54. Vincent
Vincent
“LET ME BE YOUR SHIELD TONIGHT, VINNY.”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Monster Made of Memories”
“Forever Damned”
“Broken Like Me”
“Kill My Memory”
“Alone With Myself”
A few minutes before…
Igrab five bundles of birch wood and the lanterns just as she requests and put them in the cart.
Briella smacks Rory’s hand away, and I don’t know how much more I can take of him. I wanted to come with her and Jude a few days ago, but Raphael said it would be too high profile. Not that a redheaded Scot and a bulky, tattooed guy are much better.
With Rory, she gets bold. Aggressive.
With Jude, she melts—eyes starry, lips parted in a swoon.
With Seth, she laughs like she’s safe.
With Raphael, she’s shook down to her soul.
With me?
She’s quiet. Sweet and pretty, but quiet. Like she’s waiting. Like she’s offering something I’ve been too much of a coward to take.
I hate that I haven’t stepped up. That I’ve used her limp as an excuse. I should’ve given her a real battle by now. Dominated her. Shown her what it feels like to be fully claimed by a warrior.
I know she can take it. She’s stronger than all of us combined. I just—I’ve held back. Because Raphael already broke her once. Rory sets her on fire. Jude patches her up. Seth keeps her smiling.
And what the fuck do I offer? A hoodie that smells like bonfire and hay? A map of inked regrets across my skin? A barn full of goddamn goats? A punching bag where I visualize anyone who would try to hurt her?
She deserves more than a shadow that watches from the corner, too afraid of his own damage to touch her the way she needs.
But I will. Soon. I swear.
I just have to stop being afraid of breaking her and start trusting that she might be the one who breaks me instead.
Rory is talking about her ass again. I mutter about leaving him in the mulch, getting close to that point.
Just as I finish setting the other bundles on the cart, I notice him.
Blonde hair, neatly parted, early-fifties, well-groomed. His coat’s city-cut, pressed sharp at the collar. He’s too focused, too still. He rounds the corner behind a stack of Douglas firs and stops dead. Zeros in on Briella like a goddamn hawk.
She doesn’t notice him. Not yet.
But I do. And across the aisle, Rory’s already clocked him, too. I meet his gaze over the tips of a pine. Subtle nod exchanged. No words needed. We’ve both seen that look before—the kind that doesn’t belong at a tree lot.
The stranger pretends to inspect a spruce, but it’s the last thing he sees. We scatter across the rows, casually. No need for alarm yet. He’s likely a peeping tom ogling our beautiful girl—easily intimidated.
Briella’s oblivious, murmuring something to herself as she stops at a tall, snow-dusted fir with thick, sweeping boughs. “This one.” She rests her hand on the trunk like she’s claiming it.
“Nice eye,” I murmur, hauling it onto the cart with a grunt. The cart creaks under the weight.
That’s when she goes stiff beside me.
I turn, and the blonde man is closer now.
Too close. Briella glances at him before the color drains from her face.
She sways and stumbles right into my side, fingers gripping my jacket like she’s trying to melt into me.
She wraps her scarf around her neck tightly and pulls up the collar of her coat.
The man steps forward.
“Bri? Gabriella Weston?”
He’s too calm. Too cool. “Sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person.” She lowers her chin to the ground. “I just have one of those faces.”
The man doesn’t blink.
Rory steps in, his accent thick and full of gravel. “Ye keep eyeballing my woman like that, I’ll knock all yer teeth in and make ye swallow ‘em, one by one.”
That gets the point across. The man backs off—slowly but not scared. Just…watching.
I don’t like how he stares at her as I steer the cart toward the checkout. Briella’s trembling beside me. I keep one hand on her lower back, grounding her. He’s from her past. Some demon. And she’s petrified.
Now she has five bigger demons, including one who beat the Devil himself.
We’re almost done checking out when he reappears.
Before I can react, he reaches out and yanks the cap off her head.
“Not your face, little Bri.” He inspects her like a jackal. “I’d know that hair anywhere.”
Briella recoils. Rory moves faster. He steps between them, fury in his jaw, his shoulders, his hands clenched like loaded weapons.
The man doesn’t flinch. “Prophet Alden will be so pleased to hear you’re alive and well.”
Her breath turns shallow, her eyes wide with terror.
I slap a hand to Rory’s chest before he throws the punch I know he wants to. “Not here,” I mutter. “Take her to the truck.”
Rory’s got murder on his face, but he takes one look at our Queen, her teary gaze centered on him in a silent plea.
He obeys, grabs her hand, and tugs her along.
Briella tries to follow, but she’s shaking so much, it exacerbates her limp.
