Page 121 of Safe Word

‘Just a headache this morning,’ I said, pivoting towards the wreckage of my coffee splattered across the tiles.

‘What happened here?’ he asked in a light but probing tone.

‘Just a decaffeinated Paula DeLuca.’ I snorted, forcing a smile I didn’t feel in my eyes. ‘What brings you here?’

He trailed after me to the kitchen island, pristine white muscle shirt bright against the morning sun filtering from the blinds. Then he leaned over it casually. A few blond strands slipped forward as he peered down at me just as I crouched to pick up the pieces of my late mug.

‘Just wanted to check up on you after last night,’ he said softly, but the quiet note in his voice hinted at more than concern.

I bit the inside of my cheek, praying my heart would stop sprinting like it was trying to rip out of my chest.

Scooping the shards into the bin, I stood and reached to the side of the fridge. Grabbing a mop, I turned—

—and smacked straight into the solid wall of Vinnie’s hard chest.

I froze.

Looked up.

Our eyes locked.

My pulse slammed back into my throat.

He rested one palm casually atop the fridge, caging me in between it and the counter, leaning just enough to fold the space between us into something too deliberate.

‘Are you really okay?’ he asked, voice dipped in velvet, a slight rasp vibrating low in his throat. ‘Want me to take you to a doctor?’

The tangle of curses in my throat made it almost impossible to bring the words out. My victim-instinct screamed at me to run, but Scarlett kicked me in the shins and rooted my feet to the ground.

‘I’m fine,’ I finally managed.

He hummed, thoughtful, eyes roaming my face as if he were reading a confession right off it.

‘I want you to know I made some calls to have people look into what happened – with the drink.’

I gave a small nod, whispering a thin thank-you, and pressing my back harder against the fridge. Thankfully, he didn’t follow. He let the fragile distance between us remain as he stared at me.

‘Did… something else happen?’

My jaw snapped shut, teeth colliding in a sharp crack that echoed far too loudly in the still kitchen. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Cain… he didn’t come back to the club.’

My lips parted, a wave of worry passing over me – and his gaze pounced on the tell.

‘He didn’t stay long last night,’ I murmured, pulse thundering as I glanced at my phone on the farthest end of the counter. He also didn’t pick up my call this morning.

Cold dread started climbing up my legs and towards my chest.

‘He dropped me off and left.’

Vinnie’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his throat bobbing as if swallowing down something he wasn’t sure he should say. The silence stretched, and with every passing second, the space between us felt smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on us.

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Vinnie said at last, though his mouth stayed half-open, as if something else wanted to come out.

He took in a deep breath and held it too long to be casual. Then he gave a short, almost guilty smile and looked down.

‘Sorry.’ His tone sank. ‘Sometimes… I forget where the line is.’