Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shane needed a job.

He thought moving in with Hayden would be good for him; he saw it as finally escaping his parents. Shane was excited to meet new people. He thought he’d actually get to date again, to go out and enjoy his life with his best friend by his side.

But you needed money to date, how was he going to tell the next guy he was going out with that he couldn’t even afford a slice of pizza?

He tried to get a job, he really did. But the economy was fucked, and he consistently got no answer from the companies he dropped his Resume at. So now he was here, on his best friend's couch, begging.

“C’mon Hayd’s…you can’t put in a good word for your best friend?!” Shane whined while Hayden got ready for his job. Hayden stopped his movement in grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge to glare at Shane.

“Don’t you dare pull the best friend card on me! I told you, this place is exclusive as fuck. They don’t hire anyone without an insane background check because it’s owned by…you know.”

Hayden refused to say it as if the words were sacrilegious. As if saying the gang's name out loud would bring forth wrath upon their heads.

Shane knew plenty about the Centaurs. Hayden had gotten into motorcycles two years ago, and had told him about how cool these biker guys were around Ottawa. He liked the danger, and at the start, bragged about the rugged bar fights and hot chicks all the time once he had managed to score a job at one of the bars they owned outside of the main city in Nepean.

But as time passed, Hayden grew closer to the members and the bar. He began to act as if he were part of something secretive and untouchable. That just heightened Shane’s curiosity more.

“You used to brag all the time about how awesome this job was! Plus, I don’t have shit against me. They can background check all they want.” Shane got up from the couch and decided he needed to go to his last resort. To get on his knees and beg. As soon as he lowered himself to the floor, Hayden was rolling his eyes.

“Get the fuck up, Hollander. Fine, fine! I’ll ask. No promises, though,” Hayden sidestepped around Shane’s kneeling form and began to walk towards the front door.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You know I love you, right?” Shane called back to Hayden’s slowly disappearing form. He heard the front door open and a grumbled “yeah, yeah!” Before the door shut.

Shane slumped onto the floor, huffing loudly now that he was alone. The embarrassment and doubt grew in his chest, and he glared at the wall in front of him. He moved away from home to feel better, to get out of his mother’s prying eyes and consistent hovering, but was that worse than being broke and depressed?

His phone vibrated in his pocket, which shook him out of his thoughts. He dug it out of his jeans and squinted at the caller I.D.

Speak of the devil.

He answered, because why wouldn’t he? There was a crackle on the other end, soft voices speaking to one another, and they hadn’t noticed Shane had answered.

“Mom?” Shane called.

“Oh, honey! Listen, I know you said not to call you too much, but you haven’t been answering my texts-“

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m sorry that I worried you. I’m just…just trying to find a job right now.”

A hum from his mother on the other end, he could easily picture her reaction to his words. The way her eyes would turn down in unison with her lips, her face drooping with mild concern that she couldn’t share. He was an adult; he was supposed to have his shit figured out.

“Okay, honey. Do you want to talk about it?”

Shane shook his head before his mom finished asking. No, he didn’t want to talk about how shit his life was right now. No, he didn’t want to remind himself that moving out was a bad idea.

“Maybe later, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t call you at all. I’ll call later in the week, I promise, okay?”

“Okay…if you’re sure. I’ll be waiting, I love you!”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Then the call ended, and Shane had to toss his phone away from him before he screamed.

-

He was already asleep when his ringtone almost sent him into cardiac arrest. Shane flinched off his pillows and blindly reached to grab it and silence the punishing noise. But he faltered when he saw Hayden’s name flash on the screen.

Concern burned in his stomach when Shane flickered his gaze to the time next: 2 am. He sat up on the bed and swiped to answer. Hayden began to speak immediately.

“You want a job so badly? We need a dishwasher like…right now.”

Shane scrambled out of his bed and placed Hayden on speakerphone; his socked feet slipping on the floor of his room as he got dressed.

“Fuck, really? Holy shit…I-I’ll be there in like twenty minutes.” Shane called out, a smile breaking out on his face.

The only reply he received before Hayden ended the call was very simple and made Shane roll his eyes.

“Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”

When the line went dead, Shane gathered his phone, keys, and wallet and didn’t bother checking how he looked. If he was doing dishes, and they needed a guy as soon as possible, it didn’t matter what he looked like as long as he had two hands.

He rushed out the door and towards his very beat-up 2000 gold Mazda. His parents had gotten it for him as a high school graduation present, and it’s been alive ever since. Shane refused to look under the hood, and the suspension was practically non-existent, but it got him from point A to point B. That was what mattered.

And now it was taking him to his new job. He wasn’t going to fuck this up.

Due to him and Hayden living downtown, it would take him about twenty minutes to get to the bar. Nepean wasn’t far, and all this car had to do was get him on the highway.

He made it in record time; the highway was free of traffic at this time of night. The bar stood alone amongst a pothole-filled parking lot just off the highway. The neon open sign was dark, but lights illuminated the parking lot from inside the bar. They shone perfectly across the line of sparkling motorcycles parked in front of it.

Shane ogled as he walked towards the front door. The bikes looked like dark beasts in the night; they were all deep, dark stallions awaiting their riders. He could see most were Harleys, which was the favourite pick for Centaur members.

He knew this because Hayden was always looking for a Harley Davidson. They were expensive, but Hayden had said that if he got into the gang, he’d be able to get one easier. Whatever that meant.

“Hey!” Shane flinched horribly, his eyes still staring at his own reflection in the gas tank of the motorcycle closest to him. He whipped his head around, a gasp passing his lips.

It was Hayden, his friend was at the side of the building with an apron on. He looked like he had already been through the wringer himself, his hair tousled and the apron filthy with grease.

“Don’t fucking touch the bikes and come do some dishes!” Shane rolled his eyes at Hayden’s words. He may be broke, but he wasn’t stupid. Touching those bikes would be a death sentence.

“I was just looking…” Shane grumbled as he got tugged to the side of the bar. Hayden didn’t answer, instead guiding him into what was the kitchen area of the bar.

It was your typical restaurant kitchen. No staff were inside, and all the aprons were hung up on the back door already. It was quiet except for muffled talking out in the main area. Shane tried not to focus on that.

“Here,” Hayden grabbed for one of the aprons and threw it at him. Shane clumsily took it and shrugged off his jacket to hang it where the apron once was. As he tied it around his waist, Hayden stared at him with his arms folded.

