Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The shop is always so quiet at the end of the day.
It's the time I like best, next to those easy mornings.Rain smears shadows across the windows.
I'm trying to do some of the shelving alone, Flint having run out a little while ago on an errand for Betsy.
She's too old to go out in this weather, regardless of what she believes, so I asked him to take her some dinner.
I hum under my breath, filling the quiet air.
The chime of the door startles me, almost causing me to drop the load of books in my arms. I turn, frowning.
Brett steps inside, half silhouetted against the rain. His hair is damp and the smile on his face seems wrong.
I feel my heart skip in my chest and curse myself for asking Flint to take Betsy dinner.
“We're closed,” I say, my voice firm but not loud enough, even to my own ears.
He shuts the door behind him. Fear floods my body when I hear him flip the lock. My stomach ties itself in greasy knots.
“You looked busy,” Brett says. “Didn't want to interrupt you earlier. Figured I'd wait 'til the place was nice and quiet.” He pauses. “I did try to call you, a few times, but you aren’t answering.”
When the fuck was he here? I try to wrack my brain, but realize the last time I remember seeing him was the night at the bar. The reprieve has been nice, honestly.
My unease is growing by leaps and bounds. Odd — I thought it was already maxed.
“You can't be here.” I'm trying for bravado, but I'm really just praying that Flint hurries his ass up.
He smiles. “You said that last time.”
“And I meant it.” I try to put some steel in my voice. “Please leave.”
Apparently, I fail because he just steps further in.“You know what I think?” he says, voice entirely too casual for the moment. “I think you say no because you want to be chased. You like making guys work for it.”
I grind my teeth. “This isn't flirting, Brett. It's harassment.”
His grin falters, his expression hardening. “I think I've worked e-fucking-nough,” he spits.
Then, that hideous grin is back, distorting his features.
“You always get so cold when we're alone,” he says, pacing in a lazy circle around me. “But at the club, when you let me dance with you... I felt something. You didn't pull away. You didn't say no. That bitch, Annemarie, interfered because she was jealous I want you instead of her.”
“Because I froze and you can’t take a hint,” I protest.
He tsks. “Com'on, Casie. You're not scared of me.”
Something hungry slithers into his gaze.
“But you could be.”
Just as quickly as it appeared, the hunger dissolves from his gaze, leaving something calculating in its wake.
“I've been nothing but nice to you. Brought you coffee. Bought books I have no fucking intention of reading. Supported the absolute nonsense that is this” — he gestures around — “joke of a bookstore. I've defended you when people have talked shit. You owe me at least one, honest date.”
I step back, my skin crawling simply because he's gotten closer. “I owe you nothing.”
“There’s that playing hard to get again,” he smiles. “You act like this is some big misunderstanding, but I know what you've been doing.”
He comes towards me and I stiffen my spine. I am not going to run away from this idiot.
“You wore that red skirt last week. The one that clings to your ass when you shelve the lower racks. Don't try to pretend like that wasn't for me. You know red is my favorite color.”
The air goes still. I can feel my breath backing up in my lungs.
“You're delusional.”
He shrugs.
This motherfucker shrugs.
“You shouldn't dress like that if you don't want attention. I tried to tell you that, that night at the bar-” I step back, my heel bumping into the shelf behind me.
His face changes, something hungry lurking in his eyes.
Before I can sidestep, he lunges towards me, hands snapping around my wrists — tight, bruising. He yanks me forward, smashing me against his chest.
His breath is sour, hot. Like mint trying to cover something rotten.
“I just want to talk. I don't like being rejected. It makes me… upset. When I'm upset, I don't think clearly.”
“Let go,” I snarl, trying to sound more confident and powerful than I feel. All I really feel is pure, feminine distress.
“I’ll be so good to you. You just have to stop pretending. Stop acting like you're better than me.”
“I am better than you,” I spit.
His grip on my wrists tighten further.
“You didn't mind when I danced with you at the club. Until your dyke-bitch friend had to interrupt us.”
I struggle to find my calm, to speak rationally. “You grabbed me. From behind. Without asking.”
“And you didn't stop me.”
“I froze!”
The word seems to sting. Good. I hope it fucking hurts.
“You're saying I assaulted you now? You're calling me a predator?!”
“I’m saying that you're making me afraid, Brett. You've been crossing lines! You make me uncomfortable. Showing up uninvited. Touching me without consent. And now — for fucks sake — you're here, in my locked bookstore, AT NIGHT, PHYSICALLY RESTRAINING ME.”
