RUTHLESS DEVOTION

CHAPTER ONE

Lena Hart

The bus rumbled to a stop, the worn brakes hissing as the doors creaked open. Riverton. Another city, another chance to disappear.

I stepped onto the cracked pavement, hoisting my duffel bag over my shoulder. The night air was thick with the scent of rain and exhaust fumes, the streets still damp from an earlier drizzle. This place was smaller than I expected—old brick buildings, flickering streetlights, a handful of cars rolling by without urgency.

It wasn’t home. But it would do.

I had learned not to get attached to places. Attachment made you stay too long. Staying too long got you noticed. And being noticed? That was the one thing I couldn’t afford.

Shoving my hands into my hoodie pocket, I kept my head down and walked. I had no plan, just a simple goal: survive. Find a cheap place to stay, get a job that paid in cash if possible, and keep moving when the time felt right.

A neon sign flickered in the distance

Murphy’s Bar

HELP WANTED

I paused, shifting on my feet. Bars were good for laying low. Nobody cared where you came from as long as you did your job. Drunk customers forgot your face by the next night. And best of all? Cash tips.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the door.

The inside smelled like whiskey, old wood, and cigarette smoke. A jukebox played something low and bluesy, and a few regulars sat hunched over their drinks, lost in their own worlds. It wasn’t fancy, but it had an unspoken rule: Mind your business, and no one will mind yours.

Perfect.

Behind the counter, an older man with graying hair and tired eyes wiped down a glass. He looked me over, his gaze lingering on my hoodie and the way I clutched my bag. I knew what I looked like some stray looking for work, a little too wary, a little too quiet.

“You here for the job?” His voice was rough, but not unkind.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t ask for a resume or an explanation. Instead, he just jerked his head toward the back. “Apron’s under the counter. You start now. Don’t steal from the till.”

That was it. No small talk, no questions. Just the way I needed it.

Two Weeks Later,

I had settled into the rhythm. Work nights, sleep days, avoid attention. Murphy didn’t pry, and the regulars barely noticed me. I was just Lena, the quiet girl behind the bar. And that was exactly how I wanted it.

Until the night he walked in.

The air shifted the second the door swung open. Conversations slowed, a few heads turned, and even Murphy hesitated mid-pour before continuing like nothing had happened.

I didn’t have to look up to know someone important had entered.

But I did.

And the moment my eyes landed on him, I knew—I had just made a mistake.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself like he owned the world and everything in it. Dark hair, sharp jawline, an expensive watch peeking from under his tailored sleeve. But it wasn’t his looks that sent a warning through my body.

It was the way he walked in like he had nothing to fear.

Like he had never had to run.

His eyes icy blue and calculating swept over the room before landing on me. He didn’t look away.

A slow, unsettling smile curled his lips.

And just like that, I knew two things for sure.

One l had caught his attention.

Two I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a very, very bad one.

I dropped my gaze, pretending not to notice the way his eyes stayed on me. I’d gotten good at this at making myself small, at blending into the background. But something told me it wouldn’t work on him.

A man like that? He noticed things.

I forced my hands to stay steady as I grabbed a glass and started wiping it down. Busy hands, neutral expression, no sudden movements.

It didn’t matter who he was. He’d get his drink, maybe chat with Murphy or one of the regulars, and then he’d leave. Just another customer passing through.

Except, he didn’t sit at the usual tables.

He walked straight to the bar.

And took a seat directly in front of me.

I swallowed hard, keeping my expression neutral. My fingers tightened around the glass as I set it down. Stay calm. He doesn’t know you. He can’t know.

Murphy walked over before I had to say anything. “Cross,” he greeted, voice even. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Cross. That was his name?

Adrian Cross leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving me as he answered. “Change of scenery.”

His voice was deep, smooth, with the kind of quiet confidence that didn’t need to be loud to be heard.

Murphy nodded like that made perfect sense. “The usual?”

Adrian gave a slow nod, and Murphy moved to pour him a drink. I took the chance to step back, pretending to check the inventory, anything to keep my hands busy.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what men like him were. Powerful, dangerous, the type who walked into a room and made people uneasy without trying. I’d spent enough time around men like that to know one thing—they weren’t safe.

And I couldn’t afford to be around anything unsafe.

“You’re new.”

His voice cut through the noise, low and direct.

I forced myself to look up.

Adrian Cross was watching me like he was trying to figure something out.

I shrugged. “Been here a couple of weeks.”

“Don’t remember seeing you before.”

“Guess you don’t come around much.”

His lips twitched like he was amused by my answer.

Murphy set his drink down with a quiet clink. “Lena’s a good worker,” he said, like that explained everything. Like that was enough reason for Adrian Cross to stop looking at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

Adrian didn’t say anything right away. He just picked up his glass, took a slow sip, and kept his eyes on me.

I fought the urge to fidget.

Murphy moved on to another customer, leaving me alone with him. I knew better than to look away first. Men like him saw that as a weakness.

So I held his gaze.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then he smirked.

“Interesting.”

That was all he said before turning his attention to his drink.

I exhaled slowly, barely realizing I had been holding my breath.

I turned away before he could say anything else, pretending to check the shelves behind the bar. My hands gripped the counter as I took a slow breath. Keep it together.

Adrian Cross smelled like trouble. The kind of trouble I had spent months running from.

I’d learned to read people quickly—it was a survival skill. And everything about him screamed danger. Not the reckless kind, not the type that stumbled into a fight at 2 AM over a bad poker hand. No, Adrian Cross had the kind of danger that was controlled. The kind that never acted without purpose.

And now he had looked at me really looked.

That alone was enough to set off alarms in my head.

I had a choice to make.

Option one: Avoid him. Keep my head down, act like he was just another customer, and hope he lost interest. But men like him? They didn’t just lose interest.

Option two: Move. Again. Leave before I became a face he remembered. Find another city, another bus stop, another place to start over.

The thought of packing up, of starting over yet again, made my stomach twist. I was tired. So damn tired of running. But was staying worth the risk?

I stole a glance at him. He was swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching me like I was something interesting, something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Shit.

I turned back to the shelves, gripping the edge so hard my knuckles turned white.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe he was just another man who liked the challenge of a woman who didn’t fawn over him. Maybe in a few days, he’d move on, and I could pretend this night never happened.

Or maybe I had just made the biggest mistake of my life by stepping into this bar.

Murphy passed behind me, setting down a crate of beer with a grunt. “You okay?”

I forced a nod. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickered toward Adrian, then back to me. “He bothering you?”

The fact that Murphy even asked meant something.

“I’m fine,” I said, even though my pulse was anything but.

Murphy studied me for a second longer, then nodded. “Let me know if that changes.”

I nodded back, but deep down, I already knew.

Something had changed.

I just didn’t know if it was the beginning of something I could survive—or something I should have run from the second I saw him.