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this.”
    Part of her believed him. He’d stood between her and the attacker’s blades, even if he was protecting Rolan, too. She was amazed that he could make her feel at all safe amid the violence.
    “Thank you,” she breathed.
    He was dangerous. The depth in his eyes resonated through Hayley, making her think she understood a piece of him. But, no , she told herself. He was too different, too far away from anything she’d known.
    “You’re welcome.” He walked her to her car door and opened it for her. Once she was inside, he tapped reassuringly on the roof. “I’ve got to keep you cooking. Besides, you had my back. If they’d gotten through me, you’d have taken them out with the spoon.”
    It rested on her passenger seat.
    He smiled, slightly crooked, slightly honest. “See you next weekend.”
    Fear and a hidden thrill tumbled through her. She’d found a good place to start her life back up but had to make a deal with a bad guy to do it and had entered into a world of knife attacks and violent men. Art was one of them. And he seemed like something else. She’d see him again. She’d be back in the danger. Would he protect her? Or tempt her deeper into the shadows?

Chapter Two
    Art showered in the dark and left the lights out as he toweled off. Soap had stung the hairline cuts on his knuckles and the backs of his hands. He’d had worse growing up with his sister’s cats. He’d had worse fighting in the hills of Afghanistan.
    Long ago, he’d memorized the layout of his simple apartment and now moved silently through the darkness without bumping into anything. Leftover warmth from the shower dragged at his tired muscles. After pulling on a pair of boxers, he used an app on his phone to deactivate the motion sensing area light in the living room. The glow of the floodlight would’ve warned him if anyone had come through, even if he couldn’t hear the footsteps. A .38 special in a zip-top bag in the shower was always close at hand.
    His feet creaked the floorboards as he walked to the kitchen and poured himself a tall shot of aged tequila. There was another revolver within reach, taped to the underside of the counter. The cooking knives were kept sharp, even though he didn’t cook much.
    He’d never make a grilled cheese sandwich or improvise a burrito from leftovers again if he could eat whatever was coming out of Chef Hayley’s kitchen every day. The pelmeni continued to warm him. Perfect dough. Rich meat. He remembered it almost as vividly as he did turning to see Hayley after the fight, standing with the metal spoon in her hand, ready to defend herself. She earned a whole other level of respect when he’d taken in how she’d tried to control her fear and stand her ground.
    The tequila burned a slow path down his throat. He hissed a breath through his teeth, erasing any thoughts of what would’ve happened if the sharpened danger of the two hit men had gotten to her.
    “Fuck that,” he said out loud, then downed the other half of the glass and refilled it. There was no chance he’d have let them touch her. The only way they’d have gotten close was if Art was dead. Which was more dedication than he’d give his supposed boss, Rolan.
    Art had just met her that night, but if he had to pick between them, he’d save her. As far as Rolan and the rest of his mob organization, the Orel Group, was concerned, Art’s job was to protect the boss at all costs. But they didn’t know he had another job. He’d taken it to protect innocent people like Hayley.
    And, man, if he’d just been a normal guy chilling outside a club and eating an order of dumplings, he would’ve been happy to spend a few minutes in her company. Chef Hayley was as sharp as razor wire. Quick wits and agile without being mean. Easy to look at, too. A few inches shorter than him, with a cropped blond bob and blue eyes that collected the light. And the body? He sipped the tequila. The chef’s coat wasn’t formfitting, but he saw