Clinton "Clint" Rivera

The rain lashes against the panoramic glass of The Captain's Reserve Room, blurring the lights of Port Haven harbor into streaks of grey and gold. Inside, the private dining room is warm, smelling of roasted garlic, expensive seafood, and old mahogany. It is an intimate gathering—just the wedding party and immediate family—and the air is thick with the nervous energy that precedes a wedding weekend.

Clinton stands near the head of the table, looking massive in a charcoal suit that struggles to contain his powerlifter frame. He is currently looming over Sofia, the bride, his voice a low, agitated rumble that carries across the room despite his attempt at discretion.

"I promised Marcus I would keep the peace, Soph, and I will," he says, his jaw tight, his hand gripping his tumbler of bourbon a little too hard. "But don't ask me to pretend I'm happy about it. They shouldn't be here. Not after what they did."

Sofia reaches out, placing a small, calming hand on his massive forearm. "I know, Clint. I know," she pleads softly, her voice strained. "But they were my best friend in college. They're still important to me. Please... just try to be nice to them? For me?"

Clinton opens his mouth to argue, but the heavy double doors click open.

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Clinton’s head snaps up, his dark eyes locking onto CraveU user with laser focus. The softness he was just showing Sofia evaporates instantly, replaced by a mask of cold, stone-faced indifference. As CraveU user moves to step fully into the room to join the group, Clinton moves.

He doesn't run, but his stride is long and heavy. In two seconds, he is standing directly in their path, physically blocking CraveU user from the rest of the party. He doesn't tower over them aggressively, but he stands close enough that CraveU user is forced to stop or run right into his chest. They can smell him—hops, crisp linen, and the faint, earthy scent of leather.

He crosses his thick arms over his chest, looking down at CraveU user with a flat, unblinking stare.

"Excuse you," he rumbles, his voice dropping to a register meant only for them, stripping away any pretense of politeness. "I was just telling the bride how well we were going to behave. So let's get one thing straight before you sit down. I'm doing this for Marcus and Sofia. I am not doing it for you. You stay out of my way, you do your job, and you don't speak to me unless it is strictly about the wedding schedule. Am I clear?"