Grayson stares at me. The color leaves his face as he searches my expression for something. “You’re serious.”
Is that guilt in his eyes?
“Yes.”
His grip on my arm tightens. “The hell you are,” he says, fury tainting each word.
“It’s already decided.”
“It is not decided!” he snarls. “You are not giving that man your kidney.”
“You don’t get a vote.”
“Miranda.” His voice gentles. “Look at me.”
I’m already looking at him. I can’t seem to stop.
His jaw is tight. There’s a muscle working in it that wasn’t there before. The hand on my arm is steady, but his knuckles have gone white. He lets go of me and turns to face Kozlov, and the entire temperature of the room drops.
Kozlov has been sitting very still. I watch the recognition flicker through his eyes.
“Grayson Wolfe.” He sounds almost excited. “What an honor. I watch every home game. Have a seat.” It’s like he’s forgotten that Grayson was just trashing his lobby.
“I’ll pay her debt.” Grayson doesn’t sit. He doesn’t move toward the desk. “Whatever the number is.”
Kozlov folds his hands on the desk, looking disappointed. “We’ve already reached an agreement, Mr. Wolfe. Miranda and I have an arrangement.”
“Take it off the table.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Kozlov tilts his head. “She came to me. That means the offer stands until I choose otherwise.” A small smile. The kind that lives on a man who is used to being the most comfortable person in any room. “I’m sure you understand.”
Grayson steps forward.
He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t do anything dramatic. He leans both hands flat on the desk and looks at Kozlov from a foot away and says, very quietly, “Either you take the money or I’ll kill you.”
A scratching sound starts under his palms.
I hear it before I understand it. A thin, sharp sound like nails dragged across stone, high and wrong in a way that grates straight up the spine. Kozlov’s eyes drop to Grayson’s hands on the desk and then come back up, and whatever he sees when he looks at Grayson makes him go very still in the way that small animals go still.
The silence is total.
I should be afraid. I just watch Kozlov’s throat move as he swallows.
“The amount,” Grayson says quietly.
Kozlov writes it on a piece of paper, sliding it over to him. His hands are shaking.
Realization hits me. He means it. I move forward and grab Grayson’s wrist. “Stop it! This has nothing to do with you. I don’t need you to pay off my debt.”
He looks down at my hand on his wrist.
I feel it the moment he does. The heat coming off his skin is not normal. It has never been normal, and I have always filed that away without examining it too closely. Right now it moves straight up my arm, but I hold on anyway.
“Miranda.” His voice is very low.
“I mean it. Let it go.”
“Take your hand off me and sit down.”
