Chapter 7 - The MarketBy the third day, Declan had transformed Sadie’s restaurant into a fortress disguised as a dining room.
Two men posed as bartenders.
One man pretended to be a dishwasher.
Another sat at table 12 for 4 consecutive hours drinking sparkling water and reading the same page of a newspaper.
Sadie hated all of them.
Mostly because none of them knew how to stay out of the way.
“If he stands in my pickup lane one more time,” Matteo whispered, “I’m going to stab him with a thermometer.”
Sadie glanced at the enormous fake dishwasher.
“Please don’t. I don’t have enough staff to fill out police paperwork.”
The kitchen was moving again.
That was what mattered.
After the sabotage, Declan had tried to keep the restaurant closed.
Sadie reopened it anyway.
The argument lasted 37 minutes.
She won by refusing to participate after minute 12.
There were reservations.
There were paychecks.
There was mise en place.
Life did not stop because dangerous men had decided to make her a chess piece.
At 11:00, Sadie grabbed 2 canvas market bags and headed for the back exit.
Declan appeared in the doorway.
“No.”
She sighed.
“I haven’t said where I’m going.”
“The answer is still no.”
“I need produce.”
“It can be delivered.”
“We are not accepting outside deliveries.”
“My people can collect it.”
“Your people thought ramps were spinach.”
“They are green.”
Sadie stared at him.
Declan stared back.
Matteo quietly turned away.
Sadie pointed at Declan.
“You are never allowed to discuss vegetables again.”
“I accept.”
“I’m going to the market.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot walk through a farmers market looking like that.”
Declan glanced down at his charcoal coat.
“Like what?”
“Like you own the farmers.”
“I might.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Twenty minutes later, Sadie walked through the covered market with Declan beside her and 2 security men trailing at a distance.
He had changed coats.
It did not help.
People moved around him instinctively.
Sadie watched a man carrying apples physically change direction rather than cross Declan’s path.
“You’re ruining the atmosphere.”
“I am walking.”
“You walk aggressively.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
Sadie stopped at a mushroom stall.
The old woman behind the counter grinned when she saw Sadie.
“Mercer.”
“Lena.”
“Morels finally came in.”
Sadie leaned over the baskets.
The smell immediately relaxed something inside her.
Damp earth.
Nutty decay.
Spring rain.
Real food.
She picked up one mushroom, inspected the cap, then glanced at Declan.
“Smell this.”
“No.”
“Smell it.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Declan looked at the mushroom.
Then at Sadie.
Then, unbelievably, leaned down.
He inhaled.
“Well?”
“Dirt.”
Lena barked a laugh.
Sadie looked offended.
“That is not dirt.”
“It came from dirt.”
“It smells like toasted hazelnuts, wet leaves, and yeast.”
Declan smelled it again.
His brow shifted.
“Wet leaves.”
Sadie blinked.
“That’s progress.”
She bought 4 pounds.
For 20 minutes, the world almost became normal.
Sadie argued over asparagus.
Declan carried bags after she refused to let his men touch the strawberries.
Lena whispered that Sadie’s boyfriend looked frightening.
Sadie nearly dropped a basket of peas.
“He is not my boyfriend.”
Declan, unfortunately, heard.
“No,” he agreed.
The flatness of his tone irritated her for reasons she refused to examine.
They moved toward the fish stalls.
That was when Sadie smelled the cologne.
Cedar.
Sharp spice.
Cheap synthetic amber.
Familiar.
She stopped.
Declan noticed instantly.
“What?”
Sadie scanned the crowd.
A man in a baseball cap moved between shoppers 30 feet away.
She had smelled that cologne before.
Not at the restaurant.
At the estate.
One of Arthur’s men.
The scarred man.
Tommy.
Sadie’s pulse accelerated.
“Blue jacket. Near the flower stall.”
Declan did not turn his head.
His expression did not change.
“How certain?”
“Ninety percent.”
“Why?”
“Cologne.”
Declan glanced at her.
Of course.
Sadie began walking again.
“What do we do?”
“You leave.”
“I’m tired of that plan.”
“Sadie.”
She looked at him.
Something in his face told her this was different.
No argument.
No dominance.
Fear.
“Go with Marcus.”
One of the guards stepped closer.
Sadie almost obeyed.
Then a delivery cart rolled between them.
People shouted.
A stack of wooden boxes crashed onto the floor.
The market erupted into confusion.
Declan turned.
For one fraction of a second, Sadie lost sight of him.
A hand closed around her upper arm.
Not Marcus.
Sadie reacted without thinking.
She dropped the market bag.
A jar of preserved cherries shattered across the concrete.
The man behind her pulled hard.
Sadie twisted.
She did not know sophisticated self-defense.
She knew kitchens.
She knew leverage.
Hot pans.
Narrow spaces.
How to move around larger bodies carrying heavy trays.
She dropped her weight and slammed her heel into the man’s foot.
He cursed.
His grip loosened.
Sadie drove her elbow backward.
Not cleanly.
Not heroically.
It connected with something soft.
The man grunted.
