Chapter 17 Blood in the Water
Lila Two weeks later…
The dynamic in the house has shifted subtly over the past two weeks, like tectonic plates grinding slowly into a new position. A weight lifted when I finally told them everything about Kolya, terrified they'd see me differently, judge me for the weakness I felt he'd branded on me, or look at me with pity. But they didn't. If anything, their support and protectiveness only intensified, their care unwavering, making the shift between us feel even more real and profound.
Ethan and Ryker... they don't hide it anymore. Casual touches linger, possessive glances are exchanged openly, sometimes even in front of each other. They both openly kiss me—quick, stolen moments in the kitchen or deep, lingering embraces on the couch, regardless of who might be watching.
A hand brushing my hip as Ethan passes, Ryker pulling me onto his lap while we watch a movie with Ethan sprawled nearby, a searing kiss hello or goodbye that leaves me breathless. It feels like the tentative 'us' we stumbled into is solidifying, becoming real in the small, everyday moments.
Except for Bastian. He remains an island, watchful and controlled. That kiss on the cheek I dared to give him feels like a lifetime ago. He acknowledged it with a sharp intake of breath, a flicker of something hot in his hazel eyes, but then... nothing
He keeps his distance, his walls firmly in place. I still catch him watching me sometimes with that intense, unreadable gaze, but I don't know what he feels, what he wants . And after everything, after Kolya, I'm terrified of pushing, terrified of misreading him, terrified of needing something he isn't willing to give.
It makes moments like the other night even more confusing.
I remember melting into the couch cushions, boneless and blissed out. Ethan had been between my legs, his skilful mouth working magic, worshiping me like I was the only thing that mattered. He’d sworn he could eat me for hours, and damn, if he wasn't proving it, tongue teasing and sucking my clit until my hips arched off the sofa, chasing my release. Just as my orgasm started to build, a low chuckle echoed from the doorway. Ryker. He hadn't hesitated, just stalked over, kneeling beside Ethan. His rough fingers found my already tight nipples, pinching and rolling them mercilessly as Ethan’s tongue drove me over the edge. My orgasm slammed into me, a tidal wave of sensation, my cries muffled as Ryker leaned down, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss while Ethan continued his relentless assault on my pussy.
As the waves subsided, my body trembling and hypersensitive, I blinked my eyes open, vision swimming. And I saw him. Bastian. Standing framed in the living room doorway, his face tight, fists clenched at his sides. His gaze was fixed on us, intense and raw, a burning hunger in his eyes that mirrored my own desperate need.
Even through the haze, I couldn't miss his hard cock straining against the front of his jeans, stark evidence of how much the scene affected him. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to cross the room, to join us, to wreck me alongside them. But then Ryker kissed me again, deep and possessive, stealing my breath and pulling my focus back to the heat between us, and when I looked again, Bastian was gone.
That memory, the heat of it tangled with the ache of Bastian's absence, lingers even now.
A heavy, expectant silence hangs over the house, thick as dust. Since Kolya sent that goddamn bracelet, there has been nothing. No calls, no threats, no more 'gifts'. The quiet feels wrong, stretched too tight, like the air before lightning strikes. The waiting is its own kind of torture.
During the past two weeks, the first thing I learned about having a personal bodyguard is that it’s a lot like having an overgrown, heavily-armed babysitter who enjoys making my life miserable.
Grim follows me everywhere. Everywhere . A constant, brooding presence mandated by Bastian after Kolya’s taunting message arrived.
At the grocery store? He looms over me like a shadow, tossing protein bars and beef jerky into my cart like I don’t have a say, his gaze constantly scanning the aisles.
At work? He sits in the flower shop, occupying a corner like some kind of tattooed gargoyle, radiating enough quiet menace to scare off timid customers.
In the bathroom? Okay, he stays outside for that, usually leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, looking impossibly bored yet hyper-aware. But I wouldn’t put it past him to somehow have a sixth sense about when I leave the room.
I glare at him over my shoulder as we walk down the sidewalk toward the shop, the clunk-clunk of his heavy boots a constant reminder that my so-called 'freedom' is anything but free.
“You don’t have to follow me inside,” I say, folding my arms. “Pretty sure the biggest threat I’ll face today is running out of peonies.”
Grim lets out a low chuckle, slow and lazy, his deep green eyes gleaming with amusement. “Nah, Princess —you might trip over your own feet and need rescuing. Gotta be ready.”
I exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll get bored. Maybe if I wish hard enough, he’ll disappear into thin air.
