By the time March rolled around, Gray had come to the conclusion that running the kitchen would suit him perfectly. He’d used his two months to test recipes, create menus, and work with a few local chefs. Akash had called in a few favours with friends who gracefully allowed him into their restaurants.

Someone, likely the twins, had informed Akash about his interlude with Scottie over the holidays. The baker had, in turn, told everyone he knew. As a result, Gray’s involvement with the Sin Bin’s new restaurant had been kept a secret to ensure maximum amusement for all of them when Scottie found out.

As BC put it, Scottie would likely “shit a brick” when he realised who the new chef would be. Gray didn’t know whether to look forward to it or to wear a Kevlar vest for protection. They were meeting up later today to finalise the details.

Caddock: Scottie’s been told we’re meeting up with the chef today. Meet us at noon for a tasting of your menu?

Gray: About to head out. Keep your boy out of the restaurant side. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Caddock: Sadist.

Gray: Yes. And?

Caddock: He’s going to have our balls for doing this to him, unless he’s too hungover to be bothered.

Gray: I’m sure he will.

Caddock: Not entirely certain you mean it the same way I meant it.

Stepping into the finished restaurant, Gray was stunned by the transformation in the former empty warehouse space. They’d brought in Caddock’s husband, Francis, from Looe, who worked as an interior decorator. He’d outdone himself.

It felt like stepping into an underground prohibition-era men’s club. All the booths and chairs were aged burgundy leather with antique wooden tables to match. The walls were covered in a realistic brick façade while the floors were dark mahogany to balance against the rest of the space.

Several large chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Gray had initially thought the light fixtures would stand out too much amidst the leather and wood, but seeing them all lit up in the space, he was surprised to see how well they worked. It all went perfectly.

As with the nightclub, the restaurant décor had a balanced mixture of rugby memorabilia and vintage artwork. Visualizing the eccentric designer's concept had been difficult. Seeing it completed, Gray found it better than anything he’d even come close to imagining.

Sitting in one of the armchairs that were interspersed with the booths to test it out, Gray wondered if Francis could find one for his home. The chairs were sinfully comfortable and smelled wonderfully leathery. He definitely had to get one of them.

Right, time to check out the kitchen.

While the overwhelming theme of the dining area was vintage, Gray’s kitchen seemed almost futuristic with all the state-of-the-art equipment. Standing in what might become his creative culinary space, he wondered if this might be more than he could handle. Loving to cook didn’t always translate to a successful head chef.

It was a risk for all of them.

With four of the five owners, Gray had discussed at length via email how to manage things. The restaurant, Ruck, would be exclusive small parties, reservation only. He would control the menu each night, offering a fresh experience five nights a week.

It was a novel concept he thought would provide him plenty of room to explore his culinary talents. The risk came from not knowing if anyone in Cardiff would buy into it.

He didn’t believe in failure; it would succeed.

It has to.

Wanting to impress his new backers, Gray got to work preparing a truly impressive spread with boeuf bourguignon toast, prime rib sliders, and whisky-glazed wings for starters, and a brown butter roast chicken with smashed potatoes for the entrée. Akash had brought over a selection of cakes; he’d be providing desserts for the restaurant for the foreseeable future. There were also potential future menus on paper to show the owners.

Fuck me.

This felt like more work than boot camp—it isn’t, but it sure as fuck feels like it.

“Oi. Gray? You in here?” Caddock barged into the kitchen. “We’re all seated out there. Scottie’s late—as ever. You ready to feed the ravenous horde?”

“You’ve got to stop reading Francis’s novels. Scottie’s only late because he decided to try to drink us all under the table again. He’s probably still sleeping it off.” BC strode in behind his friend. They both started towards the platters lined across one of the counters, only to freeze in place when Gray scowled at them. “Bugger. You ever consider refereeing? You’ve got the ‘punish the naughty rugby boys’ look down perfectly.”

Punish the naughty boys?

They’ve no fucking clue.

If they only knew….

Deciding not to go for the easy joke, Gray closed the two former rugby players out of his kitchen. He didn’t want them to get an early sampling of the food. His reputation preceded him, and they went without an argument.

When the server borrowed from the nightclub arrived to help him, Gray managed to get all the starters plated up without any trouble. He followed the waiter out into the restaurant to find the five rugby players waiting, seated around one of the larger tables. A slightly bleary-eyed Scottie took one look at him, muttered a few creative curses, smacked a laughing Caddock on the head, and bolted from the dining room.

“Well, he handled that as brilliantly as expected,” Remi, the lone Frenchman amongst the group of friends, remarked caustically. “Should someone retrieve him? I’m not in the mood to cater to the Monk temper today.”

“Bloody Frenchie,” BC muttered. “I am not sodding it.”

“Me either,” Caddock chimed in readily.

Gray exchanged a knowing look with Taine, who was the only serious one amongst the five, perhaps outside of Remi. “I’ll hunt the rabbit.”

“He’s sodding terrifying,” BC whispered to Caddock, eyes darting toward their new chef. Gray chuckled darkly. “Are we sure he wasn’t an assassin?”

“Just a marine.”

“They’re never just marines.” Remi met Gray’s stony gaze without flinching. “I doubt assassin is the right word for a decorated marine sniper and sergeant major.”

Interesting.

It sounded as if Remi had done a bit of research on him. Background check, maybe? It wouldn’t have been all that difficult to find a bit about his service history. The vast majority of his deployments before and after becoming a drill instructor were likely declassified.

With a nod to Remi, Gray made his way out of the restaurant. He blinked in the rare spring sunlight. His eyes quickly adjusted to allow him to spot Scottie, leaning against a nearby wall and muttering to himself.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Gray walked purposefully forward until the toes of his shoes almost touched the edge of Scottie’s trainers. “Did I scare you?”

“Hardly.” Scottie tilted his head to scowl at him. “Fuck off. My head’s still killing me.”

"What do they call you rugby boys? Lions? Is that it? You're no fucking lion. You're a kitten who's barely off his mother's milk." Gray easily dodged the clumsy punch thrown his direction. Even without his thirty-plus years of military experience, avoiding the swing of a drunken man required little effort. “C’mon, kitten. Didn’t your mom tell you not to roll around in the dirt?”

“She called me her little fucking bastard and told me to drink bleach.” Scottie jerked his shoulders up in a hard shrug. “Didn’t learn much from the twat or anyone else in my family, come to think of it.”

“So? Want a medal?” Gray used his forearm to pin Scottie to the brick wall behind him. “Want a fucking trophy for surviving? Guess what? They don’t hand them out. I should know. I’d be first in line to receive one. You don’t get a pass from common courtesy because life hasn’t been fair. You’re not the only human being to survive a childhood of abuse and pain. Get the fuck over yourself.”

“I’m not a fucking kitten.” Scottie tried to shove him away, but Gray held him still. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Well, you’re certainly not a lion.” Gray bent forward to drag his nose along the side of Scottie’s neck, biting him just above his collar. “No, not a lion. You also still reek of booze. Forget to shower this morning?”

“Fuck you.”

Gray couldn’t resist a smirk when the evidence of Scottie’s arousal pressed against his leg. “Get back inside for the tasting, kitten. We’ll finish this later.”

Striding away from the heavily breathing man without a second look, Gray reached down to subtly adjust his dick. Fuck. Scottie brought out the best and worst in him. Taking things slowly wasn’t proving to be easy by any stretch of the imagination.

Maybe I’ll pay him a visit tonight.

Tuck him into bed like a good boy.