CHAPTER 15: [15] RED HAIR, RED LINE

The restaurant stilled into a vacuum of shock. Every patron froze, eyes darting between Pierre and Alyssa Hardy like spectators at an execution. Mika stood paralyzed, small hands clutching her apron so tightly her knuckles whitened.

Pierre set his fork down slowly.

"What did you call her?" His voice was deceptively soft.

Alyssa smirked, mistaking his tone for submission. "Oh, I’m sorry. Is ’whore’ too refined a term? Should I use something more... provincial?"

Pierre stood. The chair scraped against the wooden floor. He towered over her, his height casting her in shadow.

"You know what I find interesting about people like you?" He stepped around the table, hands loose at his sides. "You think a uniform and a famous daddy make you untouchable."

Alyssa’s hand tightened on her riding crop. "Sit down before I—"

"Before you what?" Pierre’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Call your father?"

He took another step closer. The restaurant had become so silent that the sound of waves outside seemed thunderous.

"Go ahead. You can do whatever you want to me." He shrugged. "Insult me. Mock me. Do whatever. Most days, I’d laugh it off and forget about you before the sun sets."

Pierre leaned down, bringing his face level with hers. "But when you insult someone I care about? That’s when I stop laughing."

Alyssa’s eyes widened. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"I make it my personal business to deal with people who hurt my friends." Pierre’s voice dropped lower, meant only for her ears. "I don’t care who your father is. I don’t care about your rank or your privilege or how many people in this town fear you. If you ever speak about her—or anyone else under my protection—like that again, there won’t be a place in all the seas where you can hide from me."

He straightened, the movement slow and casual. "Are we clear, Officer Hardy?"

Alyssa’s face had drained of color, leaving only two bright spots of anger on her cheeks. Her breathing came quick and shallow.

"You dare threaten me?" She raised her riding crop.

Pierre caught her wrist before the crop could descend. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was immovable.

"That wasn’t a threat." He released her wrist. "It was a promise."

Alyssa staggered back, her heel catching on the floorboards. Her eyes darted around the restaurant, suddenly aware of the dozens of witnesses.

"You’ve just made a terrible mistake." She smoothed her uniform with trembling hands. "My father will hear about this."

"I’m counting on it." Pierre returned to his seat, picking up his fork as if nothing had happened. "Tell him I’m looking forward to meeting him."

Alyssa’s face contorted. She opened her mouth, closed it, then spun on her heel and stormed toward the door. The riding crop slapped against her thigh with each step.

"This isn’t over Red Hair!" She paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. "You’ll regret this day."

The door slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the windows.

Back at the table, Pierre stabbed a piece of fish with his fork. He chewed thoughtfully, savoring the salt-sweet flesh, then glanced up to find Raven staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

"Do I have something in my teeth?" Pierre asked, running his tongue over his front teeth.

Raven’s blue cat-like eyes narrowed, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. "You realize you just painted a target on your back, right? In case you missed it, that wasn’t some random brat. That was Alyssa Hardy."

"Oh, was that her name?" Pierre took another bite. "I forgot already."

"Her father is Captain Hardy." Mika’s small voice trembled as she clutched her oversized apron. "He runs the whole island. Nobody ever stands up to Alyssa because... because..."

"Because daddy dearest breaks people who upset his precious daughter," Raven finished, leaning back in her chair. "Usually literally."

Pierre shrugged, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "She’ll run straight to him. And he’ll send men looking for the tall redhead who disrespected his daughter. Which gives us the perfect distraction."

Understanding dawned on Raven’s face. "You clever bastard." She laughed. "You did that on purpose."

"I did it because she was being horrible to you and Mika," Pierre said, his voice dropping. "The distraction is just a bonus."

Raven’s smile faltered, something vulnerable flickering across her face before she masked it with a smirk. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, hero."

Mika looked between them, her small face serious. "You should leave town. Right now. When Captain Hardy finds out—"

"He won’t find us," Pierre assured her, reaching over to pat her hand. "We’ll be gone before he even knows where to look."

"How can you be so calm?" Mika whispered, eyes wide. "Nobody talks to the Hardys like that. Last month, a fisherman complained when Alyssa took his catch without paying. They found him floating in the harbor the next morning."

"Get that look off your face." Raven said before Pierre could get a word out.

"What look?"

"That ’I’m going to fix everything’ look. It’s annoying."

Pierre grinned. "You know me so well already."

"I know your type," Raven countered, tossing her half-red, half-white hair over her shoulder. "Now finish your food so we can get moving."

Pierre shoveled the last piece of fish into his mouth, watching Raven over the rim of his glass. Her smugness bothered him. That smile—the one that said she knew something he didn’t—stretched across her face like a cat that had cornered its prey.

"What?" He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "You’re looking at me like I’m about to walk into a trap."

"Maybe you are." Raven counted out coins, leaving them in a neat stack. "’For the trouble,’" she whispered, sliding three extra ◊50 pieces toward Mika, whose eyes widened.

The little girl glanced nervously at the door. "You should use the back exit. Through the kitchen."

Pierre stood, stretching his arms overhead. "So what’s this plan of yours?"

"Not here." Raven nodded toward the other patrons, who pretended not to listen while hanging on their every word.

They followed Mika through the kitchen, where her mother worked over a large pot. The woman looked up, fear flashing across her face when she saw them.

"It’s okay, Mama," Mika said. "They’re leaving now."

The woman wiped her hands on her apron. "You stood up to Alyssa Hardy?" Her voice trembled. "No one’s done that since..."

"Since my dad," Mika finished, chin raised.

Pierre paused. "Your father—the one at the market?"

Mother and daughter exchanged a look.

"That’s what we tell people," Mika’s mother said softly. "He’s been in the jail for eight months. For refusing to give Alyssa his boat when she demanded it."

Pierre’s jaw tightened. "I’m sorry."

"Don’t be." The woman opened the back door, checking the alley before waving them through. "It was good to see someone stand up to them, even if just for a moment."

The alley behind the restaurant reeked of fish guts and seawater. Pierre pressed his back against the cold, damp brick, listening. A distant door slammed. A dog barked, then fell silent. Nothing yet—but Alyssa would be gathering her father’s men soon enough.

This was insane. He knew this world operated on stupid tropes and half-baked plot devices. The author had prioritized chest sizes over character development, power fantasies over coherent storytelling. So why did his chest burn when he thought about Mika’s father rotting in a cell? Why did hearing about fishermen murdered for standing up to spoiled brats make his hands clench into fists?

This wasn’t his world. These weren’t his people.

Except they were real. That terror in Mika’s eyes when Alyssa walked in—that wasn’t fiction. The way her mother’s voice cracked when she mentioned her imprisoned husband—that pain cut deeper than any manufactured drama.

Raven leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

"So." She picked at a loose thread on her jeans. "How do you feel about uniforms, Pierre?"

He blinked. "Uniforms?"

"Navy uniforms specifically." Her tone stayed casual, but something shifted in her posture. "Just curious about your... preferences."

Pierre frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

Raven gave that same smug look she had in the restaurant. "You’ll see."