Chapter Three

A.N. okay, last chapter of this one for a while so I can focus on finishing 'then came you'. let me know if you're enjoying this one. appreciate you <3

He was late getting to the bar. He'd spent an hour on the phone with the chief down in Mexico, confirming yet again that he wasn't heading down there to work on the Guadalajara case. A part of him, though he tried his best to repress it, did feel like a deadbeat, an incompetent agent for not finishing what he'd helped start. But what was the fucking point? You take down one cartel just to make room for another one. He'd gotten enough innocent people killed already, why ravage another country, take down another pack of narcos when he knew there were at least fifteen more cartels waiting on the sidelines to become the next big operation.

He raked his fingers through the front of his hair as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was busy, the seat he normally occupied was taken by some college kid with a nose ring. His eyes scanned the space behind the bar for Emma, but she was nowhere to be seen. An unfamiliar middle-aged man with a swelling waist and an unfortunate hairline was in her place.

Javier stood by the door for a minute, contemplating walking right back outside. Perhaps her schedule had changed, or maybe she'd called out. He had a moment of slight panic as his brain constructed unlikely scenarios for why she might need to skip work when his eyes caught sight of her figure, pushing her way through the swinging back door, a bowl of oranges in her hands, worry lines etched into the space between her eyebrows.

His hand twitched as he thought about smoothing that space with a quick brush of his thumb. Instead, he took the few steps needed to place him at the bar, parking himself between that college kid with the nose ring and an older regular he'd hear Emma call Ethan.

"Chiquita." He hummed, leaning over the bar a bit so she could hear him over the drone of noise coming from the jukebox and the chatter of the crowd.

Her eyes flickered up to his face, and he relished in the small smile that pulled at the corner of her lips before her attention drifted back down to where she was cutting a couple of the oranges into thin slices.

She felt a bit of the pressure in her chest fall away in his presence. Martin had been on her fucking case for the last two hours, insisting that they reorganize the well, consistently replenish the garnishes regardless of whether or not they would end up in the compost bin, greet every customer with a smile and a welcome to Fireside. She wanted to remind him that he owned a shitty dive bar on the edge of the city, not a fucking cocktail lounge in FiDi, but she wasn't keen on looking for a new gig.

"You're late." She declared, her fingers inching up the orange as she sliced it with the precision of an accomplished chef.

"Miss me?" He crooned, winking at her when she glanced up at him again.

"Hardly." She leered, biting down on the plush skin of her bottom lip to suppress a smile.

"Who's the new guy?" Javier asked, his voice low enough so that only she could hear as he gestured over to the other man behind the bar with a quick tilt of his head.

"Not new." Emma whispered, keeping her eyes on the task at hand, "Martin, he owns the bar."

Ah, so that was who Martin was. Of course Nick would threaten to tattle to the bar owner, fucking cunt.

"He's on my fucking case." Emma muttered, depositing the orange slices into one of the empty garnish jars, "Says I'm not nice enough to the customers."

"Can't argue with facts." Javier joked, grinning when she glanced up to glare at him.

"Kidding, bonita." He chuckled, his gaze drifting over to Martin, who was manically scrubbing some invisible spot on the bar top. "Let me see what I can do." He said, pushing himself from the bar and beginning to walk toward the owner.

"Javier..." Emma hissed after him, shaking her head when he looked back at her and winked again.

She was going to slap his pretty face stupid if he got her fired.

He leaned against the bar, just in front of the space Martin was still trying to scrub clean. The man's eyes flickered up to his face, and he immediately ceased his scrubbing, plastering a forged smile on his face. "Hey there, welcome to Fireside. What can I get started for you?"

"Bourbon, neat." Javier replied, his large hand gripping the edge of the bar top.

"Coming right up!" Martin exclaimed, turning his large bulk around and peering up at the bottles on the shelf, his head swiveling back and forth between the whisky and the bourbon like he didn't know the difference.

Dude owns a fucking bar and doesn't even know the difference between liquors.

"Emma keeps it in the well." Javier quipped, his eyes flickering down to the bottle.

Martin didn't say anything, just grabbed a low ball glass, placed it on the counter, and pulled the bourbon out of the well.

"Are you new here?" Javier asked, feigning ignorance as he traded Martin a ten for his glass, which was not nearly as full as when Emma poured it for him.

"Oh no, no. Not new." Martin flashed a toothy grin as he pocketed the bill.

Is he going to keep that or actually ring me up?

Javier nodded slowly, taking a long sip of his drink before placing it back down on the bar. "Regardless, maybe you should shadow Emma for a shift, she's an incredible bartender, reason I keep coming back."

Martin let out a menacing little chuckle that made Javier's hand involuntarily twitch around his glass.