Then Marcus appeared.
Everything happened too fast.
Bodies.
Shouting.
A stall collapsed.
Someone screamed.
Sadie stumbled against a stack of onions.
Declan came through the crowd like violence given human shape.
The man who grabbed Sadie saw him.
His face changed.
Pure terror.
Declan caught the front of his jacket and slammed him against a concrete pillar.
Sadie heard the impact.
“Declan!”
He hit the man again.
“Declan!”
No response.
The man’s knees buckled.
Declan’s fist drew back.
Sadie grabbed his wrist.
The entire world stopped.
Declan turned.
His eyes were gone.
Not dead.
Worse.
Wild.
For the first time, Sadie understood how thin the layer of civilization over him truly was.
“He’s down,” she said.
Declan stared at her.
“He’s done.”
His breathing was harsh.
The tendons in his wrist were rigid beneath her fingers.
Slowly, his fist opened.
Sadie released him.
Security dragged the attacker away.
The market had become chaos.
People filming.
Vendors shouting.
Declan looked at Marcus.
“Car.”
Sadie did not fight him this time.
Inside the SUV, she noticed the blood on her sleeve.
Her blood.
A small cut near her elbow.
Nothing serious.
Declan saw it.
His face became terrifying again.
“It’s a scratch.”
He reached for her.
Then stopped before touching.
His hand hovered.
The restraint struck her harder than contact would have.
“May I?”
Sadie looked at him.
He was asking.
Actually asking.
She nodded.
Declan gently turned her arm.
His fingers barely touched her skin.
The contrast was absurd.
A man who had almost beaten someone unconscious 3 minutes earlier was handling her as if she were blown glass.
“It needs cleaning.”
“I’m a chef. I know what a cut is.”
His thumb moved once near her wrist.
“You were supposed to go with Marcus.”
“I tried.”
“You hesitated.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
Sadie looked at him.
“Because I didn’t want to leave you.”
The words escaped.
Both froze.
Sadie looked out the window.
Wonderful.
Excellent.
Maybe the SUV could drive directly into a river.
Declan did not speak for several seconds.
Then:
“That was stupid.”
Sadie turned back.
“Go to hell.”
“It was.”
“So was taking a bullet for a restaurant window.”
“It was glass.”
“Whatever.”
His mouth almost moved.
Sadie’s anger cracked.
She exhaled.
“Who was he?”
“Arthur’s man.”
“The one from dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Tommy.”
Declan looked surprised.
“You remembered.”
“I remember smells.”
She paused.
“And insults.”
Declan’s face darkened.
“He should never have touched you.”
Sadie studied him.
“There.”
“What?”
“That sentence.”
He frowned.
“You say things like that.”
“Because he should not have touched you.”
“Because I’m yours?”
His jaw tightened.
Sadie waited.
“No,” he said.
The answer came slowly.
“Because you said no.”
Something shifted inside her.
Small.
Dangerous.
Sadie looked down at her cut.
“Thank you.”
Declan’s gaze stayed on her.
“For what?”
“For stopping.”
He knew what she meant.
At the pillar.
When she grabbed his wrist.
Declan leaned back.
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.”
“Because it was you.”
The vehicle became quiet.
Sadie’s heartbeat did something unpleasant.
She looked out the window.
After a while, she asked, “What did Arthur do to you?”
Declan was silent.
She expected refusal.
Instead, he spoke.
“My father owed him money.”
Sadie turned.
“He died owing it.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
The same answer.
“Arthur collected the debt through me.”
Sadie understood.
Not everything.
Enough.
“You worked for him.”
“At first.”
Declan’s gaze went distant.
“I drove cars. Delivered envelopes. Stood outside rooms. Then I became useful.”
“How?”
His face closed slightly.
“I was good at doing things other people hesitated to do.”
Sadie swallowed.
“And eventually?”
“I built my own network.”
“Restaurants.”
“Among other things.”
“And Arthur didn’t like losing you.”
“He liked it less when I stopped paying him.”
Sadie almost smiled.
“That sounds like you.”
Declan looked at her.
“What does?”
“You hate collars too.”
The words struck.
His expression changed.
Sadie saw the truth before he said anything.
The restaurant.
The lease.
The security.
The orders.
Declan controlled because control had once been taken from him.
It did not excuse him.
But it made him legible.
“You built your whole life around never being owned again,” Sadie said quietly.
He stared at her.
“And now you own everything around you so nobody can do it first.”
His voice became dangerous.
“Do not psychoanalyze me in a moving vehicle.”
Sadie smiled.
“You started it.”
A breath left him.
Not quite laughter.
Close.
Then his phone rang.
Declan answered.
The almost-human expression vanished.
“Yes.”
Silence.
His eyes hardened.
“When?”
Another pause.
Sadie watched.
Declan looked at her.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
He did not answer immediately.
“What happened?”
“Arthur knows his man failed.”
“So?”
“He sent another message.”
Sadie’s chest tightened.
“What message?”
May you like
Declan’s face became colder than she had ever seen it.
“He has Richard.”
