“Don’t mention it.” He presses a kiss to my palm.
“You going out to look for Sokolov today?” I let go of his hand and shuffle papers and invoices around.
“Not yet.” He keeps his voice low, mindful of the gossip circle within hearing distance. “Bishop’s workin’ on a lead.” He moves in a little closer, leaning in towards my ear. “Besides, told you I wasn’t leavin’ until I knew you were good. And last night? You weren’t good.”
“I’m better today.” I brush off his concern.
His expression darkens, before he tugs me closer. “Don’t lie to me.” His thumb brushes my wrist, like he’s trying to use my heart rate to ferret out the truth. “You went pale as a ghost when Esther mentioned the bruises. And if I hadn’t stepped in...”
The cash register closes with a bang. “And I said thank you, but I really don’t need you hovering.” I yank free of his hold and go over to the kettles.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. I’m walking a fine line. Problem is I’m too worked up to care. I refill the kettles and organize thetea bags. He grabs my arm hard. And the next thing I know, we are walking around the counter and across the store. Marci, Darla and the others staring after us with their mouths hanging open. He pulls me into the stockroom and closes the door.
I find my voice as it clicks shut behind me. “Griffin! You can’t drag me into the fucking stockroom like I’m some misbehaving child!” I turn to leave.
He spins me around, a hand braced beside my head. He’s a breath away from me, eyes narrowed. A shiver of something that should be fear jolts down my spine.
“You are far from bein’ a misbehavin’ child,” he growls. “But you will not lie to me.”
His free hand brushes hair back from my face, gentle compared to how hard he has me pinned. “You think I haven’t noticed the nightmares? The way you flinch if someone moves too fast? How you keep lookin’ over your shoulder? I can’t even touch you like this...” His palm slides down to the underside of my jaw. “Without you tensin’ up.”
I try my best not to flinch. I’m not irritated at him. It’s facing my own weakness. The reminder that I’m supposed to be broken, acknowledging the fact that things aren’t back to normal just because I’m in my store, my loft. I want to pretend nothing happened. I thought once I returned to my routine, my happy place, it would go away.
Instead of conceding to him and admitting he’s right, I double down. “Is this you reading me again? Because I’d really like for you to cut it the fuck out.” I glare up at him defiantly.
He holds my gaze, boxing me against the door. He moves his hand to the base of my throat, his fingers wrapping lightly around it. Tender despite the expression on his face. He looks dangerous like this. I’m suddenly very aware of how easily he could snap my neck. His thumb brushes over my pulse.
“Then be honest with me,” he pleads.
Being honest with him means I have to be honest with myself and I don’t want to do that. Because doing that would mean I have to admit that I’m not okay. And if I admit that then it will be true and I won’t make it through the day. I try to shove him back. My hands flat against his chest.
He leans in harder, not budging an inch. His hand slides higher so that he’s fully gripping my throat. He doesn’t add pressure, doesn’t tighten his grip. Just holds me there.
“Stop trying to piss me off, Seriph.” The low timbre of his voice accelerates my heart rate for reasons that make me angrier. “It’s not workin’.”
“Really? Because you seem pretty pissed to me.” I snark.
I put all of my energy into being mad. At him, at the universe, at the assholes that made me this way—it’s the only way to avoid the panic welling up inside of me.
He presses a bit harder in warning. “Stop it. I’d never hurt you. You know that. But for once, I need you to be honest with me. You’re not okay. And you need to stop pretendin’ otherwise. So tell me. What are you afraid of right now? Because I know it’s not me.”
For the briefest moment, my eyes flick to the door behind him. The door to my nightmares. “I’m not afraid.” I lie, my hands wrap around his wrist.
His expression turns lethal. His hand tightening a fraction, enough to bring my attention back to him and not the door. “You think I don’t see you lookin’ at that door, like you’re expectin’ them to walk in here and finish what they started?” He leans in so his lips brush against the shell of my ear. “They’re dead, Seriph. Dead. And I’ll make sure Sokolov joins them.”
He pulls back to look down at me. My brow draws together in confusion. I search his eyes rapidly for any signs of deceit. He had two weeks where he came and went. I never asked him what he did while he was gone. It wasn’t my business. And he neveroffered. I know he doesn’t owe me any explanation about what he does every day when he’s working but I didn’t expect killing people to be on the list.
“How do you know that?” My voice trembles.
The muscle in his jaw ticks. For a second it looks like he might tell me. “Trust me, Wildflower.” His thumb rubbing softly against the side of my neck. “They’re not gonna hurt you again. I made sure of it. I won’t let anyone touch you like that.”
“You killed them?” My breath hitches, he told me he would kill for me when we started this. But he’s been with me constantly since I agreed to give feelings a chance. I didn’t think he was serious. I thought it was something guys say when they want to be macho and protective. Did he say that because he already had?
“Does it scare you?” His voice is barely a whisper, his hand firmly braced around my neck. It doesn’t feel like a threat, it feels like possession. “Can you live with it? Can you handle the fact that I made sure they would never touch you again? Made sure they paid for what they did to you?” He studies my face. “You don’t need to know what happened to them. You don’t need to know how I did it. You just need to know this, you won’t ever need to look at that damn door again wonderin’ if they’re gonna come through it. You’re safe. I promise you that.”
My heart’s racing in my chest, my mind whirling. Am I scared? Not of him. If anything it oddly brought me some weird sense of relief. Like this anvil had been hanging over my head and it just disappeared. Can I live with it? Can I be with a man who literally kills for me? I feel like I should be disgusted, terrified. But I’m not. Not after what I went through. I’m not sorry they’re dead.
The information comforts me enough that my hands don’t squeeze his wrist as hard and I melt against the door. I should be pissed that he’s standing here holding me by my neck. But I’mnot. I feel safe. Safer than I have in weeks. And that is what has me the most confused. The fact that I don’t know what to do with how I feel.