“Our dishwasher no-showed all night. So have fun. The boss will give you cash under the table for now. The keys to lock up are in the office down the hall, put the dishes on the drying rack, and we’ll deal with them tomorrow.”

Shane nodded, not knowing what else to say. There was…a lot happening.

Hayden untied his apron, put it up on its hook, and got his own coat on. He was making his way towards the back door again when he stopped and stepped towards Shane. He hissed in a whispered, warning tone.

“And don’t go into that bar. The gangs at church right now.”

Shane’s brows furrowed and he shook his head, not understanding. Hayden realized and huffed out a laugh.

“They’re in a meeting. You’ve gotta get used to the slang now, pretty boy. You’re in Centaur territory now.”

And then Hayden left, his hand coming up to pat playfully at Shane’s cheek before he stepped out into the night. The door echoed throughout the kitchen as it closed.

Now Shane was alone with what was apparently the Centaurs just across the bar from him. He looked across the kitchen towards a beat-up door that had only a small window to peek out of. Yellow light shone through it, the light getting eaten by the white fluorescent lighting inside the kitchen.

Laughs echoed throughout the place, men’s voices rang and hollered. Shane decided against the intrusive thought of looking out into the bar area. He wiped his sweaty palms against his apron and then turned towards the sink instead.

The mountain of dishes that stared back at him made him feel faint. Fuck.

But it was a job. One he begged on his knees for.

-

Shane adapted to his new routine slowly. He had made sure to make a good impression the first night, even though Hayden had told him to leave the dishes on the drying rack, he had dried and put them away as well. It earned him a pat on the shoulder from Hayden when he returned the following night.

His hours were 11 pm to 3 am. Just four hours for now, and all he did was clean up and do the dishes. It was the work no one else wanted to do, but Shane took it in stride.

The boss was decent, and Shane only knew him as Wiebe. The guy was usually working away in his office or chatting up the crowds in the bar. They didn’t speak much, just a “hello, I’m Shane, your new dishwasher” and then a “good to meet you, Shane.” And that was it.

Shane was at the bottom of the totem pole; he knew that. He didn’t need to have a reputation in this place; if these people were as dangerous as Hayden had warned, then it was good that he kept to himself.

A few days passed, and Shane kept washing and drying the dishes. He brought his headphones to drown out the heavy cackles and revs of motorcycles as he worked. It was actually quite nice to be alone and do his own thing. Almost a week had gone by before he was approached by Wiebe again.

“You think you can clean up some of the front tonight? We were short a bartender. I’ll pay you for an extra hour.”

And Shane couldn’t say no to that.

So he started with the dishes; there wasn’t much compared to other nights. Plus, there wasn’t any noise coming from inside the bar, which meant he was actually alone for once.

He felt giddy inside. Finally, he would be able to see what the inside of the bar looked like. He hadn’t even looked into the narrow window from the kitchen door. Shane had been strict with himself about staying on task and keeping his nose out of the gang's business. But now, with no one here and approval from the boss to go in there, Shane couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled in his chest.

He finished the last plate and dried it half-heartedly before setting it in its place. Shane watched the dirty water circle the drain of the sink, soap curdling at the top of the drain in a yellowish tinge from the grease. Once the sink was completely empty, he allowed himself to whip around and begin his walk out into the bar area.

The dim, sombre lighting illuminated his skin as he pushed open the kitchen door. His eyes went wide with curiosity, the bar being much different from the kitchen.

It was no surprise that the kitchen wasn’t for customers to look at. Here in the main bar, it was covered head to toe in wood flooring and walls. The ceiling was plain, but had beautiful Victorian-style mosaic lamps scattered across it. The place looked like something out of Twin Peaks.

The bar was very large and definitely needed cleaning. The floor was sticky as he stepped on it, and the part of the counter where the bartender would be was drowning in liquids, some of it dripping onto the floor.

Shane sighed and got to work. He grabbed a towel and focused on the job at hand. He thought that maybe if he got the cleaning over with, he’d be able to have a more thorough look around. There were photographs and motorcycle memorabilia littered across the walls, and he wanted to get a better look at them.

He barely got a quarter of the way done when the front door to the bar opened. Shane hated how hard he jumped, not expecting anyone to come inside. He hadn’t heard a motorcycle pull up either.

The man was very rugged and handsome, which was the first thing Shane noticed. He had an unlit cigarette hugged between his plush pink lips, and he had strange eyes. They shone from blue to green, dark and light. He couldn’t pinpoint what colour they were.

He looked like a biker, that was for sure. A leather jacket hugged the man’s broad shoulders, and he had on motorcycle pants and chunky boots. Completely dressed in black like a mystery man from Shane’s dreams, the man stopped at the bar and blinked towards him with curiosity.

“Uhm…” Shane spoke awkwardly, not knowing how to approach the situation. Was this man expecting a meeting? Or whatever they called it? Was he coming to kill Shane for looking at him the wrong way?

“We’re closed…” That’s what Shane ended up going with, which he immediately regretted. The man slowly began to smirk, plucked the cigarette from his lips, and settled it behind his left ear before making his way closer to Shane.

Shane gulped and tried not to show fear. He kept his feet planted where he stood and the rag he was holding still in his grip. The need to run was clawing inside of him; the man was very intimidating.

“Shane, right?” The man asked. Shane’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

“Y-yeah,” he replied. His hands tightened on the cloth in his hands as he tried to think of an escape plan. He was so dead.

“You are new dishwasher, yes? And now, what, new bartender?”

The man still hadn’t addressed the fact that he was in the bar while it was closed. The man had a thick, creamy Russian accent; his voice bounced off the walls of the bar and landed right into Shane’s face. He could only blink. But he knew he needed to answer eventually; the biker could probably smell the fear radiating off of him. It was embarrassing.

“No. N-no. I’m just-uh Wiebe asked me to help clean the bar tonight. The other bartender didn’t show…” Shane trailed off as the man reached behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of vodka and a glass. Shane watched with wide eyes as the man flicked off the cap and then casually poured himself a shot. What the hell?

“Da. Fucking James. He is no good. Do you know how to bartend?”

Shane tried to pay attention to what the guy was saying, but his eyes were entranced as the man’s glass hovered across his lips as he spoke. He then took a long gulp, his throat bobbing as the vodka made its way down his throat.

