Chapter 9
Tempest Miller
Iwoke with a start, my heart pounding like a motherfucker in my chest, the first thing I notice is the cold sheet at my back where Corvus had been.
”Jesus Christ,” I muttered as the images of Corvus coming to my rescue surfaced. He had heard my screams and burst into the room, pulling me from the clutches of my demons.
The blush rose to my cheeks as I remembered how he had held me, his arms strong and comforting until I fell back asleep. I couldn”t believe I let him see me like that. I was mortified.
I threw off the covers and forced myself out of bed, my muscles tense as I tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment. Quickly, I grabbed a pair of frayed denim shorts and a black singlet top from my bag, hurriedly pulling them on. I ran a hand through my tangled hair, and quickly tied it up into a messy bun.
”Deep breaths,” I muttered, taking in a lungful of air and releasing it slowly.
Steeling myself, I walked out of the room, heading for where I could hear noise coming from – the kitchen. The sound of something sizzling mingled with the strong aroma of coffee. Rounding the corner, I found Corvus standing at the stove, his back to me as he flipped something in a pan.
”Hey,” he called over his shoulder, not even bothering to look up. ”Coffee”s on the counter if you want one.”
”Thanks,” I mumbled, crossing the room to pour myself a cup. The bitter scent filled my nostrils, grounding me as I took a sip. I glanced over at him, feeling my face heat up again as I remembered the night before. I needed to say something – apologies or... something.
”Look, about last night—” I began, sitting down at the small kitchen table, my fingers clenching around the warm mug.
”Drop it, Tempest,” Corvus interrupted, finally turning to face me. His eyes were dark, unreadable. ”We all have our shit. No need to apologise.”
”Still,” I insisted, unable to let it go. ”You didn”t have to do what you did. You didn”t have to...” My voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability I was trying so hard to hide.
”Stop,” Corvus commanded, holding up a hand to silence me. His eyes bore into mine, their intensity leaving no room for argument. ”You don”t need to apologise.”
I clenched my jaw, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. A flush of embarrassment warmed my cheeks as I remembered the vulnerability he”d seen in me last night.
”Look, Tempest,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his broad chest. ”I can tell you”ve been through some dark shit.” He paused, assessing my reaction before pressing on. ”Does this happen every night?”
My heart hammered in my chest, and I struggled to maintain my composure. I looked down at my coffee, the dark liquid swirling around like a storm in my cup. ”Yeah, it does,” I mumbled, the words heavy with the weight of my past. ”I”ve had nightmares every night since I was fourteen.”
”Shit, Tempest,” Corvus murmured, his eyes filled with concern. It struck me then that he actually gave a damn, and for some reason, that made the shadows of my memories even darker.
”What helps?” he asked, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The question hung in the air, thick with the unspoken understanding that there wasn”t an easy answer to be found.
”I have no fuckin” idea,” I admitted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. ”Nothing”s ever really helped. I just... I deal with it.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Corvus” mouth, and he leaned back against the counter. ”You know,” he said, a teasing glint in his stormy eyes, ”you went right back to sleep after I held you last night. Did that bother you?”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. ”No,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. ”I... I felt safe.”
”Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow, studying me for a moment. Then, he gave a casual shrug. ”Well, that settles it then. I”ll sleep in there with you every night, ”til you get the keys to your place.”
”Corvus, you don”t have to do that,” I stammered, my hands twisting nervously in my lap.
”Of course, I don”t have to,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. ”But I want to. You deserve to feel safe, Tempest. And if I can help you with that, then I will.”
His words stirred something deep within me – a flicker of hope, like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud. It was almost enough to make me believe that maybe, just maybe, I could find some semblance of peace in this fucked-up world.
My cheeks burned like wildfire as I stared down at my half-finished coffee, the bitter taste of embarrassment mingling with the rich, dark roast. I couldn”t believe what he was offering – or that I was even considering accepting it.
”Fine,” I mumbled, draining the last of my coffee and setting the mug down with a defiant thunk. ”But only until I get the keys to my place.”
”Deal,” Corvus agreed, a ghost of a smile flickering across his chiselled features. ”Now grab your jacket and let”s go. We”ve got work to do.”
———————————————————————————
”Get on the fuckin” bike, Tempest,” Corvus barks at me, his eyes daring me to defy him. But I”ve had enough of bowing down to his demands.
”Fuck you, Corvus. I”ll drive my own damn car,” I snap back, glaring into those cold, dark eyes. This bastard thinks he can control everything and everyone around him, but there”s only so much a person can take.
”Suit yourself, princess.” He smirks, swinging his leg over his Harley, revving the engine loudly as if to assert his dominance. I roll my eyes and march toward my car, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary.
As I drive behind Corvus, I can”t help but feel overwhelmed by the concessions I”ve made in the last 24 hours. It”s like I”ve lost control of my life, and it”s all because of that goddamn motorcycle-riding son of a bitch.
The wind whips through his hair as he rides ahead of me, taunting me with his freedom. I grip the steering wheel tightly, nails digging into the leather.
The neon sign, attached to the bar is switched off, making the bar look sad and empty.
I park the car and watch Corvus dismount his Harley with a predatory grace, I envy him, how fucking carefree he seems.
”Come on,” he calls over his shoulder, impatience lacing his voice like venom. ”We ain”t got all day.”
”Fuck off,” I mutter, slamming my door shut with a smirk.
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, revealing the dark interior.
The moment the door shuts behind us, shadows swallow the room and the familiar scent of leather and whiskey fills my nostrils. I stand there for a second, getting my bearings, feeling the weight of the darkness pressing against me.
”Fuckin” hell,” Corvus grumbles as he fumbles around for the light switch. A sudden burst of fluorescent light washes over us, harsh and unforgiving in its intensity. I squint against it, my eyes struggling to adjust after being plunged into the gloom.
”Right,” he says, hands on his hips as he surveys the bar. ”Got a shipment of booze waitin” for ya in the storeroom. Needs to be put away.”
“Okie Dokie,” I say as I give him the 3-finger salute, which makes him raise a brow at me, as I stalk off the storeroom.
The air in the storeroom hangs heavy, thick with the scent of stale booze and cardboard. I glance around, taking in the rows of shelves lined with bottles and cans – a testament to the seedy underbelly of the Dirty Devils. My gaze lands on the boxes scattered across the floor, waiting to be unpacked and sorted.
”Fuckin” fantastic,” I mutter under my breath, already dreading the hours of work ahead of me.
”Tempest,” Corvus calls out from the doorway. I turn to face him, my jaw set and my eyes hard. ”I have some work I gotta do in the office. Come find me when you”re done.” His voice drips with authority as if he needs to remind me who”s boss around here.
”Sure thing, VP,” I reply, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. ”Also you can take some money out of my wages for the use of your spare room ok?”
Corvus throws his head back and laughs, a deep, guttural sound that sends shivers down my spine. ”Not happening,” he says, shaking his head. ”Just do your job.” With that, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, leaving me to seethe in silence.
”Asshole,” I mutter under my breath, turning my attention to the boxes cluttering the storeroom floor. I rip one open and find it filled with vodka bottles, their labels glinting beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. I grab a bottle and start stacking the shelves, each clink echoing through the empty room.
”Eight more days,” I think as I work, my fingers growing numb from the cold glass. Just eight fuckin” days, and I”ll have the keys to my house. Finally, a place to call my own, without Greg”s goddamn memory haunting every corner.
I pause, staring at the rows of bottles before me, and try to imagine what my new life will look like. A small, shabby house on the outskirts of town – nothing fancy, but a far cry from the prison I ran away from.
”Eight days,” I whisper.