“Get off me!” She yelled, slamming her palms against my chest.
“Why do you have to fight me at every turn?” I asked, trying to calm her.
“Why do you have to control everything and everyone around you?” Her eyes flashed red, with the kind of heat that could start a fire in any man.
For a second, whatever this was between us made us take a pause and we stood there, like two idiots, staring at one another, our lips only an inch apart, our breaths mingling. I wanted to close that gap between us so badly, but I held back. I was always holding back.
She shifted against me, taking me out of that trance, and then shoved at my chest once again.
“Whatever game you’re playing at, I’m not doing this with you.” Her words were filled with a deep refusal that hit a little harder than they should have, so I did the next best thing.
She yelped as I slid my hands down to her hips, picked her up and slung her over my shoulder. I had to hold her steady as her feet flailed and she writhed against me, trying to slide off me.
“Good to know. I’ll make sure to tie you up nice and tight to my bed. Either way, you’re staying with me tonight, babe. Whether you like it or not.”
Grabbing her purse on my way out, I carried her across the shop feeling her fists pounding against my back as the air filled with a stream of Louisiana curses. I couldn’t help the grin that pulled at my face. If I was honest, this was the part I live for. That fight in her that turned to heat, the anger that melted into something worse and yet better.
“Say what you want,sweetheart. I ain’t letting you go.”
“If you do not putme down, Hellsing. I promise, I will murder you in your sleep.”
Ignoring her threat of violence, I stepped through the doorway. Outside, the Quarter was in its usual ragged glory with that bone-deep smell of old music and bad decisions. The sun was setting, and Rooster and Styx were already waiting. Both of them had beers in hand, and the plywood and tools they brought with them, were placed against the wall. The rain had slowed, but the streets still glistened under the fading streaks of sun.
“Bout time,” Rooster said, glancing at the woman I had slung over my shoulder. “You draggin’ her, or she walkin’ on her own?”
“She’s comin’ with me,” I said. “And if she keeps fightin’, I might leave her out here for the Scorpions.”
Powertrain was leaning against his bike, smirking. “You’re gonna sell your witch to the Scorpions? That’s cold, Hellsing.”
“Keep talkin’, and you’ll be next,” I shot back.
Grace groaned and kicked against me. “Put me down right now!”
I shifted her higher on my shoulder. “You’re stayin’ with me tonight, Grace. Don’t make me say it again.”
I carried her to my bike and set her down just long enough to grab her helmet. She glared at me, arms crossed, but I didn’t give her a chance to argue.
“Put that on,” I said.
“I already told you I’m not goin’ anywhere with you.”
“Well, you’re not stayin’ here.” I met her eyes. “Not after all the shit that’s gone down. So you either come with me, or I’ll call your daddy and see what he has to say.”
For a second, I thought she’d keep pushing, but then her shoulders dropped and she let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But I’m not staying long.”
“Didn’t ask you to,” I muttered, handing her the helmet.
“You boys need anything?” I called back to Styx and Rooster who were discussing quietly how they were going to place the boards.
“We got it!” They shouted and I turned back to my task at hand.
Revving up the bike, we took off. The ride back to my house was short and quiet. The air smelled of fresh grass after a rainstorm, and the city was slowly waking up. She clung to me tightly, her hands pressed against my stomach, and I could feel the tension in her fingers. She was angry, but she was scared too.
When we reached my place, I parked the bike in the side lot and killed the engine. The world went still except for the faint rumble of thunder in the distance.
Inside, the air was warm. It smelled like leather, coffee, and the faint burn of motor oil that never really left the place. I’d kept it simple, dark wood floors, old leather couch, a couple framed photos that didn’t mean much to anyone but me.
Grace walked in as if she were inspecting the old place. She took in the walls, the shelf of helmets, the patch jackets hanging by the door. “Charming,” she muttered, brushing her hair off her shoulder.
