Chapter 28 Eternal Dilemma #2
When I imagined this conversation, I didn’t plan for a drunk Gryphon. I peel the tumbler from his hand and place it over the fireplace, a good distance for an inebriated man. He shoots me a sharp glare, and I send it right back.
“I need you to pay attention for a moment.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
I smile thinly. “You fired my crew yesterday.”
Realisation dawns on his face in stages. Then he sinks into his seat and laughs, a short guffaw that ends with his eyes closed, head tipped back. “Is this a revenge thing?”
He asks me that even as he takes his attention off me. If I were here to retaliate, this would be the easiest opportunity to hurt him. As far as I know, Gryphon has never served nor taken up a discipline and relies on other people to defend him.
I actually feel a little offended. Being underestimated because I’m a woman is not new to me, but something about those shuttered lids makes me want to disintegrate his jaw.
“You’re not that important,” I say.
He snorts. “Why are you here then?”
For a moment, an image from my past is overlaid atop Gryphon.
A masculine body sprawled in a show of inebriated passivity, eyes closed, mouth twisted in mockery.
The sting of alcohol in the air. That slow, careful pronunciation that can’t quite hide the slurring.
And, ultimately, a complete lack of respect for anyone else in the room.
Anger surges in my blood, and I fist my hands so hard I pierce the skin with my nails. After tonight, I’ll be lucky if they aren’t black and blue. Unfurling my hands reveals the beads of blood welling up against my palms. What little self-control I have left simply snaps.
Reaching out, I swipe the tumbler off the mantle.
Gryphon flinches when it smashes into pieces against the marbled floor, the heavy crystal of it making a spectacle.
And his eyes are open now, watching me narrowly as he pulls himself to a sitting position.
He peers over the chaise before sliding his gaze back to me.
“That was part of a set gifted to me by the President of—”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m here for a compromise.”
“‘Compromise’ implies I care about who you are, or what you want. You’re lucky I didn’t immediately report you to the authorities. Be glad about that and go.”
“Because you love her,” I murmur, watching him carefully. Gryphon has a good poker face, but I catch the twitch of surprise. I continue. “Enough to break this house into pieces and ship it over, but not enough to care about her choices.”
The tips of his ears have reddened, something that’s always fascinated me about people of his colour.
But he isn’t flushing because of embarrassment; I can see that in the clench of his jaw and the pucker of his forehead.
He stands, stumbles slightly and crowds me.
I don’t bother to move away, letting him square up.
He thought getting in my face, intimidating me with his bulk, would win him the upper hand—I’m not fucking cowed.
An inch of height between us, it’s easy to make eye contact with him without being forced to step back.
Gryphon says nothing, letting his presence do the talking.
I intended to come in here and speak to him calmly. I intended to convince him to let Marlowe and Vee leave. I didn’t have high hopes that it would work, but the plan was to try, and to try peacefully.
Well, now heat simmers beneath my skin, and I don’t hold my tongue. Leaning in, so close we could kiss, I murmur, “I bet you were the runt in school. The runt to bully pipeline sure is a cliched one, Dominik. All this power at your fingertips, and you choose to threaten a single mother and a kid?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Someone who cares more about your son than you do.”
His eyes become slits. “What exactly happened on that ship?”
“You blackmailed Marlowe, and I have proof.”
This seems to amuse Gryphon. He shakes his head, puts some distance between us and then turns back to me with his fists firmly on his hips. “Tell you about that, did she?”
He gives off a careless aura, but tension thrums through his whole body. He can sober up faster than my father ever could. He has a lot of problems but alcohol’s not one of them.
“She didn’t have to.”
“And now you’re trying to blackmail me?”
I fold my arms and stare at him. It would do me no favours to forget Gryphon’s an extremely intelligent man.
He shakes his head with a sharp thrash. “Get the fuck out of my house. I don’t know how you even got in here.”
With long strides, he approaches the door and yanks it open. He doesn’t get a chance to call for security; Mae appears, eyebrow cocked, a professional mien in place.