"Shadow Emma." Martin grumbled under his breath, a cheeky smile occupying his lips as he picked the rag back up and went to work on the invisible spots on the bar top again. "That's rich."

Javier resisted the urge to grab the front of the man's shirt and yank him over the counter. "At least she knows the fucking difference between whisky and bourbon." He muttered to himself as he sauntered back over to the space he'd been occupying before.

Emma's eyes flickered over his face as he parked himself in front of her again, her stomach twisting with nerves at the darkened hue of his eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't just make my life more hellish." She groaned, anxiously ringing a rag in her hands.

Javier shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of bourbon before he spoke, "Don't think so, you want to tell me why every man within a five-block radius of this bar is a piece of shit, though?"

"That include you?" Emma retorted, a sly grin occupying her face before she watched Javier's shoulders slump, his eyes drifting down to his hand, still clutching the glass. The smile fell from her face and was replaced with a bubbling bout of guilt in her gut.

He knew she was joking, but it did certainly include him. He might be worse than every scumbag that graced this establishment combined. And that's why he needed to keep that good two feet of bar that separated them intact... no matter how desperately he wanted to ask her to come over each night the bar cleared out.

Javier coughed, working to lighten his tone when he spoke again, "Man owns a fucking bar and still couldn't locate the bourbon shelf."

"He doesn't even drink." Emma said, slowly spinning the bowl of oranges around, "Just works to bankrupt all the alcoholics in the Sunset."

Javier didn't respond, not with a quick quip or another insult, just kept his eyes glued to his glass, his wide frame curling inward as he leaned against the bar top.

The remorse aching away in her core made her speak involuntarily, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a quick heap as she twisted the damp rag into a cord between her hands, "I-- Javier, I was just joking when I said that you were included in--"

He interrupted her with a quick shake of his head, a weak smile pulling at his lips that just worked to make her feel more guilty. "No worries, chiquita." He hummed, quickly finishing his drink, and pushing it toward the back of the bar top, "Any chance you could fill this back up?" He asked, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, and placing a ten down next to his empty glass.

She nodded, taking the glass and walking over toward the well.

You're a fucking bitch, there's a difference between flirting and just straight up insulting the man.

Javier watched her while she refilled his glass, Martin leaning down to say something to her that made her face scrunch up with annoyance as she returned and placed it in front of him.

"Still pulling your chain?" Javier asked after swallowing a mouthful of bourbon, his head tilting slightly to the side as she plucked another couple oranges from the bowl and began cutting again, this time a bit more hurriedly.

"Apparently we need two jars of orange slices, despite the fact that we only use about three a night." She huffed, rolling her eyes, her slices not nearly as precise this time around.

Javier was about to rebuttal, say something about him shoving those oranges where the sun don't shine when Martin himself stalked through the back of the bar, bumping into Emma on his way around to berate a couple college kids who were blasted enough to start using the pool cues as fencing sabres.

Javier's eyes followed him as he snatched one of the cues out of the instigator's hand, but darted back to Emma when he heard a small gasp echo out of her throat.

When Martin bumped into her, the knife missed the orange, and instead nicked the knuckle of her first finger, slicing through her skin in one clean cut that was now causing blood to trickle down her finger, collecting on the lines on the inside of her palm.

She felt her head spin, her vision going blurry at the sight, a steady heartbeat now throbbing away underneath the pad of her finger.

Javier's eyes flickered from her bleeding finger to her face, which was a few shades paler than normal.

"Hey, you alright bonita?" He asked, but she could barely hear his voice as she wrapped her fist around her injured finger, stumbling her way toward the door to the back of the bar.

But fuck she was dizzy, all the blood rushing away from her head as her vision whirled. Javier pushed himself out from between the two barstools and quickly cleared the space around the bar, so when she stumbled, nearly hitting the back door with her forehead, he was there, his big, warm hands taking hold of her waist to steady her before she could fall over.

Her breathing hitched at the sensation, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying to steady her vision so she could look up at him.

"Easy." He cooed, wrapping one arm around her slight waist, using the other to push the back door open and help lead her inside. "I've got you."

He led her over to the sink at the back wall, turning the tap on and gently taking her wrists in his hands, tugging them over the basin and underneath the water.

Her heart was pounding as his wide frame crowded her against the edge of the sink, his arms on either side of her, his chest pressed against her back, his large hands dwarfing her wrists as he held her hands underneath the water, which was tinged pink as it hit her bloody palms.

Oh god no, close your eyes.

"Faint at the sight of blood, chiquita?" He asked, his low baritone so close to her ear. She felt a tremble rush down her spine in response.

"Mhm." She mumbled, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her lips in a straight line.

She fainted at the sight of blood. God, if only she knew the horrors he'd witnessed, the amount of bloodshed he'd caused...