I want to strangle him. He's like Ryker turned up to eleven, all menace and irritating nicknames. But underneath the bullshit... there's that same unsettling competence I see in Ryker sometimes. A coiled stillness. An absolute refusal to miss anything.
And damn it, despite wanting to deck him, the cold knot in my stomach loosens just a fraction knowing he is the one watching my back. He's still an asshole, though.
“Call me ‘Princess’ one more time and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” He leans down, all six-foot-five inches of menace, a challenge glinting in his eyes, knowing exactly how much he pisses me off. “Stomp your foot? Give me a real good glare?”
I want to throttle him.
Instead, I spin on my heel and storm into the shop. Ignoring him is the only winning move.
Inside the shop, Stephanie is already behind the counter, humming as she arranges a vase, her blonde curls piled on top of her head in a messy bun. The second she spots Grim stalking in behind me—a now familiar, and enormous, sight—her eyes light up with mischief.
“Ohhh, look who it is,” she calls out, leaning against the counter with a cheeky grin. “Brought your favorite brooding giant again, Lila?”
Another groan escapes me. “He’s not my favorite anything.”
“Could have fooled me. Besides,” she adds, eyeing Grim’s imposing frame, “He’s... definitely something. Hard to ignore someone built like a brick shithouse.”
Grim places a hand over his chest in mock sincerity. "Thank you, sweetheart. I try." He pauses, eyes twinkling. "Hard work looking this good and terrifying. It's simply exhausting."
I bury my head in my hands for a second, recognizing his usual brand of suggestive bullshit. Stephanie’s grin widens, clearly amused. The memory of her first encounter with him flashes through my mind.
I remember walking in that first morning, Grim trailing behind me like a thundercloud. Stephanie’s eyes had widened, her jaw practically dropping. “Whoa,” she had breathed, doing a slow scan from his boots up to his scarred eyebrow.
“Okay, ditching the hot tech guy for… this? Upgrade? Side grade? Definitely a grade.”
“He’s my… bodyguard,” I had muttered, praying for the floor to swallow me. “Bodyguard?” Her grin had returned, sharper this time.
“What’s his name? Thor? Hagrid?” I had snorted despite myself.
“Close. This is Grim.” “Grim?” She had tilted her head, assessing him.
“That’s… deeply unsettling.” Grim had leaned in then, just like he does now sometimes, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the small space.
“Good.” Stephanie had blinked, then nodded slowly, a look of pure, unadulterated approval spreading across her face. “Okay. Yeah. I like him.”
Back in the present, Stephanie is still grinning. "Still think he's unsettling, by the way. In a good way." She winks at Grim, who just radiates smug satisfaction.
I sigh, giving Stephanie a look that screams you’re not helping before walking around the counter and tying my apron. The bell jingles as a new customer steps in. I barely have time to glance up before he strolls toward the counter, exuding the kind of confidence that only comes from having other people do things for him.
His suit is sharp, his shoes expensive, and I’d bet my next paycheck he hasn’t personally picked out a bouquet in over a decade. He gives the shop a quick once-over, eyes briefly landing on me before shifting to Grim, who stands off to the side like a very large, very armed problem waiting to happen.
He glances at Grim, then at me. “Is it bring your boyfriend to work day?”
I choke on my own spit. “Excuse me?”
Grim, the absolute menace, grins like he’s just won the lottery.
“Oh yeah,” he says smoothly, slinging an arm over my shoulder. It feels like a steel beam settling there. “She just can’t keep her hands off me.”
I elbow him in the ribs. Hard . He doesn't even flinch.
The guy chuckles. “Or is he your sugar daddy?”
Grim rubs his beard, considering. "I do keep her safe. That's worth something, right?"
“I hate you,” I mutter under my breath, pointedly ignoring the customer and focusing on straightening a display that doesn't need straightening.
Stephanie, of course, is loving this. While smoothly ringing up the customer's purchase, she fans herself dramatically with her free hand. “Damn, Lila. You really are living the dream.”
The customer pays, takes his flowers with another amused glance between Grim and me, and the bell jingles as he finally leaves.
The second the door closes behind him, I drop my head onto the cool surface of the counter with a thud. "This is my life now," I groan into the wood. Grim has way too much fun making me suffer. Unfortunately… he isn’t going anywhere.
Stephanie finishes putting the money in the till, then pats my back sympathetically, though her eyes are still dancing with laughter. "There, there. Could be worse. He could be ugly." She pushes off the counter. "Speaking of things that need handling, I need to unpack that new shipment in the back before Mrs. Davison picks up her standing order."