“I, uh…I have Smart Serve, yeah.” The man looked at him funny.

“What is…Smart Serve?”

Shane shuffled a bit further away, his back hit the counter behind him. He placed one hand on the edge of it to ground himself.

“It's what you need to be legally allowed to bartend in Canada. I-I don’t know what you guys have in Russia, but-”

The man’s brows rose into his hairline, that same intrigued smile appearing across his face.

“You know I am Russian? What gave that away? The accent?”

Shane breathed out a laugh, and he felt his shoulders release their tension slightly. This guy wasn’t too bad.

“Yeah, it's…it's cool,” Shane tried not to cringe at his response.

“Cool,” the man repeated Shane’s words while he took his last sip of the vodka before fishing out the cigarette behind his ear and fishing for a lighter inside his leather jacket.

“I’m sorry, you seem really nice and all, but we really are closed.” Shane tried to speak sternly, but all he got out were wobbly words. The man was a toxic cocktail of handsome and terrifying, and it was exactly Shane’s type.

The man watched him, his lashes long as they fluttered towards Shane. He lit the cigarette despite Shane’s words, and a tuft of smoke rose between them.

“Well, Shane, I guess I will get going then.” The man reached a hand out, and Shane was confused for a second as he stared down at the outstretched limb. He quickly realized the man was gesturing for a handshake, and like he was kick-started back to life, Shane almost lunged forward to shake the man’s hand.

The man laughed through his cigarette, his skin cool and calloused from many bike rides. Shane tried not to think about how the man’s fingertips softly dragged across the inside of his palm when they pulled apart. He wanted that feeling back. 

Shane watched as the man turned around, and he gulped at the patches that littered the back of the man’s leather jacket. Large red letters curved across his shoulders that read ‘Centaurs.’ The unmistakable logo of a half-man, half-horse, and then the word ‘Ottawa’ written below the logo.

Even now that Shane was alone, he still had the man's face burned into his memory. He had very Slavic features; his curls bounced and shone with different shades of blonde in the bars' lighting. He looked like he had strong, bulging muscles underneath all that leather, and it made Shane breathless.

He needed to get laid; that was obvious the moment Shane had moved into Hayden’s place. Hayden had a girlfriend named Jacki, and if Hayden wasn’t working, they were fucking. It was driving Shane insane, and it was a vicious combination of being jobless and very touch-starved.

Refocusing on the duties at the bar, once he finished cleaning the countertop, clearing the counters, mopping the bar floor, and cleaning the tables, it was already 4 am. He was exhausted and also ready to jerk off into his sheets.

It was silly that the first above-average man he encountered caused him to become feral. Shane was already half hard as he got into his car and drove back home. He snuck up the stairs and tumbled into the hot shower. It was there that he fisted his cock and clawed at the tile walls of the shower, his back rippling and pulse quickening as he pictured that Russian biker on his knees sucking his cock. 

He came with a shout into his forearm, his forehead pressing hard into the tile. The water washed away the cum, it swirling down the drain at his feet. His heavy breathing echoed throughout the washroom, and he took a moment to recentre himself before he lifted his head off the wall and continued to clean himself.

Shane felt extremely pathetic, and he scrubbed his skin raw with his washcloth to rid the lingering scent of the man’s cigarette off his body.

-

It was the very next day when Shane found exactly who the mystery man was.

He had gotten to work and began his regular cleaning. The kitchen staff slowly trickled out, saying half-hearted goodbyes to Shane, some not even looking his way. He was still new. Hayden was the last one of the staff to leave, having stayed behind to annoy Shane with his and Jacki’s relationship issues. Once he couldn’t say a full sentence without yawning, Hayden gave Shane a solid pat on the back before leaving.

Then, lastly, Wiebe was shrugging on his jacket and making his way to the back door, he had something in his hands and stopped beside Shane.

“Hey, Shane. Good work last night.”

Shane didn’t stop his cleaning, but acknowledged his boss with a quick nod.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Wiebe is just fine. And I’ve heard from Ilya that you’ve got some bartending skills, so…maybe we can get you on the other side of the bar soon, eh?”

Wiebe gave Shane’s shoulder a tap, and Shane couldn’t help the confusion that contorted across his face. His brain slowly began to process Wiebe’s words, and the dots connected.

“Ilya…I met him last night?” Shane asked, the name feeling strange on his tongue. Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.

“Mm, yes. The big guy himself. I would’ve introduced you to him properly, but Ilya is a hard man to catch.”

Wiebe chuckled, Shane did not. His brain was still shuffling through the images from last night. The handsome face had a handsome name.

“That’s okay. Uh, is he like…a regular or something?” Shane asked.

That’s when Wiebe’s smile faltered, just the smallest bit. His lips twitched, and then he recovered with a shake of his head.

“Christ, kid, he didn’t tell you? He’s the owner of the bar.”

Shane stopped doing dishes and stared forward at the wall in front of him.

“Hayden didn’t tell you anything either? Ilya Rozanov? Leader of the Centaurs in Ottawa?”

Wiebe kept asking as if Shane would suddenly understand. Lots of words came at Shane all at once, and he had to hold onto the edge of the industrial sink tightly. He glared at the soap settled on top of the water; it was still white since he had only just started cleaning.

That handsome, rugged man from last night, whom he kicked out of the bar, was none other than the bar owner himself. No, not just the bar owner, the leader of the fucking Centaurs.

Shane felt sick to his stomach. He was going to fucking die, was his first thought. This Ilya guy didn’t say a thing and allowed Shane to degrade and humiliate him. That man had probably never been spoken to like that in his life.

Or, if he had, the person was definitely dead by now.

“Shane? Buddy?”

Shane flinched, and a bit of water flicked off his hands. He apologized profusely, saying he was fine, just spaced out. Wiebe held a concerned stare, but nodded and held out whatever he had in his hands toward Shane.

“I need you to give this to Ilya tonight. He should be stopping by. It’s just a spare set of keys to the basement of this place.”

Shane nodded, but he felt like he was staring at himself from outside his body. Was this the basement where his body would be found? Maybe Ilya will cut him up into tiny pieces and send his limbs off to his parents and Hayden.

“You sure you’re okay, Shane?” Wiebe was still standing beside him. The man had taken a step back to give Shane some breathing room.

Shane stared down at the set of keys in his trembling hands. He nodded without saying another word. Wiebe took that as a good enough reassurance, because his boss had silently walked off and out the side door.