He tried to shake the thought off, focus back on the feeling of her pressed up against him. But no, fuck, that wasn't safe either, evident by the way his cock stirred in the confines of his jeans as he focused on the plump shape of her ass pressed flush against his thigh.

He swallowed hard, trying to solely focus on the task at hand... but that was difficult when the task was her.

He shut the water off, taking her waist back in his hands and directing her over to the office chair in the corner of the room.

"Sit." He urged, watching her plop down on the chair as soon as the edge of it hit the back of her thighs. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, her hands shaking a bit as she rested her elbows on the top of her knees.

Fuck, she's so pretty.

He imagined gathering her face in his hands and urgently parting his lips over hers as he stared down at her before forcing himself into composure.

"Do you have a first aid kit?"

She nodded; her eyes still shut. "Top drawer of the desk." She answered, her voice still a bit shaken.

She listened to him blindly as he shuffled around somewhere behind her, the sound of the drawer closing, the box clicking open, then his footsteps, the warmth of his presence in front of her again.

He knelt down in front of her, gently taking her wrist again, lying her arm flat against her thigh. With him so close, the smell of his cologne flooded her senses, musky sandalwood, a hint of espresso, the lingering scent of tobacco. Fuck, he smelled good. She wanted to collapse forward against that broad chest, take a hearty inhale against the tan skin of his neck.

"Just going to put a Band-Aid on, alright? Cut doesn't look too deep."

She nodded; her eyes still shut.

He ripped the Band-Aid out of the wrapper, letting the paper flutter to the ground as he peeled the adhesive stickers off, gently taking her little hand and wrapping the bandage around her knuckle.

"There." He cooed, his voice so soft, his calloused thumb rubbing a gentle line up and down the back of her hand. "You can open your eyes now, chiquita, no more blood."

She did, letting them flutter open, her breath getting caught in her throat as she realized how close his face was to hers.

Her hand was still held in his, those warm, brown eyes flickering over her as his lips pulled into a soft smile.

"There she is." He cooed, making her core ache.

She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth and his eyes darted to the movement, a groan trying to tumble out of his chest as his attention drifted back to her eyes, that dark fucking blue that reminded him of home.

He rose a bit on his knees, restraint abandoning him as he took hold of the arms of the chair tugging it closer to him, so her thighs had to part to make room for his torso.

"Javier." She gasped his name, and he felt his cock spring to life at the sound.

Fuck it, he thought, about to let go of the chair with his right hand and latch it to the back of her neck when the door behind him swung open, Emma's eyes darting up a second before he stood, swirling around to be greeted by a very confused, very annoyed looking Martin.

"Customers aren't allowed in the back, you know that, Emma." he grunted, crossing his arms over the top of his swelling gut.

Javier felt Emma stand behind him, and he took a step to the side to make sure she had her bearings. She didn't, wavering a bit on her feet before Javier reached out and clasped the space just above her right elbow. The firm, warm grip of his hand grounded her enough that she felt the blood slowly begin to return to her head.

"She cut her hand; I was just helping her bandage it." Javier said, his voice cold and unwavering as he turned his attention back to Martin.

Fuck him for interrupting whatever that could have turned into... but also, maybe it was for the best. Javier thought, even as his heart pounded a beat faster in his chest when he felt Emma shuffle a step closer to his side.

Martin's eyes flickered back and forth between the two of them before he spoke, "You should have called me for help, not a customer." Martin said, his focus now drilling into her.

Javier tensed at the thought, the image that sprung to mind, Martin holding her upright at the sink, Martin easing her into the chair, Martin taking her injured hand in his grubby one.

"You're right, I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again." Emma voiced, sounding remorseful to the untrained ear, but Javier could hear the tinge of annoyance underneath the surface.

Martin nodded once, then pointed over his shoulder with a quick flash of his thumb, "Get back out there, then."

Emma tugged herself out of the grip of Javier's hand, keeping her head down as she marched out of the back room. Javier was close behind, though, making sure he was between Martin and her when they brushed past him and reentered the bar.

She stopped, before she made her way around the back of the bar, nearly causing Javier to ram into her as his hands shot out, an inch away from grabbing her waist again as he planted his feet firmly onto the ground.

She spun around, her neck craning so she could look up at his face.

"Thank you." She whispered, toying with the hem of her shirt, "I'm-- I'm sorry I'm such a wuss."

He chuckled softly, "Anytime, bonita."

Better you be a wuss, a soft, unaffected, beautiful wuss. Stay away from me, chiquita, I'm not a good man. I've caused a thousand times more bloodshed than the little bit that nearly made you faint.

He silently urged her away even as his chest tightened at the thought, his fingers reaching out to gently graze her hip as she turned around and slipped back behind the bar.