She disappears through the doorway leading to the storage area. A moment later, her voice calls out, slightly muffled. "Hey Grim, Muscles, could use your help over here for a sec? This box of vases weighs a ton."
Grim grunts an affirmative, giving me a look that says don't wander off , before lumbering behind the counter and heading toward the back room. It probably won't take more than a minute, but it’s the first time all day he hasn't been within arm’s reach.
The shift has been uneventful—right up until I head toward the back of the shop, intending to grab a new bundle of roses from storage. The tiny hallway near the bathroom and the back alley exit is dimly lit, and a figure detaches itself from the dense shadows pooled near the exit. I barely have time to register movement before a rough hand clamps around my wrist.
Ice-cold panic shoots up my spine, raw and immediate. Kolya. The name screams through my mind, a visceral terror tightening my chest, stealing my breath. This is it. He found me. His touch, his smell, the way he used to grab me—it all slams back, a nightmare made real.
“Don’t scream,” a voice rasps near my ear. “You and I are gonna have a little talk.”
I stiffen, eyes darting toward the front of the shop. Stephanie is busy ringing up a customer, completely oblivious. Grim—
Grim is nowhere in sight. Shit.
“Let go of me,” I say, keeping my voice low and steady despite the tremor starting in my hands. Not again. My ribs feel tight, my breath shallow. The walls press in. Not Kolya. Not him. But my body screams otherwise. Every nerve ending is on fire, catapulting me back to those dark rooms, his bruising grip, the feeling of being utterly trapped.
The man’s grip tightens, yanking me closer. The acrid scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap cologne fills my nostrils, making me gag. As he leans in, I catch a glimpse of a faded, poorly drawn spiderweb tattoo creeping up his neck from beneath a stained collar. Recognition chills me further—it's one of the men from town, the one Ethan warned off, the one who eyed me like prey.
“Kolya wants his property back,” he sneers, and the words are made uglier by the nasty-looking chip missing from his front tooth. “And we both know you don’t belong here.”
Fear curdles into a sharp, bitter feeling in my chest. He works for Kolya. The realization hits like a physical blow. They aren't just watching from afar anymore. They're here .
My heart pounds as I try to jerk away, but his grip is unrelenting. My breath hitches, panic creeping in like a slow-moving toxin.
Then, a shadow darkens the hallway.
A low chuckle. A predator’s grin.
Grim.
His eyes flick to me, then to the man gripping my wrist. Instantly, the air crackles, thick with danger—even the asshole holding me feels it, his body going rigid. The playful, irritating giant is gone. In his place is something cold, sharp, and utterly lethal. The contrast is jarring, terrifying in its own right.
“You have about three seconds to let her go,” Grim says, voice eerily calm, but his eyes promise something much worse. “Before I do something real unpleasant.”
The man hesitates, his fingers twitching. Then Grim moves.
Fast .
One moment he is a few feet away; the next, he has the guy pinned against the wall, arm twisted painfully behind his back. The man grunts, struggling, but Grim just leans in closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
“You like using your hands on women, huh?” A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as his grip tightens mercilessly on the man's captured wrist—the same one that had clamped onto me. “Let’s see how well this one works when it’s broken.”
Before the man can even process the threat, Grim applies brutal, practiced pressure. A sickening crack echoes sharply in the confined space, followed immediately by an agonized howl from the attacker.
Grim releases him abruptly. The man stumbles back, clutching his mangled wrist, his face pale and beaded with sweat, his hand already swelling at an unnatural angle. He stares at Grim with wide, terrified eyes, his gaze darting desperately towards the back door just a few feet away—his entry point and only viable escape route.
Grim stands there between the man and the main part of the shop, an immovable object radiating menace. The unspoken threat is clear: retreat the way you came, or face worse. Pure terror wipes out any fight he had left. He doesn't hesitate. He scrambles backwards towards the rear exit, fumbling blindly for the handle with his good hand, yanks the door open, and practically falls out into the alleyway, disappearing from sight.
The thud of the back door slamming shut resonates in the sudden quiet.
I suck in a shaky breath, leaning heavily against the cool plaster of the wall as my legs turn to jelly. The metallic tang of adrenaline fills my mouth. Before I can fully process what just happened, hurried footsteps echo from the front of the shop.
Stephanie appears at the entrance to the short hallway, eyes wide with alarm, her hand pressed to her chest. “Lila? Oh my god, what was that noise? I heard someone scream! Are you okay?” Her eyes dart frantically between my pale, trembling form and Grim, who stands like an unmovable sentinel nearby.