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder as he barrels out of the room. “Deal with her.”
Mae nods, slipping past him. She shuts the door behind her and leans against it, watching me with gleaming eyes.
“It was worth a try.” I exhale a long breath, trying to regulate my system. “Chei, I wanted to put him into the ground.”
“I’d have paid good money for that.” Mae grins. “What now?”
I run a hand through my hair and tug. With my training, I could accidentally kill someone if I let myself lose control—but Gryphon brings up things in me I don’t want to inspect too closely.
“I have a feeling he’s going to confront Marlowe. You find her first, make sure she’s okay. I don’t think he’d physically hurt her, but I don’t want to take chances.” My stomach clenches at the thought. “I’ll move to plan B.”
Mae nods, her expression sobering. She doesn’t give off the impression that she takes anything seriously, so it’s reassuring to see that she can. She slips out of the room, and I follow not long after.
Hands still shaking from the confrontation, I wipe my sweaty palms on my dress and glance around the hallway.
By this point in the evening, more of the guests have spilled onto the second floor, but none of them pay attention as I head into the East wing.
With giggles at my back, I sneak into the showroom of vintage tech.
Glass cabinets stretch overhead and all along the far wall.
Everything seems to be grouped by category, arranged from oldest to the most modern.
The citrusy scent of bleach stings my nostrils, and every single surface shines beneath the overhead lights.
Hopefully, with this much care taken to display them, these objects are functional.
As I reach for an elaborate cabinet handle, the door at my back clicks.
I have a second of warning before an arm swings around and clamps down over my collarbone.
I duck my chin before it can tighten against my neck and slip my fingers into the gap between the arm and my skin. I pick up a subtle masculine scent.
He tries to get me into a rear-naked choke hold by grabbing his opposite bicep.
I can’t let him complete the move; he’s taller and wider, and I’ll be unconscious in seconds.
I waste no time in yanking on the shoulder of his jacket and sinking all my weight.
He’s forced to bend with me. With a sweep of my inside leg between his, we end up bent over in a chokehold instead.
My right ankle rolls in the strappy heel and rewards me with a sharp jab of pain to complement the pressure of his grip on my neck.
His arm doesn’t so much as jostle—surya-ki laash—and I take the risk of disentangling one hand, twisting my elbow into the space between his legs and slamming it into his balls.
He jolts. His grasp slips just the slightest as he curls inwards, but he doesn’t lose me.
Before he can take advantage of this position and start punching me in the head, I use momentum to throw it back and slam it into his face.
The crunch of his nose is almost as satisfying as getting loose.
He stumbles backwards, and I twist to face him as he grabs for my hair. I slam a fist into his forearm and skip back, widening the distance between us. It’s Eduard, which doesn’t surprise me at all. Blood streams down his chin, but he doesn’t bother to wipe it as he eyes me.
I’m panting, annoyed at myself for getting caught out in a pair of fucking heels.
If they weren’t strapped around my ankles, I’d kick the shoes off.
At least the dress has a slit in it and I have better range of movement.
I wrench my hair into a quick, sloppy braid and tuck it into itself.
I wish I hadn’t handed my bag to Mae; I could have tried to choke Eduard with the dinky chain-link strap.
The quirk of his reddened mouth makes the smile gruesome. He’s enjoying this, and I get it. There’s a hunger that grows from the knowledge of how to exact violence, until you end up loving the rush it gives you. The eternal dilemma: am I a monster because I harm, or do I harm because I’m a monster?
Eduard, with his bright silver eyes and bloodthirsty grin, knows this.
His calm demeanour from our first meeting has devolved into this.
It’s obvious that we’re well matched, something he probably doesn’t come across often.
But I don’t have time to relish a fight with someone who can give as good as he gets.
He sidesteps, and I adjust my positioning to account for the change in dynamic, watching how he moves—noting the unmistakable military influence.
“I might enjoy this,” he says, right before he launches himself at me.