He stood there for a long time, eyes focused on the keys in his hands. Should he run away? Call Hayden? Calling the cops was useless; that would be an even bigger target on his back.

The roar of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot sealed Shane’s fate, and he closed his hand into a fist with the keys still tightly held inside.

Chatter echoed into the bar, men’s voices rising as glasses clinked and laughs rang out. Shane tried to keep himself focused on the dishes, and never dared to look back at the window looking out into the bar.

But then the dishes were done, and now he had no excuse to be in the back. The keys were burning a hole in his apron pocket, and he took a deep breath before walking towards the kitchen door.

He risked a look outside. He strained to see a group of men all decked out in their classic biker leather at the back of the bar in one of the booths. They shared two ashtrays and passed around a bottle of whiskey. The air was murky with cigarette smoke.

And there, in the middle of it all, was the handsome, mysterious man. Or, Ilya Rozanov.

Shane gulped and closed his eyes. He counted to ten in his head and decided he’d rather come to Ilya than have the biker find him. He needed to show his strength in this.

The door creaked open, and the men were too loud to notice. But Ilya’s position at the booth was perfect to view Shane entering the bar. Shane expected to see the gang leaders face fall with rage, or his hand to whip out a gun and shoot Shane before he even blinked. Instead, Ilya tilted his head to the side in curiosity and gave Shane that same devious smirk.

“Boys,” Ilya’s voice rose through the laughter, and it was almost immediate how everyone stopped to listen to him. No one spoke, all the men stared towards Ilya and hung on his next words.

Ilya then gestured towards Shane. “Meet Shane Hollander. Our new bartender.”

Shane blinked in surprise, not expecting that to be how he was introduced. He wasn’t a bartender yet; he had just finished slaving away at dishes for hours. But he wouldn’t dare correct Ilya; alternatively, he decided to give everyone an awkward smile and a wave.

The men hollered his name, all obviously either drunk or getting there. One of the men stood up, his form quite tall. It was intimidating, and Shane tried not to flinch when the man walked towards him and landed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing.

“Hollander! Now we’ve got a guy to get us wasted all the time!” The man shook him, and Shane couldn’t help but try to weave out of his grasp.

“Marleau.”

The man stopped his roughhousing when Ilya spoke in a warning tone, his smile never faded as he let go of Shane’s shoulders and stumbled to the back with a mumbled ‘I gotta piss’ passing his lips.

“Dishes done, Shane?” Ilya asked, and the room was less loud; the men surrounding Ilya continued to chat, but in a lower volume.

“Y-yeah. Uhm…Wiebe told me to give you these?” Shane hated how he fumbled with his words; his heart was beating out of his chest as he dangled the keys in his grip, revealing them to Ilya.

Ilya didn’t react; he only nodded and took a long drag out of the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

“Later. Clean the bar first, would you?”

Shane hated how fast he nodded and turned away. He felt so submissive, but didn’t know how else to act. Retaliation was futile, not amongst these men who were trained to kill and commit crimes.

Shane cursed himself in his head. How had he gone from being invisible to the centre of attention?

He kept his head hung low as he cleaned the bar. The other bartender, James, must’ve been fired by the looks of the bar again. It sounded like he had the job now, and he didn’t want to know what happened to James to cause him to leave.

The nerves were eating away at him, and Shane struggled to stamp them down. He was scared they’d radiate through the air; he could feel Ilya’s eyes on him the entire time he cleaned. The weight of them had him dragging his feet and begging for forgiveness inside his own head.

“Good night, boys!” Shane whipped his head up when he heard Ilya’s voice. The group of men were waving Ilya off, all of them pushing and shoving one another out of the bar's door. In the midst of their roughhousing, one of them had overturned a chair.

Then it was like a brick wall of silence hit Shane. No more yelling and cackling. It was now just him and Ilya Rozanov inside this bar. Shane refused to look Ilya in the eye, and instead of standing there like an idiot, he rushed to put the chair back upright.

But Ilya beat him to it; the man stepped forward and carefully put the chair back on its four legs. Shane was now looking even stupider, standing right in the middle of the bar's floor with nothing but his grease-stained apron, weighed down by keys to the bar's basement that he still wasn’t allowed to give.

“I-I’m sorry.” Shane blurted out. He didn’t know what else to say. The silence was killing him.

Ilya raised a brow at him, and he crossed his arms as he leaned against the chair he adjusted. The leather jacket tightened across his shoulders due to the movement; it was still extremely hot.

“Sorry for what?” Ilya asked, finally speaking.

Shane blinked rapidly. No, he wasn’t going to cry and beg for his life.

“I’m sorry I kicked you out last night. I swear to God I didn’t know who you were till like…an hour ago. Fuck that sounds worse, I-“

Shane was interrupted by Ilya’s laugh. It was a deep, guttural chuckle that went straight to Shane’s heart.

“Mm, no, it was fun. You are good security, too, I guess. That’s good.” Ilya’s tone was lighthearted and unbothered, but Shane still couldn’t untighten the nerves inside of him. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“If you want to fire me, I get it. I should’ve known…” Shane couldn’t finish his sentence. He knew getting fired was probably the best scenario in this situation.

But Ilya just kept smiling and looking extremely sexy. The man ran a hand through his hair and blew a tuft of air from his lips before pushing off the bar to start a slow walk towards Shane.

“You think I will fire you, why? Because you did not know who I was?”

Shane nodded silently. His feet stayed stuck to the ground where he stood. He didn't know whether to look Ilya in the eye or lower his chin to his chest in submission.

Ilya stopped a few feet away from him, still allowing Shane some space. He stared at Shane with that same curious look, always searching Shane’s face and eyes for something that Shane couldn’t understand.

“If I wanted you gone, you would not be standing in front of me. So relax, da?”

Shane nodded stiffly, gulping loudly.

“Say yes so I know you understand,” Ilya spoke again. His voice was not sharp or intimidating, but the softness was almost worse.

“Yes.”

Once Shane gave Ilya what he wanted, Ilya made a final few steps to stand toe to toe with Shane. They were so close that Shane could feel the tickle of Ilya’s breath on his freckled cheeks. He shifted from side to side and wiped his sweaty palms on his apron.

Ilya’s hand suddenly appeared, palm up with grabbing gestures. Shane blinked, his mind having to catch up from being frozen with fear. Then he realized what Ilya wanted and fished for the keys in his apron pocket. Shakily, he placed them in Ilya’s hand.