Rory scoops her up like nothing and stalks toward the parking lot. Her head rests against his shoulder.
I turn back. The blonde man is gone. But I catch a flash of that coat heading for the far exit.
I slap a hand on the cashier’s counter. “Start ringing everything up. I’ll be right back.”
Outside, the sky’s turned to night. Cold bites at my neck.
I follow him into the lot. He’s almost at his car when he reaches into his coat. I move fast. Real fast.
I snatch the phone out of his hand before he can unlock the screen and shove it into my pocket. I’ll deal with the SIM card soon.
He whirls around, furious. “What the hell—”
I press him up against his car door with one arm across his chest. Calm. Cold. “Name,” I demand.
His haughty lips pinch. “Doctor Nathan Reddick.”
Shit.
“And I’d advise you,” he continues sourly, like spoiled milk, “to use the utmost caution with Gabriella. She is not well.”
“She’s very well,” I state. “And she’s taken care of.”
His lips twist. “She belongs with her family at Easthaven Care Center. The police still have a warrant for her arrest. She stabbed an orderly in the neck, you know. Killed him. But Prophet Alden—he’s a merciful and reasonable man.
He spoke with the governor. Arranged for her to be brought back for help instead of prison. ”
The veins in my forearms bulge, throbbing with the need for violence.
“You’re mistaken,” I tell him. “Like she said, one of those faces. And she dyed her hair for the holidays.”
“She has a limp,” he points out quietly. “If she has all the help she needs, why does she limp?”
My jaw locks. “I tried to be reasonable. I only have one question left.”
“What?’ He sneers.
“Are you ambidextrous?”
“No.”
I take his right hand. Fingers splayed in protest. No hesitation. I break his wrist.
The scream echoes through the lot.
One by one, I bend his fingers back until the cartilage pops and the knuckles split. He collapses against the car, gasping, cradling his mangled hand.
I pull the cap from his other hand. “You come near her again,” I warn, “I won’t be so merciful.”
I glance at the license plate. Commit it to memory. Raphael will know what to do. Then I turn, walk back inside, pay for the damn tree and every ornament Briella picked out, and meet them both at the truck.
I give her the cap. Rory helps me load up the truck bed, then I gun the engine.
“Did ye kick his teeth in?” asks Rory, fist clenched against the truck side.
I shake my head. “No. But I made sure he can no longer use the title Doctor.”
Briella gazes up at me. The emotion there. It rips me open, reaching into old scars. But it’s not horror there. It’s gratitude. Nothing I’ve ever seen the likes of.
“Good on ye, Tats,” Rory says.
Briella curls up between us, her head on my shoulder, and clutching the hat to her chest like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth.
“Fuck.”
Raphael plants a fist on the mantle, the other hand jabbing the fire like it insulted him. Flames spit and shift. The cabin’s quiet now. Everyone gone. Except her.
Briella’s curled up on the couch in one of my blankets, cap still on, sleeping like an angel. We talk in lowered tones a few steps away,
“I should’ve sent Jude,” Raphael mutters, jaw tense. “Rory wouldn’t spot a tail if it was shoved up his ass. Others could have recognized her.”
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, heart still ticking fast from earlier. “It was late. Place was almost empty. The doctor was warned.”
“She’s ultimately my responsibility.”
I shake my head, arms tightening. “Don’t make me play the one card I hold over you, Raphael. She’s all of ours now. I handled it. We can’t do anything else.”
His eyes cut to me, sharp enough to draw blood. “There is one thing left.”
Something cold creeps into my chest. We hold the silence like a loaded gun between us. I nod once.
Protocol X.
We let the fire crackle. And try not to look at her.
“We’ll protect her, Raph.”
His expression hardens, low and vicious. “We must. There’s no other option. Not after I made her a cripple.”
“She doesn’t act like one.” I force a smirk even though it tastes bitter. “You should’ve seen her today. God. She was magical.”
“We’ll keep her that way through the holidays,” he declares. “No more close calls. We handle this immediately after the new year.”
“Until then?” I ask, wary.
Raphael turns his head slowly, gives me that look—that brand of warning only he can wield without speaking a word.
“Tomorrow,” he announces, “we play the game.”
I bristle, but with one brandished glare, I nod in surrender.
He steps away from the fire, glancing at the couch, then to me. “She’s yours tonight, Vincent. Take her to your cabin.”
My stomach tightens, but I nod again. “Yes, Sir.”
Tonight, she’ll need someone beside her if the nightmares come. And I know how to deal with nightmares the most.
Briella is all curves with some pleasantly plump, but to me? I barely flex when I scoop her into my arms, still wrapped in my blanket. I’m not surprised when she opens her glittery eyes.