Grim turns slightly towards her, his expression shifting seamlessly from lethal calm back to casual indifference, though his eyes remain sharp. “Just dealing with a little trash that wandered in the wrong door,” he says, his tone deliberately nonchalant. He gestures vaguely towards the now-closed back exit. “Handled.” He then turns his full attention back to me, effectively dismissing Stephanie’s rising panic while simultaneously assessing my state. He tilts his head. “You good, Princess?”
I swallow hard, managing a shaky nod even though my hands are still trembling. Relief wars with the residual fear and the stark violence I just witnessed.
Stephanie still looks unconvinced, hovering anxiously. "Handled? What does that even—"
Grim steps closer to me then, subtly blocking Stephanie's line of sight and interrupting her gently but firmly. He sighs dramatically, shaking his head as if dealing with minor inconveniences.
“Man, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already attracting lowlifes. At this rate, I’m gonna have to start keeping you on a leash.”
His attempt at normalcy, even layered with his usual teasing, somehow helps cut through the lingering shock. Despite everything, a weak, slightly hysterical laugh bubbles up.
Grim grins, a flash of approval in his eyes. “That’s better.” He glances back at Stephanie, his expression hardening slightly as his focus shifts to practicalities. Giving her a curt nod that implies Lila's okay, crisis averted , he then adds, his voice low and firm, "Stephanie. Lock that back door. Now. Bolt it, if you can. And keep it locked."
Stephanie blinks, the direct order cutting through her residual worry. She nods quickly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Right. Yes. Locked." She turns immediately, heading towards the back door with newfound purpose.
Satisfied she'll follow through, Grim turns his attention fully back to me. “Now c’mon,” he says, his voice softening fractionally again, “let’s get you a drink before you pass out on me.”
And just like that, the immediate terror recedes further, replaced by the steadying thrum of Grim’s dangerous, protective presence. Safety washes over me again, unsettlingly solid.
Getting back to the house that evening had been... intense. Ryker had nearly blown a gasket, Ethan’s face had gone pale and grim, and even Bastian’s legendary control had cracked, his voice tight with fury as he demanded details.
They'd all wanted me to quit immediately, to stay locked down inside the house "until this is over." But I'd dug my heels in. It had felt too much like giving in, too much like letting Kolya shrink my world back down to the size of a cage.
I argued that the guy hadn't actually tried to take me, just scare me, that Grim had handled it before he could escalate, and that Stephanie would keep the back door bolted from now on.
It was Grim, surprisingly, who'd finally shut down their arguments, assuring them with icy certainty that he wouldn't let me out of his sight for a single second, that he could keep me safe without chaining me to the damn living room. They hadn't liked it, but they'd reluctantly agreed, largely due to Grim's unwavering confidence.
So, a few days have passed, and Grim is still glued to my side, his presence an overbearing but oddly reassuring constant. We just left the Blooming Nook after I finished closing up, and now we're heading back to the house. The roads are slick from an earlier rain, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement. I sit in the passenger seat of his SUV, arms crossed, staring out the window.
“I still don’t need a full-time babysitter,” I mutter.
The bodyguard snorts. “Sure, Princess . That’s why we’re currently being followed.”
My stomach plummets. “Wait, what?”
Then a jarring THUMP resonates through the entire frame of the SUV, an impact so violent it slams me forward, stealing my breath. My head snaps forward, hitting the headrest with a loud thud despite the seatbelt locking hard against my chest. Metal screams against metal, a deafening, high-pitched shriek that fills the cab.
Grim reacts instantly, his grip tightening on the wheel as the SUV jerks. His free hand hovers near his jacket, but he doesn’t pull whatever weapon is hiding there—yet.
“This,” he mutters, spinning the wheel sharply, “is why we don’t let you go anywhere alone.”
The SUV lurches, tires screeching loudly on the wet pavement, the sharp, acrid smell of burning rubber momentarily filling the cab, stinging my nose. Nausea churns in my gut as Grim expertly corrects the skid, the world outside my window a sickening blur of rain-streaked lights.
I brace myself, hands flying to the dashboard.
The SUV fishtails wildly for a horrible moment, the rear end sliding out towards the curb, another jarring impact sending a shockwave through my seat. He manhandles the wheel, straightening it out like he's casually switching lanes—not dodging a full-speed attempt on our lives that has my heart trying to claw its way out of my ribcage.