And he couldn’t ignore the way Ilya’s fingers almost closed around his hand. Shane hated that he flinched and stumbled back.

“Good to see you again, Shane,” Ilya said, still standing tall and proud in front of him.

“Yeah. See you later.” Shane praised himself silently for not stuttering out his goodbye. He could only watch silently from where he stood still in the middle of the bar as Ilya waltzed out into the night.

Shane waited and observed how Ilya’s motorcycle revved to life, its lights beaming into the bar's windows as he pulled out and sped off into the night. Shane couldn’t see from where he stood; he was too scared to go over and look outside, but he just knew Ilya looked amazing sitting on his bike.

-

“What the fuck do you mean you’re a bartender now?” Hayden groaned as they sat on the couch. There was a hockey game on, and also their day off.

Shane was still a little tense from last night's events. It all blurred together into one fever dream. Ilya’s face is the centre of it all. It was already past 3 pm, and Shane had only woken up an hour ago; that was how dead he was.

“I don’t know…this Ilya guy asked me if I could bartend, I said yes, and then Wiebe came up to me last night basically offering me the job.” Shane shrugged; he didn’t understand it either.

Hayden scoffed and shook his head, his interest in the Senators vs. Sharks dwindling due to the new information.

“So you’re telling me Ilya fucking Rozanov approached you and asked you to become the next bartender at his bar? Fuck off.”

“Yeah. And fuck you by the way, for not telling that Ilya was the bar owner and the leader of the Centaurs. I made a fool of myself.” Shane quickly snapped back.

Hayden abruptly laughed with surprise, staring at Shane with his mouth open.

“Oh my God, no way. Shit, man, I honestly didn’t think you’d meet him. I never see him, and I’ve been working there for almost a year. Oh, please tell me what you said.”

Shane shook his head, getting up from the couch. He was done with this conversation and refused to entertain Hayden further.

“Oh, come on! Did you kick him out of the bar? Told him he couldn’t smoke inside? Tell me!”

“Fuck you, Pike.”

They went back and forth, and Hayden ended up rolling around on the couch with laughter when Shane eventually spat out how their interaction went down. Shane watched and hid the smile on his face by grabbing a beer from the fridge. It took Hayden a few moments to calm himself down.

“You know, I’ve been working there almost a year and can’t even get out of the kitchen as their greasy ass cook but you’re there, what, a week and they promote you? Jesus.”

Shane shrugged again because he had nothing else to say. At least nothing to say to his friend. There were a lot of questions and concerns rattling around in his brain as he sipped on his beer and watched Ottawa’s team get destroyed.

Like, what the hell is he to do now? Why was he chosen to be this Ilya man’s centre of attention? This would only lead to trouble, Shane could foresee that part.

“He’s bisexual, you know.”

Shane blinked at Hayden. Hayden side-eyed him while watching the TV and smirked devilishly.

“Who?”

“Who do you think I’m talking about?”

“You’re fucking lying.”

Hayden raised his hands in surrender at Shane’s bite. Shane just wasn’t having it; he could not believe Hayden was trying to insinuate that, what, he and Ilya could ever be a thing?

Yes, Shane was gay. Yes, Ilya was definitely Shane’s type. But he wasn’t really looking for a gang leader to add to his very small dating history.

“All I’m gonna say is, if you’re being promoted that quickly, it sounds like Mr. Rozanov has gotten sweet for you. You better watch out, Hollander, or you’re gonna be one of the old ladies.”

“Old ladies?” Shane raised a brow with a laugh and then took another swig of his beer.

“That’s what they call their wives and girlfriends in the clubs. Not sure about the boyfriends and husbands. I never had the balls to ask. But you’ll know who they are, now that you’ll be at the bar. They’re the ones with the ‘property of’ patches on the back of their jackets.”

Shane felt his stomach do a weird flip.

“That sounds degrading,” Shane decided to reply with that. Hayden shrugged.

“Do you know how many people would die to have patches like that? It’s not about…degrading someone. It’s honestly more powerful. You got a Rozanov patch on your back, no one’s fucking touching you.”

Shane shivered and hid his reaction by downing the rest of his beer. Once it was empty, he got up and made his way towards his bedroom.

“Have fun jerking off to that picture!” Hayden teased as he left.

Shane knew he was blushing deeply.

-

Gradually, Shane’s hours got longer and more entertaining. He still did the dishes after the bar closed, which he should’ve been paid a little more for since he was doubling up on bartending and being the dishwasher, but he couldn’t complain.

Bartending was fun. The people were rambunctious and loud, the place blared hard rock and sexy men, and women danced and made out. The bar was littered with leather jackets, all of them plastered with the Centaurs logo. 

Shane even saw the ones that Hayden had been talking about. The women held their heads high and were all over the men whose last name they had stitched into their backs. They didn’t look sad at all.

One night, Shane had actually seen a man with a ‘property of’ jacket on. It was so shocking that he didn’t realize he had been staring until the guy was speaking to him with an amused grin.

“Something on my face?”

Shane flinched and almost dropped the rag he was using to clean the bar. Now that he was both the end-of-the-night cleaner and bartender, he was more aware of his spills. But it looked like he had been wiping over the same spot for a solid minute, all because this beautiful man walked in with a jacket that read ‘property of Barrett’ across its shoulders.

“U-uhm no. Sorry…what would you like?” Shane asked, immediately trying to deflect the situation. A blush continued to make its way across his freckles.

The man kept smirking, but played along.

“Just a Coke for me. But a Guinness for my husband Troy over there, please.” The guy shoved a thumb over his shoulder, to make it clear that he was taken, as if the giant letters on his back weren't insanely obvious. But Shane had to remember he was new here; no one knew his intentions.

Shane had to shoot this down immediately.

“I’m sorry for staring. I’m not uh, I’m not interested or anything. I’m just learning the rules, and I saw your patches. They’re cool.”

The guy nodded, looking a little less tense now that Shane sputtered out that awkward response. Shane busied himself by gathering the man’s drinks.

“The new guys are always overwhelmed. It’s fine.”

Shane smiled cautiously, placing the Coke on the counter and then finishing up pouring the Guinness.

“I’m Harris, by the way. Troy is my husband. I guess you’re brand new if I haven’t seen you before.” The man, Harris, had his hand out for Shane to shake, and Shane gladly did.

