she cared?

You do, though, don’t you?

Caring was a real bitch. When you didn’t care, you didn’t get hurt. Unfortunately for Opal, she now had three people she had to take care of.

And she was worried that number would grow with every day she spent here. Yet, when she tried to get up the gumption to leave, she just kept thinking about Lilac, Ryleigh, and baby Kye.

And she couldn’t fucking do it.

Finishing off the glass, she let out a satisfied sigh. She half-expected him to give her a disgusted look.

Definitely an impatient one.

She could certainly test the patience of a saint. She’d heard that often enough.

Instead, he just raised his eyebrows. “You finished being a brat?”

Opal swallowed heavily. She could be a bit of a brat, but a lot of the time it was an act.

A shield to keep people away.

“Just enjoying my drink.”

“I’m taking her home,” he said, glancing over her shoulder to where she could feel Devon was standing.

Um.

Say what?

“Who are you taking home?” she asked.

Who the hell had he managed to meet? There weren’t many women here at this time of night and all the ones that she’d seen were with other men.

“That’s up to Opal,” Devon replied. “She might prefer to wait for me.”

“You’ll be at least another hour, maybe two. She needs to go home now and get to bed. She’s coming with me.”

He wanted to take her home?

Why would he want to do that?

Shit.

The glare on his face as he stared at Devon made her insides twist and she knew she had to do something.

Quick.

“Listen, boys, I know I’m irresistible and all, but I can see myself home.” She stepped to the side and tried to head toward the door.

She might have made it too.

If it wasn’t for that damn chef and his quick-moving feet. He stepped right in front of her before she even managed two steps.

“Freeze,” he warned.

She held up a finger and waggled it at him, hoping that he didn’t notice that it shook slightly.

What was wrong with her?

Well, it might help if you ate more.

Shut up, brain.

Always interfering when it was least wanted.

“I am not yours. I do not have to do what you say.”

He made a scoffing noise. “No? You don’t think so?”

“I know so, buddy.”

“Not your buddy, Gem. But I could be your boss.”

She shook her head. “Dream on. I’m going home now. And no one is taking me.”

“Then I’ll need to call Jake. Tell him a woman is wandering around on her own at night,” he called out.

Renard was aware that people were watching them.

But he didn’t give a shit.

Opal stilled and her shoulders grew tense. Then she turned around to stomp her way back to him. He held back his grin.

Barely.

“Jake doesn’t get to boss me around. And neither do you.”

Lord. She was even more gorgeous when she was all riled up. But he could clearly see the exhaustion on her face.

The sooner she got to bed the better.

“Ahh, so what you’re saying is that I should call one of the Malones. Which one do you want? Alec? Tanner? West?”

Her eyes widened. “You’re not calling anyone, asshole.”

“No? Well, that must mean that you’re going home with me.”

She snorted. “In your dreams.”

“I don’t dream, Gem.” Nope. That was for people with hope, and he didn’t have much of that anymore. “But I am a man of action. So either you turn around and march your ass out to my truck or you’re going out over my shoulder.”