"Hold on," he says, voice maddeningly calm as he cuts the wheel sharply again, engine roaring as he accelerates, narrowly missing a parked delivery truck with inches to spare. My world tilts, streetlights streaking past in a dizzying, unfocused smear.
My pulse pounds, a frantic drum against my temples. "What the hell, Grim?!" My voice comes out thin and reedy, choked with panic.
"Relax, Princess. This ain't my first rodeo."
I risk twisting in my seat, my knuckles white where I grip the door handle, to look behind us. The dark sedan is still glued to our tail, headlights glaring menacingly through the rain-streaked rear window, closing in fast. "They're not stopping!"
"Nope," he agrees. Then he grins, a flash of teeth in the gloom. "But neither am I."
He floors the gas, the engine growling as we shoot forward. The pursuing car tries to match our speed, but Grim is already calculating his next move.
"We should call Ryker—" I start, but Grim cuts me off.
"Don't worry. I got this."
The SUV jerks violently again, tires slipping on the wet pavement with a terrifying shriek. My breath catches in a gasp as my stomach flips, the force of the movement pressing me hard into the seat.
Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he yanks the emergency brake hard . The world dissolves into a terrifying blur of motion and sound. The tires let out an ear-splitting shriek as the massive SUV pivots violently on the slick asphalt, sending us into a controlled spin. G-forces slam me hard back against my seat, my head snapping sideways, my stomach lurching into my throat. Raindrops smeared across the side windows become streaks of light, the whole world outside a chaotic whirl. My scream is swallowed by the roar of the engine and the sound of the tortured rubber. Just as suddenly—
We snap to a stop, facing the oncoming headlights of our pursuers.
For a heart-stopping second, everything seems suspended—the glaring lights pinning us like startled prey. My pulse hammers so hard I can feel it in my teeth. The air is thick with the smell of wet asphalt, exhaust fumes, and burnt rubber. Then Grim’s arm jerks the gearshift, and tires spin again. The other car’s driver must not have expected that, because they hesitate. Grim doesn’t.
He floors the accelerator, engine screaming, charging straight at them like a raging bull.
The blinding glare of their headlights intensifies as we rocket towards them. Absolute panic must seize the other driver. They swerve violently to the right at the last second, desperate to avoid the head-on collision Grim is forcing. Their tires hit the high curb with a stomach-turning crunch and a spray of sparks, the car jumping awkwardly, scraping its undercarriage noisily across the concrete before skidding to a jarring halt sideways against a parked van.
Grim lets out a slow breath, shaking his head almost disdainfully. "Amateurs."
I sit there, plastered to the seat, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, every muscle trembling with leftover adrenaline. The world outside the windows slowly comes back into focus, no longer a dizzying blur. My ears are ringing. "What the hell , Grim?" My voice is shaky, breathless.
He glances over at me, a maddeningly casual curl to his lips, completely unbothered. "Told you I had it handled."
I slump against the leather, finally releasing the door handle my fingers felt fused to in a death grip. My palms are clammy. "I hate you," I breathe, meaning it and not meaning it at all.
He chuckles. "Nah, you love me. Now, you want fries? I’m starving."
The house is only a ten minutes' drive from the shop, normally a quick trip, but Grim isn't heading straight back. Instead, he’s taking the long way, cruising through quiet residential streets under the darkening sky, the engine a low rumble beneath us.
He claims it’s to let my shattered nerves settle after the… excitement , as he’d probably call the terrifying car chase. But I know it’s more than that. His eyes keep flicking methodically to the rearview and side mirrors, scanning intersections, making seemingly random turns—standard counter-surveillance, ensuring we didn't pick up another tail after ditching the sedan.
The steady motion and the relative quiet do little to soothe the frantic energy still buzzing under my skin. The adrenaline from the chase still hasn't fully worn off. My hands are trembling slightly in my lap, gripping each other tightly. My mind is racing, replaying the screech of tires, the jarring impact, the terrifying spin, Grim’s unnerving calm contrasted with my gut-wrenching panic.
And amidst the replay, the realization I've been pushing away finally sinks its teeth in, cold and heavy in my chest.
This isn’t just about me running away anymore. It wasn't just a random thug grabbing me at the shop or a simple scare tactic on the road. This is escalating.
He won't stop. Cold certainty settles in my gut. He wants his property back. And anyone standing in his way? They're just targets now. Obstacles. Because of me . The weight of that potential cost presses down, suffocating.
I swallow hard, staring blindly out at the passing houses, the manicured lawns blurred by rain and speed. “This doesn’t end, does it?” The question is barely a whisper, heavy with dawning certainty.