“Yeah, I’m the dishwasher too. We’re down a bartender, so I’m helping out.”

“Jeez, they’re really putting you to work.”

Shane smirked. He liked this guy.

Harris grabbed his drinks, lifting them in a cheers to Shane as he stepped away from the bar.

“Put it on Rozanov’s tab, and I’ll see you around.”

Shane nodded and then watched Harris walk back to Troy Barrett’s side, the other man’s last name displayed on his back in big, red letters. Shane tried not to stare as Harris leaned down to give Troy a wet kiss before handing him the beer.

Hayden’s words came flooding back to him as he tried to occupy himself with cleaning. “He’s bisexual, you know.”

Now it didn’t look so shocking. If there were other gay guys in this gang, maybe Rozanov was also?

Shane danced his gaze across the table that Harris and Troy were sitting at, and he flinched when he quickly locked eyes with Ilya himself. It was like the man was already staring at him.

He hid his blush by dipping his chin and pretending to fix the bottles on the counter. Thankfully, a woman came up to the bar asking for a round of shots, so he was able to distract himself that way.

The next few days were the same. Every time Shane would look through the crowds of people, Ilya was always locking eyes with him. Consistently, he was always being watched.

He got closer to the gang, as well. When the bar would close, the boys would migrate to the back booth and have their little meetings. Their wives and Harris would head home. It would just be Shane and Ilya’s closest men.

They’d ask for refills and joke about Ilya’s tab; recently, they had even bought Shane a shot to down with them. Shane never heard what they spoke about, and never wanted to. He was just happy they accepted him.

Many nights ended with all the boys leaving and Rozanov staying behind; his excuse was always that he had to pay off his tab.

“It’s your bar, do you really have to pay it off?” Shane had joked when it was the third night in a row that Ilya had stayed behind. Ilya just shrugged, and Shane swore Ilya’s eyes flickered down to his lips.

“I don’t want to fuck with Wiebe’s till, and you need a good tip, yes?”

And Ilya always gave a very high tip. He would pay Shane a hundred dollars in cash, then pay with a debit card for the drinks.

“You’re giving me too much…” Shane joked when the hundred-dollar bill got slapped down on the counter. Canada’s eighth Prime Minister, who was plastered on the bill, was staring back at him mockingly.

“Mm, not enough, I think,” and then Ilya winked.

Shane had never felt his knees go weak before, but in that moment, they definitely did.

They grew closer; Shane felt comfortable under Ilya’s gaze now. If he swept his eyes across the bar, he stopped flinching when he met those hazel eyes. Ilya’s stare was a blanket of comfort; he felt protected.

He felt like property, like he was already wearing that jacket.

Ilya now stayed longer once all the boys left. He even sat on the counter in the kitchen nursing a beer and kicking his big steel-towed boots around while Shane finished the dishes. Then it became a trend for Ilya to follow him around like some lost puppy, always chatting about life and sports.

But never about the gang. Never about that. Shane kept that off limits, and Ilya did as well.

Tonight was different the moment Shane entered the bar, though. Shane could feel it in the air as soon as he walked in. The kitchen staff kept bustling away, Hayden giving him a raised brow and a smirk before he went back to plating a burger.

Everyone else seemed fine, but Shane still felt so…off.

Maybe it was because Ilya wasn’t in attendance tonight. Shane noticed immediately when he shouldered open the kitchen door and walked into the bar. His eyes did their usual scan across the bar, and there was a giant empty booth that held no one. Not Ilya, not Troy, none of Ilya’s crew were there.

They didn’t have to be here every night. Shane knew that. Ilya especially, since he had a gang to run. But Shane almost felt naked without the hard and consistent stare from Ilya.

He tried to shake it off. He had a job to do, that was it. The night went on with no issue; the crowd died down quicker, and people weren’t as lively as they usually were. Shane noticed everything that was out of place.

“I’m heading out!” Yelled Rose, who was on shift with him tonight, Shane nodded her way and watched her leave. The kitchen door swung once before Hayden came through it next.

He looked exhausted; he and Jacki had been going through a rough patch. Shane hated to see his friend like that.

“Can I buy you a drink before you go?” Shane asked, giving Hayden a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Hayden shook his head.

“Nah, one of the things Jacki told me was I gotta lay off the beer. I gotta at least…try for her, you know?”

Shane nodded and let Hayden shrug him off before leaving next. Soon enough, the bar and kitchen were completely empty. Shane was the only one inside the building.

He felt stupid for feeling depressed as he wiped down the counter and reorganized the bottles. It should be good, usually he and Ilya talked too much, and it ended in him driving home an hour or so after his shift was supposed to end.

This will be good. He can sleep more.

But would his sleep be interrupted by pink plush lips and curly blonde hair?

He scrubbed harder at the bar's counter in retaliation for his intrusive thoughts. Shane was just about to swing around and readjust the chairs at the counter when the front door burst open.

So much happened at once, Shane gasped and stumbled backwards. He hit his lower back hard against the back countertop and watched in horror as three guys dragged one screaming man through the bar.

Ilya was waltzing behind the chaos, his jaw set and eyes flaming with anger. Shane had never seen him like this.

Troy was one of the three guys dragging the lone victim, and Shane thought he saw a glimpse of Marleau. They threw the man so hard that he tumbled over a table and landed harshly on the ground. The man scrambled backwards and grabbed at a chair, kicking and thrashing with the piece of furniture between him and the three burly guys thirsting for blood.

One of them grabbed at the chair and flung it across the room, and it hit the wall beside Shane, causing him to gasp in shock.

That was when Ilya’s eyes finally met his.

It was strange how Ilya’s expression immediately softened out of the rage it once held. The boys were now beating on the man, some shouts of ‘you really fucked with the wrong people’ and ‘what are you gonna do now, Tom?!’ Being thrown in the air.

Shane froze when Ilya broke away from the fight to walk up to him. He approached with caution, probably noticing the fear on Shane’s face.

He said one sentence to Shane once he got less than an arm’s length away.

“Get back in the kitchen.”

Ilya’s voice was stern but still ever-so soft when speaking to Shane. Shane caught sight of the keys to the basement that he had given Ilya. They were grasped in one of his hands at his side.

Shane stared wide-eyed, but nodded and stumbled back into the kitchen door. It swung roughly, hitting the wall and creaking loudly over the man’s screams.

