“He’s the president of a bikergang?” I hissed.
“They’re not a gang, Waverly. I promise you.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Before she could get her next bullshit excuse out, the door opened and Gio stood in the threshold.
“Jesus, Razor,” Katie snapped. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
My need to take care of people overtook my fear and disgust and I rushed to wrap an arm around his waist as Katie did the same. He was drenched in sweat, and he appeared to be having a hard time catching his breath. It was like he’d jogged four miles to get here, in the snow, and up hill.
Katie and I worked in tandem to get him to my recliner, helping him to sit down.
“You can’t stay,” I said.
“I’ll go and get his walker,” Katie offered. “Do you have an elevator, or just your stairs up?”
“There’s an elevator at the end of the hall,” I said.
“Can you make it to the end of the hall?” Katie asked him.
“Yeah, give me a few,” Gio said.
“Okay,” Katie said. “I’ll grab his walker and be right back.”
I shut the door behind her, then grabbed the bags and started putting the groceries away.
“Fizzy will you talk to me?”
“No.”
“Baby, please.”
“No.” I glanced over at him and suddenly noticed he’d taken off his vest. “Where’s your getup?”
“My getup?”
“Your biker vest,” I said, putting the chicken and the beer in the fridge.
“It’s called a cut,” he instructed. “And it’s in the car.”
I bit my lip. “Where’s Katie?”
“Just come over here and talk to me for a few minutes,” he begged. “Please.”
“No.”
He pushed himself up and nearly toppled over when he did.
I rushed to him, and he slipped his arms around me, pulling us both down as he fell into the chair. He hissed in pain as I slammed against his shoulder, and I couldn’t stop the tears as I let out a quiet groan. “Damn it, Gio. What are you doing?” I tried to push off of him, but he held me tight.
“Don’t, baby. I need to talk to you.”
“Are you seriously going to hold me against my will?”
He met my eyes. “Are you afraid of me?”
I wrinkled my nose.
