Bradford's Orders Book Two The Legacy Series

Chapter 23

Thank you for reading

Chapter 23

Georgia

The bar was louder than I'd expected for a weeknight. Music pulsed from hidden speakers, a low thrum of bass vibrating through the floorboards. Somewhere behind me, a woman let out a sharp, delighted laugh that carried over the clink of glassware and the steady hum of conversation.

I didn't let myself look around, but for a moment, I imagined what it would feel like to just be another person in this place. Someone who could sit at the polished mahogany bar without a motive, order a drink without an ulterior purpose, and smile at a stranger without calculating what it would cost.

I envied them, those women who could throw their heads back and laugh without caring who watched. Who didn't have to carry the weight of someone else's safety on their shoulders.
But I was a Bradford. And Bradfords didn't buckle.

My great-grandmother Georgia, the one I'd been named for, had been the same way, strong as forged iron, hair as black as a raven's wing, eyes the color of moss in sunlight. I had seen the old photos, the sepia images of a woman who looked so much like her it was unnerving. If you set our portraits side by side, we could've been twins across a century.

Same black hair spilling over my shoulders in a careless wave. Same green eyes that didn't soften for anyone who didn't deserve it. Same stubborn tilt of my chin that told the world I was nobody's victim.

That was who I thought of now as Zane Clark's hand slid higher on my knee, as if he owned the right to touch me.

I made myself sit still, every muscle held in perfect, unbending calm. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

The lights above the bar glowed golden, pooling across the lacquered surface. A row of mismatched liquor bottles caught the shine, labels gleaming like trophies. I wrapped my fingers tighter around my glass and willed my pulse to slow.

Around me, people went on with their night. A couple near the jukebox were pressed so close together they looked like they might fall right into each other's bones. A group of tourists in bright shirts raised shots and whooped at something only they found funny.

Normal. All of them so normal.
And here I was, sitting beside a man who'd already torn a hole in my family, pretending to consider his proposition because I needed to understand exactly how far he planned to go.

"You know," Zane drawled, leaning in like he thought he'd worn me down, "it doesn't have to be this complicated. You and me? We could help each other."

I didn't look at him. I watched my own reflection in the mirror behind the bar instead, the woman I'd learned to be. Steady. Unbreakable. Classy. Charming. And ruthless.

"You have no idea who I am," I said quietly, though I kept my expression smooth. "Or what I'm capable of."

He didn't hear the threat. Or maybe he did, and he thought he was the bigger predator.

His mouth curved into a smile that made my stomach tighten. "I might know more than you think."

I lifted my eyes, meeting his without blinking. "Then you'd know this is a mistake."

A burst of laughter erupted from the table behind them, high and carefree. For a heartbeat, I wished I could be anywhere else, anyone else.

But my great-grandmother hadn't flinched, and neither would I.

Zane's hand crept higher, just an inch, testing. "Come back to my room," he murmured. "You'll see I'm right."

I felt the blood in my veins cool to ice.