He almost fell onto the floor, but steadied his balance by gripping the kitchen table. The cool steel soothed his sweaty skin, and Shane held it for dear life as he tried to block out the yells and wet hits of impact. 

‘This is what they do. This is what you signed up for.’ Shane repeated to himself. Hayden had warned him that they were dangerous, and this was the reality. It wasn’t just pure and simple late-night chats, or off-handed flirting that made him blush. It was the calm before the storm, and now he was right in the middle of it.

Well, not right in the middle. Ilya had done him a favour by ordering him back into the kitchen. The horrific sounds were muffled by the wall, and now all Shane was left with was his imagination.

He lifted himself off the table and tried to distract himself. The dishes still needed to be done, since he had started in the bar, so he dove right into the job and purposely clanked and clashed the dishes together louder so it drowned out the heavy sobs and pleas.

Eventually, he heard the cries die down. The crashes faded out, and Shane tried not to tense when the kitchen door creaked open.

The slow thunder of Ilya’s motorcycle boots, their heavy soles clacking against the tiled ground until they stopped beside him. Shane stopped cleaning and glared at his own reflection amongst the soap in the sink. He stared back at a terrified face.

“I am…sorry you had to see that.”

Shane’s brows furrowed into the water. Ilya stepped forward even more; now he could see the hint of curls at the corner of his reflection.

“Shane.”

He snapped his eyes up and tried to hide the fear with a smile. Ilya didn’t return it. All the fire in Ilya’s eyes had extinguished. He looked into Shane’s eyes and desperately searched with concern.

“It’s okay-” 

“No, is not okay. I should have checked the bar before we came in.”

They basked in the silence, both unsure how to move forward. Shane shrugged and bit his lip. He still had the washcloth in his hands, and he fiddled with it as a distraction from wanting to touch Ilya.

“It’s your bar, Ilya. I’ll live. It was just…shocking, that’s all. I’ll get used to it.”

Ilya didn’t seem to like that answer; his face still grim. But his shoulders dropped, showing defeat.

“I am sorry again. Do not worry about cleaning up. I will walk you to your car, now.”

Shane tried to protest, but Ilya was already walking away and grabbing for Shane’s jacket.

“Wiebe will kill me if I leave this place like this…”

Ilya smirked as he handed Shane his jacket.

“He will not because I will tell him to leave you alone.”

And that was that. Shane had no fight left in him. He hung the cloth on the sink faucet, untied his apron, and then shrugged on his jacket. Ilya watched with careful eyes that flickered from Shane to the kitchen door as if awaiting someone else to come crashing in.

Shane pushed the back door open and had already forgotten that Ilya had offered to walk him to his car. He stared back and faltered in his step when Ilya walked outside with him, the man stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. 

“You don’t have to…”

“Mm, and what if I want to?” Ilya hummed, keeping his slow pace and continuing to walk towards Shane’s car alone. It was the only beat-up car in the parking lot, and he knew exactly where to go.

Shane followed, his own hands stuffing into his jacket pockets. They walked side by side, and it took only twenty steps until they were at Shane’s driver's side door. Shane counted.

Ilya didn’t speak to him, and the awkwardness grew inside Shane. He fumbled for his keys and kept missing the lock on the door handle. He began speaking in a ramble to fill the silence.

“I uhm…I won’t freak out next time. I promise. It was just my first time seeing, well, that-”

“Shane.”

And then Ilya placed his hand on top of his, halting his frantic movements. Shane was frozen with surprise and watched as Ilya took his keys and unlocked the car for him. Ilya was so close to him that he could count the moles on his face and see the hint of a gold necklace tucked inside his shirt.

Ilya turned, their noses almost brushed. Ilya was only slightly taller than him, so Shane had to look up through his lashes to meet his eyes.

“I will text you when I need to be in the bar. Okay?”

Shane nodded; he couldn’t form words for a few seconds. His brain was jumbled with images of Ilya’s face. 

“D-do you need my phone number?”

Ilya smirked, his hand connected with Shane’s to give him back his keys. He dragged his fingertips along the back of Shane’s hand.

“I have your number already.”

Ilya took a step back, the intimacy snapping in half. Shane’s mouth was opening and closing as he tried to find more words to say, but Ilya was already walking towards the bar and stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

Shane stared at the Centaurs logo as it slowly grew smaller and smaller, it finally disappearing into the bar.

-

Two days passed, and Shane couldn’t stop thinking of Ilya. It wasn’t out of trauma, but the opposite. Shane had gone to sleep the night of the incident, dreaming of Ilya’s fiery gaze, but instead of it walking into the bar, it was staring down over top of him as Ilya thrusted into Shane’s moaning form. The flash of a cross necklace dangled in front of his face, it acting as a pendulum that entranced him.

Shane had cum in his boxers when he woke up, and he felt so ashamed that he rushed into the bathroom and took the coldest shower he could muster.

When he was back at the bar, Shane had noticed immediately that Ilya was avoiding him. Usually, when Shane locked eyes with Ilya, the other man would keep that stare, but now Ilya would break their gaze instantly. He’d make the other boys go up to get him a beer, and never once went near the bar when Shane was there.

It was a very, very lonely night for Shane. He went numb when Ilya left with all the boys; they had snuck out when Shane had gone to the back for his break. Shane used to love the silence, but now it left an ache in his gut. 

The next day was the same. Shane desperately tried to meet Ilya’s eyes, to get some kind of reaction out of the man. But there was nothing.

Shane hated to admit he almost cried on his next break, the tears welling up in his eyes as he sat in the back room.

He couldn’t take it anymore, and Shane had his chance once everyone was out of the bar. Ilya had just said his goodbyes to some of the old ladies from his gang, and he faltered in his step back to sit with his boys. They were separated by only the bar counter.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Shane pointed out before he could overthink it.

Ilya looked at him, his eyes moving up and down Shane’s form. He turned towards him and leaned against the counter. Shane stood his ground; he refused to show weakness even though he was hollowed out on the inside.

“I have been busy,” Ilya paused, and Shane dipped his head in shame, but then Ilya continued. “And I do not want to scare you.”

Shane couldn’t help but scoff and shake his head. He looked up to stare right into Ilya’s eyes to show just how not-scared he was.

“I told you, I’m fine. I swear, okay? It wasn’t that big of a deal, I’m over it already.”

