“Not your call to make.” The conversation is over. “You don’t get to decide what risks I take.” I sit on the coffee table in front of her. “So here’s how this goes. Either I walk out that door right now and you deal with this alone, or you let me stay and we do this right. But either way? You’re not gonna stop me from puttin’ bullets in the skull of every last person that hurts you.” I pause. “Your move, Wildflower.”
She searches my face. Expecting her to trust me after what she went through is a long shot. But I’m hoping something she sees will convince her to let me keep her safe.
After a while, she huffs and deflates. “Fine.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. But I don’t grin or gloat. We don’t have that kind of rapport. “Good.” I can tell she’s exhausted by the slope of her shoulders and the weariness around her eyes. “You sleep. I’ll watch the door. And when you wake up, we start plannin’.”
“Wait, you want to sleep here?” She relaxes but her fingers fiddle with the end of her robe.
“You really think I’m gonna leave you alone after tonight?”
“I met you yesterday. We’ve had all of two conversations and one of them was with me naked and bleeding in a shower. You expect me to let you sleep in my loft?” She runs her fingers through her hair and bites her lip ring.
I fight the impulse that little action brings out in me and hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m not expectin’ anything. But I’m also not leavin’ you defenseless while they know exactly where to find you.” I add quietly, “Lock me out if you want. But I’ll be right outside your door either way.”
She glances at the door. “You can sleep downstairs on one of the couches.” Then her brows draw together and her fingers touch her chin. “How did you get in here? Did you break one of my locks?”
I tell her, what? That I scaled her building and slipped in through her window? That’s exactly what I did, and hell if I’m not amused by the look on her face right now. “I didn't break your locks.” I hold back a grin and nod toward the open window. “I used the fire escape.”
She gapes at me like I grew a second head. “But the ladder is pulled up, how could you...”
She gingerly gets up. The soreness of what happened to her setting in. I have an overwhelming urge to pick her up, take her to bed and dote on her like she’s the only thing in this world that matters. Where the fuck did that come from? I’ve never doted on anyone in my life. She puts on an exaggerated show of walking to the window, shutting it, and locking it, making it very obvious I’m not allowed to do that again. I chuckle.
She nods at the door. “Do you need anything to eat or drink before...”
“Nah, I’m good.” I walk out onto the landing, sweeping my surroundings out of habit. I turn back to her. “You sure you’re alright bein’ alone?”
“I’ve been alone a long time. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She gives me a half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and promptly shuts the door in my face.
I stand frozen, staring. I can’t decide whether to be impressed or worried. Finally, I smirk, shake my head, and walk down the stairs. Then mentally catalogue all the weak points in her security and gauge how fast I can get to her if something goes wrong.
“Lock the damn door,” I call over my shoulder before disappearing down the steps.
~ Seriphina Joseph ~
I SHOULD HAVE ASKEDhim to stay. I chastise myself after waking up from my third nightmare. Between the pain shooting across my back and jolting awake every few hours, I barely slept. I roll over and look at the clock. It’s two hours earlier than I normally get up but I’m not going back to sleep. I hobble out of bed and flick on the light to the bathroom. My reflection stares back at me and I’m not surprised by the bags under my eyes after last night. I sigh, blow hair out of my face, and get ready for the day.
While I brush my teeth, my mind wanders to the man that is potentially asleep on one of the couches downstairs. Did he actually stay? Hell, I wouldn’t have. What kind of crazy person gets assaulted and then instead of running decides to take on criminals on their own? He probably thinks I’m insane. And the way it seemed like he knew exactly who they were before I told him what happened, confuses me. He knows something, I know it. That man is dangerous. And not because he talks about killing the men who hurt me like he’s talking about a change in the weather. He’s dangerous in ways I don’t want to think about.I shake my head free of those thoughts and continue getting ready.
I brush my hair and put it in a bun on top of my head. A few tendrils fall down in wisps around my face. I dress in a loose fitting halter top that hangs down to my thighs. The back sits low enough it doesn’t press against my injured skin. Luckily, my wardrobe caters to a desire to show off my tattoos. Most of what I own is open back. Because of this, I have a lot of those press-on self-adhesive bras that lift up the girls and put them where I want them. I pair it with plain black leggings and pull a purple cardigan over the halter. There’s thumb holes in the sleeves so I can keep them below my wrists. I don’t want my regulars to see the bruises and ask questions. I’m grateful they didn’t hit me in the face at least. Small favors and all that jazz, I guess.
Since I am up early, I ditch the normal muffin or bagel and make breakfast. I tell myself it’s not so I can show off my cooking skills to a certain mountain downstairs. I have no real hopes that he can look past the extra pounds to the heart underneath. I may not regularly try to impress people with my looks but I’m not usually attracted to them either. I know the way society views women of my size. I have no reason to believe he would be any different. Get it together, Seriph. You don’t want a man, remember?
I make scrambled eggs, bacon, shredded hashbrowns, and buttered toast. Filling two plates, I set them on a tray alongside some coffee and a glass of orange juice. Then I walk downstairs. Two booted feet hang off the end of one of the bigger comfier couches. The image makes me smile. Setting the tray on the table, I pick up the mug of coffee and stand in front of him.
“Coffee?”
Griffin’s eyes snap open the second my shadow falls over him. For a split second, I think I might have made a mistake. His body jerks, reaching for his holster. When he sees that it’s me, hedrops his hand and sinks back into the cushions. My shoulders relax once I realize he isn’t going to shoot me. He pushes himself upright, raking a hand through his sleep mussed hair. His gaze flicks from the coffee in my hand, to the breakfast on the table, then back up to my eyes with an indiscernible look.
“You’re up early,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep. He takes the offered mug. His fingers brush mine for a half a second longer than necessary.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I hurriedly reply. My heart rate spikes at the touch and at the sleepy sound of his voice. I grab my own plate and glass of orange juice and sit down on one of the big overstuffed comfy chairs diagonal from him. My movements are stiff from the tightness across my back. I take a drink and give him an apologetic look. “I don’t drink coffee, so I don’t have any creamer. But I can run and get you some sugar if you want.”
He takes a careful sip of the hot dark roast and watches me over the rim of the mug, shaking his head. “Nah, I take it black.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to gauge how much pain I’m in this morning or whether I'm trying to poison him from the way he looks me over. Blushing, I nod and we eat our breakfast in silence. It’s not uncomfortable really, just kind of weighted. He eats his food methodically, keeping an eye on the storefront window. Eventually, he sets his fork down and leans forward.
“You set on this plan of yours?” His voice is quiet. “Gonna let ‘em use your shop while you play spy?” There’s no judgment in it. It’s like he’s making sure he knows what war he signed up for.
