“The hell you are,” I growl. I’m not angry at her. I’m angry at the idea of her walking back in there like nothing happened while those shitbags still breathe air. “Open that shop tomorrow and you’re paintin’ a target on your back bigger than the damn sun.” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out a way to convince her. “They think they own it now. You showin’ up like business as usual? That’s seen as either surrender or rebellion. And I’m not bettin’ they’ll assume it’s rebellion after tonight.”
“I didn’t tell you what they think.” She raises a brow.
“Didn’t have to,” I track her movements with the focus of a hunter. “Men like them? They don’t rough up shopkeepers just for fun. They do it to stake claims. Force obedience.” My thumb rubs absently over my knuckle where a small white scar remains after someone learned the hard way what happens when you cross me.
“Tea?”
I stare at her without blinking. It could be a peace offering or it could be her way of needing normalcy, like oxygen after drowning.
“Yeah.” I wouldn’t normally drink the stuff, coffee is more my style. But right now I’d drink dishwater if it meant keeping those ocean eyes on me longer than necessary.
“I also didn’t tell you what they were like.” She glances sidelong at me while she pours a cup, like she’s gathering I know something I’m not saying. She’s smart, observant.
“Only know what I can see.” A blind man could see the damage they did to her. I don’t try to touch her or bridge the space between us without her consent. I lean my hip against the kitchen island.
“But I’ve seen that kind of violence before. It only ends one way.” I hold her gaze, dark steel meets cool ocean waters, leaving no room for her to lie or pretend it isn’t that bad. “And I’m damn good at readin’ people.”
“So you’ve been reading me?”
She gives me the tea and I follow her into the living room, taking the seat across from her. She winces when she sits down and I have to concentrate on not crushing her little teacup.
“Hard not to read pain. And I’ve got eyes, woman. There’s nothin’ normal about you pretendin’ everything’s fine after what happened.”
She gives me a small nod, blowing on her tea before taking a sip. Her hand steadier than it should be for someone who wentthrough what she did. Hell, I don’t know all the details but I’m pretty sure she should be in a hospital right now. Not drinking chamomile tea on her fucking couch. The wheels spin in her mind like she’s deciding what to tell me.
“You’re safer with me.” I don’t offer an apology. I suspect she’d reject that like it burns, but a quiet vow that’s somehow more honest than anything I’ve said to her so far. I won’t let them touch her again.
“With you?” she scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Again, I don’t know you. I appreciate your help with my back but you’re really not obligated to stay.”
Instead of taking the out she’s offering, I set my cup down and lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Obligated?” I snort. “No. This isn’t about obligation. I’m no bleedin’ heart. You got nothin’ I need. So why do you think I’m here?”
Another lie. I don't know what I need from her yet besides knowing she's safe. But I know she’s something that I can't walk away from.
“Hero complex?” She offers, shrugging her shoulders stiffly.
I’ve been called a lot of things in my thirty-eight years but never a damn hero. Something about the way she says it, like she knows it’s a joke, makes me want to prove her wrong. I lean back, crossing my arms.
“Hero’s a bit too good of a word, don’t ya think? Try pragmatist,” I shake my head. The corner of my mouth twitches up.
“And what is it that you’re being pragmatic about? The fact that if you stay and try to fight this you’re going to get us both killed?” She tilts her head.
That’s the first time she’s said something honest about the situation she’s found herself in. And holy shit, if it isn’t as bad as I thought it was. A mix of disgust and something more complexripples through me. I rise to my feet and start pacing, needing to divert the energy somehow.
“You’re sayin’ you’d rather let them turn you into a doormat and a patsy, let them use you until you have nothin’ left to give, than leave?” My voice drops low, every word a challenge. “That’s therealisticchoice here?”
“Sometimes you have to play along to get the leverage you need to make a stand. And there’s really no point in you uprooting your life and whatever it is that you do, just to make things harder for me.” She rubs her temples.
I’m impressed by her backbone after what she went through. The fact that she has any fire left at all is a testament to how strong this woman is. Something like pride swells up inside me, but I tamp it down. Her teacup sits forgotten next to mine. I stop pacing and stand across from her.
“Let me ask you somethin’,” I drawl. “You really think you’re gonna get leverage outta them? Playin’ along won’t buy you anything but a few more days of breathin’ before they do somethin’ worse.”
“Something worse than pinning me against a brick wall, while one of them shoves his dick inside me and the other two ask how tight I am?”
The mental image she paints makes me want to put my fist through someone’s face. I take two long strides to her. Every muscle in me taut, one step away from violence. Not against her, but the trash that thought they had a right to do that to her.
“And you’re alright with that?” I spit out. “You’re gonna just take it and wait for your chance at leverage? You think those fuckers won’t do it again the second they get a chance?”
“I gave them what they want.” She stiffens as she watches me. “They don’t have a reason to push it now.”