Ilya absorbed Shane’s words, a pause coming between them.

“Okay. Then we will talk later, yes?”

Shane nodded stiffly, and Ilya walked towards his booth at the back.

He kept to himself while Ilya had his meeting. The boys were their usual rowdy and loud selves, and Shane was ecstatic to hear and feel the energy come back into the bar. It had only been two days, but it felt like a lifetime.

It was bad that Shane was getting so attached to this lifestyle. He could already hear his mother's nagging tone in his ear. She'd judge him about his choices and future. But he was only in his twenties, he wanted to live for fuck sake.

So he allowed the boys to buy him shots, and he chatted them up when they weren’t talking about private matters. Ilya watched him curiously whenever he settled another beer on the table for the boys or hung around to tease one of them. He never said anything directly to him, but Shane didn’t mind. Their alone time was coming.

“You’re fucking hilarious, Hollander!” One of the guys suddenly shouted out. Shane didn’t remember his name; all he knew was that this guy was very drunk, and Shane wasn’t sure how the hell he was getting home. But he was too afraid to deny him.

When no one replied to the guy's outburst, he continued with a snort.

“I mean, come on, boys. I think we can call it what it is, now! We’ve got ourselves a little poser here!”

The table went impossibly more silent. Shane tried to gauge the reactions from the boys, but received nothing. Ilya was staring across the table at the guy with hard eyes.

“What?” Shane asked, letting out a forced laugh. He tried to occupy himself by grabbing some empties from the table. He didn’t make eye contact with any of the boys, suddenly embarrassed.

“A wannabe rider, either that or you wanna fuck one of us, right-“

“Jake.”

The whole table turned towards Ilya’s sharp tone. Shane stepped back with his arms full of empty beer cans and glasses. He didn’t know whether to run away or stay.

“Oh come on, Roz!” The guy, Jake, had a shakiness to his voice.

“Don’t bite the hand that gives you beer. And don’t fucking talk to him like that.”

Then Shane turned away and walked back to the bar. He had made his own decision to depart from the group after Ilya’s words. He felt a fullness in his chest as the exchange of words replayed in his mind. Ilya had actually defended him. And to think he had once thought Ilya hated him only a few days ago.

When the clock struck 3 am, the boys began their leave. All of them patted Ilya on the back and walked out, except for Jake, who had left early with his tail between his legs. Other than that, every single one of them had also said goodbye to Shane. It was now very clear these boys needed to respect him. 

Once the muffled rumble of the motorcycles leaving the parking lot was heard, Ilya got up from his seat at the booth and slowly stalked over to him.

“You should clean up and go home,” Ilya started the conversation off with the words Shane didn’t want to hear.

“Nice try. I’m not leaving you that easily. Plus, I still have dishes to do.”

Ilya scowled at the retaliation, but nodded and followed Shane into the back. They fell back into conversation easily, once again talking about things other than gang life and the shit that went down just a few hours ago. Ilya talked about how much he liked Montreal and the places he’s been to across America.

It allowed Shane to work, and he was fast and efficient, listening to Ilya drawl on and on.

“Where would you like to go, if you could right now?” Ilya asked. Shane snuck a glance over to the man. He was leaning against the back door, eating something he found in the kitchen’s fridge.

“I don’t know…maybe Vancouver? My parents grew up there. I always wanted to see it.”

Ilya gave him a blank stare, and then his face broke out into a large and amused grin.

“What?” Shane asked with a chuckle, and he put the dish he held back down into the sink to stare at Ilya with raised brows. His hands were still covered in soap suds.

“That is a very boring answer.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

Ilya took a step closer. He had settled whatever he was eating down to start helping Shane by drying the plates he had cleaned.

“What did you want me to say? I’m insanely broke right now, a vacation is not happening!”

Ilya scoffed and shook his head. He was still smiling.

“I said, if you could go anywhere. You can say Japan, maybe Los Angeles, Australia…”

Shane thought through Ilya’s suggestions and decided to give Ilya another sliver of his life.

“My mom is from Japan, like, her parents were born there. So…I guess I’d like to go there.”

“Very good choice. And you get your looks from her, yes?”

Shane paused and stared. Ilya continued drying as if nothing had happened, but he knew exactly what he had done, and he raised a brow at Shane when he didn’t say anything.

“You don’t look like you are breathing,” Ilya points out. Shane definitely wasn’t.

“I’m fine, just-“

Ilya stopped drying the dishes and stepped into Shane’s space. They were nose to nose, just like they were when Ilya had walked Shane to his car. But this was different.

“You are still scared of me. Look, you’re shaking,” Ilya lightly grabbed at Shane’s soap-covered hands. Now they were both covered in little bubbles.

“Fuck, Ilya, I’m not scared. Okay? I’m…fuck I don’t know. It’s hard to act normal around you.”

Ilya’s breath was tickling his face, and Shane could count the speckles in his eyes. They were still holding hands, and Ilya was now rubbing slow circles on the back of Shane’s hands with his thumbs.

And then Ilya asked the question that really had Shane breathless.

“Can I kiss you?”

It was as if Shane were starving. As soon as Ilya asked, Shane threw his hand up to grab at Ilya’s hair and finally, finally connected them.

They were both extremely greedy. Teeth clashed, tongues entwined, and moans and sighs of relief rang in a chorus around the kitchen.

Ilya had his hands occupied on Shane’s waist, not daring to go down any lower. Shane wanted to whine and push them to go further with this, but he knew that would be too much right now.

They had to part so they could breathe eventually, and their hot breaths mingled into each other's open mouths. Shane loosened his grip on Ilya’s curls, smoothing his hand down to cup at the back of Ilya’s neck.

“That was…” Shane whispered, his eyes searching Ilya’s expression for any sign of regret. But Ilya had the same starry eyes as him.

“Yes,” Ilya answered, his own voice barely above a breath. He licked his lips once and then painstakingly pulled away from Shane’s grip.

Now they were looking at one another, just one foot apart, lips red and wet, words caught in their throats. Shane could see the gears turning in Ilya’s head, the way his shoulders tightened and squared up to protect himself from a fight that wasn’t coming.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” Ilya’s voice grew colder and more distant. Shane wished he could reach out for him, but the boundary had been severed.

So he nodded silently and watched Ilya adjust his leather jacket and rush out the back door.

When the door closed, it echoed across the empty bar mockingly.