He isn’t really worried about the food. It’s about getting me out of the conversation before it gets darker.
“Yeah, I couldn’t eat another bite even if you ordered one of those chocolate lava cakes.” I pat my stomach.
“Good.” He seems to decide I’m okay because he throws an arm along the back of the booth and turns his attention to Bishop. “What are the chances it’s the latter? That he got suspicious?”
Jax rubs his forehead, looking tired. “I’ll be honest, man. I don’t like the look of this. It feels like a trap.”
“Or he’s runnin’ scared now,” Griffin replies.
“What do you think then? We stop looking?” Bishop asks.
“No. We don’t stop.” His fingers flex against the back of the booth. His gaze cuts to me before returning to them, harder. “But we change tactics. If he’s settin’ up for a fight, we make sure it’s on our terms.”
“I can dig deeper into financial trails.” Already pulling out his phone and tapping rapidly. “Offshore accounts don’t just vanish.”
Bishop leans forward, voice pitched low enough I almost don’t catch it. “Look, I know you’ve never bailed on a contract, but if he is baiting you?”
I freeze solid as stone, staring into my glass of water. My knuckles go white around it.
“You think I should give up?” Griffin responds cooly.
“No.” Bishop stares back at him, his expression inscrutable. “I know how far you’re willing to go for the sake of finishing ajob. It makes you predictable.” He flicks his eyes to me then back to Griffin. “And in this instance, predictable is dangerous.”
My mind won’t stop racing. Contract? He’s had a bounty for Sokolov this whole time? Why would he hide that from me? Is this the reason he stuck around? The whole reason he helped me to begin with? A million questions fire off in my head as I continue to try and act like my whole world didn’t implode around me.
Griffin’s hand, warm and rough, closes over mine where it’s clenched around the glass. He doesn’t look at me, but his thumb traces a slow line over my knuckles as he keeps talking to Bishop in that same low growl. “I’m not walkin’ away.” His grip tightens around my fingers. “But I am adjustin’ the plan.”
Bishop studies him for a long moment before nodding once and leaning back again. Jax stays quiet, watching us with something unreadable in his expression.
The silence stretches for a beat too long before Griffin turns his head to me, voice dropping to a murmur only I can hear. “We should talk.”
“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” I say a little too stiffly.
“Yes. It is.” His voice vibrates against my ear. “Outside. Now.”
He doesn't wait for an answer, standing abruptly and throwing cash on the table. He pulls me up beside him with terrifying gentleness before guiding me toward the exit with one hand settled possessively on the small of my back.
The night air hits my face as soon the door swings open. The moment we are outside, Griffin turns sharply, crowding me against the brick wall with hands braced on either side of my head.
“You have every right to be pissed at me,” he mutters. “But don't ever think this was only about a bounty.”
The second my back hits the wall, my eyes close and my body locks up. I answer him through gritted teeth. “You don't know what I'm thinking.”
He reacts instantly, his hands flying away from the wall. His entire body jerks back once he realizes what he's done. His expression shatters, filled with guilt. “Fuck, Seriphina, I didn't—” He drags his hand through his hair. “Tell me what you need.” His voice cracks. “Just tell me.”
“Space! I need you to back off!” I push away from the wall and move past him. My footsteps echo on the sidewalk as I create as much distance as I can.
“Seriphina,” he speaks softly, almost pleading. “Look at me, please?”
I don't turn around but I stop walking.
“The contract was already done before I met you,” he admits. “I didn't take it for you. But I sure as hell will finish it because of you.”
“Do you always fuck your bait?” My hands ball into fists. “Or am I just lucky?”
Griffin makes a noise like he's been gutted. When he speaks again, it's stripped bare, nothing but raw honesty. “You were never bait,” he growls. He moves closer. “I walked into that bookstore chasin’ a lead on Sokolov’s whereabouts. I walked out thinkin’ about how your laugh felt like sunlight hittin’ my skin for the first time in years. Tell me to leave and I will, but don't walk away thinkin’ you were ever just part of the job.”
“This. This is why I don't do labels. Why I don't do feelings. Because, this. This makes more sense than us.” I turn to face him. The pain of my own thoughts torturing me with false scenarios because even after everything I can't wrap my head around how he wants me. “You had to keep me interested right? You know he'll take me out eventually, then you'll get your guy. Finish your stupid contract?”