“I care about you!” His voice is rising. “I've been watching out for you. I've seen the way people look at you, not caring that you're MINE. I have to protect you.”
“I already have someone!”
“Oh. Him.” Brett is dismissive, his lip curling. “That tall freak who skulks around? Acting like he owns you, even when he knows you're mine.”
I still. He seems to be spiraling into a rant.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Like he gets to decide. Like he's controlling you.”
“You're projecting,” I can't help but goad him. “You're the one obsessed.”
Where the fuck is Flint? I reach out to Calida but she must be hunting and out of range.
My comment finally cracks him, his face contorting.
“You think you're so much better than me,” he sneers.
“Wearing those tight jeans, short skirts, acting all pure — but you're begging for it. I see it in you. You want someone to put you in your place. You think anyone else is gonna want someone like you?”
He raises his hand, like he's about to strike me.
“Take your hand off her,” a voice commands, low and lethal, “or I'll take it off you.”
Flint.
Oh, thank fuck.
He emerges from the back hall, lit by the soft golden glow of the storeroom. His body is coiled in violence, low and lethal.
Brett freezes. My entire body starts to shake, like it was waiting for salvation before it completely lost it.
Flint doesn't look at me. His eyes are focused only on Brett.
“You. Of course. The wanna-be boyfriend.” He scoffs. “I'm having a conversation with Casie,” Brett says, his voice rising with false bravado. “You don't speak for her.”
“I don't have to. I’m whatever she needs me to be,” Flint responds, evenly. “But right now? I’m the line you shouldn’t have crossed.”
Brett laughs and drops my arms and I can tell from the soreness that I'll have bruises there later. I know, without making eye contact with Flint, that this is a serious mistake on Brett’s part.
“She’s been stringing me along for months, man! Smiling. Flirting. Wearing those cheap outfits, inviting other men to look, just to taunt me. You don’t know what it’s like — how women do that. They lead you on, then act like you’re the problem— “
Flint’s voice interrupts, an octave lower than what I’m used to. “You think this is about you being rejected?”
“She wanted it -”
“You. Hurt. Her.”
“She’s just playing the victim!”
Flint’s hand whips out and forward so fast, slamming Brett into the bookshelf behind him with a resounding crack.Books cascade to the floor. Brett is choking on air, pinned by Flint’s arm across his chest.
“You prey on kindness,” Flint snarls. “Mistake silence for consent. You think being ignored makes her yours? You think you're entitled to her attention? Her body?”
Brett makes some unintelligible sound. I guess it’s hard to talk with that much Fae male rage pushing against your windpipe.
“You have no idea who you’re fucking with,” Flint growls. “This is your final warning.” He snarls, “Touch her again and I. Will. End. You.”
Brett manages to gurgle out something like “You’re insane.”Flint leans close, growling into Brett's face, much of the same way Brett was doing to me only a moment ago. Or was it a year?
“And you’re a coward,” Flint spits. “You prey on kindness, on softness. You mistake or FORCE silence for consent! But here’s the truth— “ he leans in so he’s close to Brett’s ear and I have to strain to hear him. “She never wanted you.”
He pauses a moment, to let that sink in.
“I’ve seen you follow her. I’ve watched you lingering nearby. And I will kill you before I let you take anything more from her.”
He throws Brett to the ground. Brett scrambles to his face, red faced and furious.
"I'll call the cops…” he wheezes,
“Please do.” Flint shrugs, suddenly casual. “Tell them how you forced your way into a locked store and grabbed a woman half your size. Let's see how well that plays on camera.”
Brett's breath catches. Still shaking, I point to the security camera above the register, blinking red and watching everything.
“I—I’ll press charges,” Brett stammers. “You laid hands on me—”
“I’ll make sure they never stop finding your body,” Flint says, low and lethal. “Now get out.”
Brett bolts, unlocking and slamming the door behind him.
I haven’t moved.
Flint turns to me, his face softening instantly. I realized I’m gripping my own arm, my fingers trembling. He crosses to me, gently tugging my hand away. Dark, ugly bruises are already forming where Brett was holding me.
“I should have been here sooner,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “You were here. That’s enough.”
He cups my face. “Not for me.”
There’s silence and then, quietly, I say: “I don’t think he’s done. There’s something not right about him. It’s never going to end.”
Flint’s jaw tightens. “Let him try.”
The lock clicks into place behind us.