We stare at each other awkwardly for a long time. “You need sleep,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. Something I’ve wanted to do since I saw him in the bookstore.
“What do you do?” My fingers twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to fiddle nervously.
“I’m a bounty hunter.” He crosses his arms over his chest, brow furrowing. “I hunt the people law enforcement can’t. Or won’t. Mostly because no one else wants to.” He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Why do you ask?”
“That... that isn’t exactly what I would have guessed. I’m not really sure what I thought.” I don’t know if the revelation made me feel better or worse. The only thing I know about bounty hunters is from books and tv shows and he’s nothing like that.
“You don’t have to stand there like I’m gonna bite.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he walks over to the bar. “This place is as much yours as it is mine while you’re here. So sitdown, or don’t. But stop lookin’ at me like I dragged you into a fuckin’ lion’s den.”
“Bathroom?” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “Where’s your bathroom?”
He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and points to the hallway off of the kitchen, “Down the hall, first door on your right.” Pouring two fingers, he drinks half of it in one go.
I walk down the hall and hear him set his drink down hard on the bar. After doing what I came in here for, I wash my hands, dry them, and look in the mirror. My hair is messed up and my eyes look haunted. I press on the mottled skin covering my cheekbone. Taking my hair down, I run my fingers through it before securing it back on top of my head. Then I dab cold water under my eyes and walk back out to the living room. I avoid looking directly at him as I walk over and sit on the couch, too wound up to relax.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
He pauses mid-sip. “For what?”
“You didn’t have to help me or bring me here. I still can’t understand why you’re doing this. Every time I ask, you give me vague answers. Why didn’t you dump me at the hospital last night and wash your hands of all this?” I look down at my fingers and tug on the hem of my halter top.
He shakes his head and sets his whiskey down. “Wouldn’t have helped.” He turns to face me. “Hospitals report assaults like yours to the cops. Cops ask questions. Questions lead to Sokolov’s men realizin’ you talked.” His jaw clenches. “And then they finish what they started.” He rubs his fingers over the stubble on his chin. “So yeah, I could’ve dropped you off somewhere and walked away. But that would’ve been a death sentence for you.”
“Sokolov?” My brows draw together. Who the hell is Sokolov? And why would he know the name of the man that sent those goons to my store?
“Yeah, Alexei Sokolov.” He studies my face like he’s trying to see if I recognize the name. “Russian arms dealer turned human trafficker with a side hustle in murder-for-hire.”
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. “Russian? Like scary mobster Russians? Like the Russian mafia,Russians?” My nose scrunches up. “You’re fucking with me.” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Wish I was.” He grabs the whiskey bottle again, pouring another drink. “Sokolov isn’t some bargain-bin thug. He’s got connections, resources, and enough bodies buried across three continents to make most governments nervous.” His fingers whiten around the glass before he knocks it back. “And now he’s decided your store is his newest laundromat.”
“My store doesn’t make enough to wash the kind of cash they tried to throw at me.” I think back to the slap earlier and my hand comes up to my bruised cheek. “You knew my plan would never work. That I wouldn’t be able to get that kind of intel because this was bigger than what I could take on. Why did you let me try?” I thought I was dealing with something small. Local assholes trying to make names for themselves. That my store was their only target. I couldn’t have known how big this really was.
“Because you were determined,” he replies bluntly. “And when someone’s got their mind set on somethin’? They either learn the hard way or they don’t learn at all.” He pauses, then quieter. “Didn’t think they’d put hands on you again this fast though.” A shadow passes over him and he rubs the back of his neck. He crosses the room and sits in the recliner. “You were never gonna win this playin’ their game. You don’t have the connections, the firepower, or the reach.” He stops talking fora minute like he’s debating on how much to tell me. Then he shrugs his shoulders as if to say ‘fuck it.’ “But I do.” His gray eyes hold mine without flinching. “So let me handle Sokolov.”
“I only lose everything I have in the process,” I grumble.
There’s no telling how long it will take him to unravel an entire syndicate. And chances are, by the time it is safe enough to return to my store, I will be bankrupt and have to foreclose. Moonglow is all I have and all I’ve ever wanted. I won’t have a job or a place to live anymore. He’s asking me to trust him with more than my life. He’s asking me to trust him with ‘everything.’ I cover my face with my hands and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.
He rubs his hand over his face and rises abruptly, prowling over to the fireplace. “You aren’t losin’ your damn store.”
“How? I can’t pay the mortgage if I don’t have customers, Griffin. And I can’t have customers if I’m not there to open it. How long do you think this is going to take?” My words come out more snide than I intend. I’m emotional and he’s the only punching bag available. The idea of this single man taking on a whole group of criminals is ludicrous. This isn't a fucking action movie.
He steps closer, towering over me. “You think this is my first time puttin’ down a rabid dog like Sokolov? I don’t need months, Wildflower. I need a week.” His eyes hold mine, cold as steel and twice as sharp, “But if you’d rather roll the dice on losin’ everything while tryin’ to fight Russian mobsters with crystals and tea leaves? Be my fuckin’ guest.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, taps the screen, and tosses it onto the couch beside me. It’s open to a banking app showing a wire transfer notification, fifteen thousand dollars, sent from GC Holdings, LLC to—holy shit, that’s my account number. “Mortgage paid, electric paid. Whatever else you need, it's handled.”
I stand up from the couch in a flash. “What the fuck? Griffin! How did you get my bank account information? You can’t do that! I’m not taking your money.” I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin.
His eyes narrow in the dim light, irises like iron. “That money? Consider it an investment in keepin’ you safe. I can’t be in two places at once and as long as you’re here, I know you’re outta the crossfire. So I’m buyin’ myself some peace of mind.”
“So what? You gave me fifteen thousand dollars so I’ll stay here while you run around risking your life? A fight you don’t have to get involved in? I don’t fucking understand you! Just when I think I get close to figuring you out, you do something equally or more insane than the last thing!” I want to fight him on staying here. But I don’t have anywhere to go that won’t put someone I care about in danger.
His fingers thread into his hair, tugging at the roots. “You want an explanation?” His voice is rough, stripped raw. “Fine! I don’t do this shit, any of this shit, for anyone. But you?” He shakes his head like he’s afraid he might be going crazy. “I couldn’t walk away if I tried.”
My head is reeling. Nothing makes sense. Nothing in my life is okay anymore. Nothing I do right now fucking matters anyway. And he hands me a loaded statement wrapped in barbed wire.
He scrubs his hand over his face again, waging some kind of internal battle. “Look,” he mutters, “I don’t expect it to make sense right now. Trust me enough to let me deal with this. And I’ll get you back to your store.” He sighs. “And for fuck’s sake, stay put.”