Grim doesn’t answer right away. He makes another seemingly effortless turn, his large hands steady on the wheel. The silence stretches, punctuated only by the rhythmic thwump-thwump of the windshield wipers. Finally, he adjusts his grip, his knuckles white for just a fraction of a second. His expression in the dim dashboard light is unreadable, but his voice, when he finally speaks, is flat, devoid of its usual mocking tone.
“Not until he’s dead.”
A chill runs down my spine. Not because of the brutality of the statement, but because of the certainty in his voice. He isn’t just saying it—he means it.
For the first time since running, I am not just afraid of Kolya.
I am afraid of what he’ll do to the people protecting me.
The house is dimly lit when we finally get back, much later than usual. The low hum of conversation coming from the kitchen stops abruptly the second Grim and I step through the door.
Ryker is on his feet in an instant, already moving towards us, his expression tight with poorly concealed anxiety. His dark eyes flick between Grim’s stony face and mine. “Where the hell have you two been?” His voice is low, rough with tension. “Lila finished work over an hour ago. I’ve been calling—why weren’t you answering your phone, Grim?”
The implied accusation hangs heavy in the air. Before Grim can respond, Ryker’s sharp gaze zeroes in on me, catching the faint light glinting off the small, angry bruise already forming high on my cheekbone, near my temple, a souvenir from when my head snapped sideways during Grim’s evasive maneuver.
His already tight jaw clenches further, fury instantly replacing the anxiety. The tension in the room ratchets up, thickening like a storm about to break. His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "What the hell happened?"
Grim drops his keys on the counter with a deliberate clatter, meeting Ryker’s heated gaze levelly. He exhales slowly, the sound loud in the sudden silence. "Kolya’s men made another move," he states flatly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Tried to run us off the road."
The temperature in the room seems to plummet. Ryker’s gaze snaps back to me, possessive fury warring with raw fear in his eyes. "That’s it," he declares, his voice tight and slightly elevated. "You’re done going out. No more work, no more errands. You stay here until we take care of this."
My stomach drops. He isn’t asking. He is declaring it—like I am a problem to be contained.
“Excuse me?” I snap, anger flaring through the lingering fear.
Ryker turns fully to me, his expression dark and unyielding. "You almost got taken—twice in one week. I won’t let it happen again."
I cross my arms, my chest tightening. "You can’t just lock me up! I barely escaped one prison—I am not walking into another. I have a life I'm trying to rebuild."
"Not until Kolya’s dead, you don’t," he shoots back, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is just about you? It’s not. He won’t stop, and next time, it won’t just be you in danger because of him."
Silence thickens between us, tension rolling off Ryker in waves. He isn’t just angry—he is terrified. And trying to control the situation the only way he knows how.
Grim, still leaning against the counter, finally speaks, his voice cutting through the charged air. "Enough."
Ryker turns to him, fuming, but Grim raises a hand, silencing him. "She’s not quitting her life. I’ll handle it. We expand security. More men. More eyes. You trust me?"
Ryker exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, the fight draining out of him slightly. "Of course I do."
"Then let me do my job." Grim pushes off the counter, fixing Ryker with a hard look. "She’s scared. You barking orders isn’t helping. We keep her safe, but she keeps her life. End of discussion."
Ryker mutters something under his breath but doesn’t argue further.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Grim turns back to me, eyes steady, the hard lines around them softening almost imperceptibly. "Trust me, Princess. I got you covered."
His voice is rock solid. No bravado, no teasing—just absolute certainty. And for the first time, maybe ever with him, I don't just want to believe it. I think I actually do.
Then that familiar challenging look pulls at his lips, the menace instantly back in his eyes. "Still considering that leash idea though…."
"Excuse me ?!" Ryker snaps immediately from where he stands rigidly nearby, his head whipping towards Grim, offense flaring in his eyes. He clearly didn't appreciate the joke, especially after their earlier clash.
Grim doesn't even bother looking at Ryker, his expression smug as he maintains eye contact with me. I roll my eyes, shooting Grim a glare, but there is no real heat behind it this time. Just bone-deep exhaustion mixed with the lingering tremors of adrenaline. Ryker's outburst fades into the background noise of their constant friction.
Safe . The word echoes alongside Grim's certainty, Ryker's fierce, sometimes smothering, possessiveness, even Ethan's quiet reassurance that I always felt from him. They're building walls around me, layer by layer. It should feel like Kolya's cage, suffocating. But... it doesn't. Not exactly. This feels... different. Sharper edges aimed outward .