Chapter Two
GRIFFIN
It started with good intentions. It started with me wanting to protect this girl who has been so badly wronged by the world. I had never wanted it to go this far and now I’m screwed, knowing that this is just the beginning.
Fourteen years ago, a week from the day, Vincent Daniels laid his grimy fucking fingers on Emma McAllister. Fourteen years ago, a week from the day, I made a solemn vow I’d never let another hair on her head be harmed.
I’ve held up so far, and I intend to continue.
Befriending her father should’ve been the hardest part.
They were a family back then; and a happy one at that.
The mother, Dolores, was a beautiful woman, and luckily for Emma, she got her mother’s looks.
Deep-brown eyes, flowing golden locks, and a knockout frame that has me fighting myself every time she walks into a room.
Emma sits opposite me at the outside table.
Her perky breasts stretch her white crop top and her nipples stand erect against the material.
I catch myself staring at her body, more than once.
My gaze slides to the pool, in the hope she hasn’t noticed my shameless gawking, but soon I’m drifting back to her. I’m locked in this disgusting lust…
“You were saying,” Emma says. Her voice drips through me like honey. Soft, sweet, and somehow sultry. “You were on the golf course?”
“Ah, right, we were on the course,” Mark says.
He’s told this story a thousand times, and I’m sure I’ll hear it a thousand more.
“Griffin’s a solo on the tee-box taking his first swing.
What a swing it was, too. The crater he smashed into the tee lawn was big enough to study as a meteorological event.
” He chuckles, so do a few of his buddies.
They know their way around a set of clubs.
I don’t.
“So, we brought him in as our fourth for the course and I thought I’d give him a few lessons. A decade and a half on, and none of them paid off.”
They laugh again. This time I join in.
“So, that’s where your love story began?” A cheeky smile creeps across Emma’s face.
“Oh, something like that. If I’m honest, we just didn’t want to sit behind a solo who couldn’t hit the ball.” Mark throws his arm around my shoulder. His gleeful grin doesn’t subside.
I’ve never been a fan of golf, not any sport, really. But I needed an in, to get close to Emma so I could provide the safety only I could. Dolores was an avid golfer, so I knew it was the best way to insert myself into their lives.
“Look how far we’ve come since,” I say. “I might as well be living here with how often you call me over.”
Mark smiles. So does Emma. Hers is brighter, showing teeth and finishing off with a little nibble of her lower lip. A look like that might get my dead heart thumping and leave me knee-deep in shit creek.
“Jokes aside, you know I love you, man,” Mark’s tone shifts seriously. “You’ve helped me through so much.”
The whole table falls silent at this announcement.
A few drinks in, and he gets sentimental about the good old days, when Dolores was still alive.
Unluckily for Mark, it was the death of his wife that brought me closer to my goal.
I was the first responder on the night of her passing.
She was hit by a drunk driver, speeding through their residential streets.
Mark called me minutes after it happened, and I took my opportunity.
I nearly enacted my vengeance on the bastard who did it, as well, after seeing Emma’s solemn face when she heard her mother had passed.
But I couldn’t. The drunken bastard was too close to the family. I’ve got one rule when it comes to cleaning the streets of the filth that resides within: never make it personal. The second I do, I open the door to being caught.
Cruel as it may be, whatever friendship’s developed between us, is one of necessity, not want. Normalcy in the life of a recluse cop, who before the McAllister family, didn’t have anyone on his side.
“I’ll always be here for you, brother. Through thick and thin, it’s us against the world.” Tell him what he wants to hear.
“Way to bring down a mood,” Scott Ellis says, as he slides out of his chair and steps towards the grill. “Let’s fire up this puppy and get some food in you two.”
Mark and the other three men follow. The women excuse themselves to the kitchen to prepare the salads.
Wonderful. It’s Emma and me, alone at the table. My shameless staring was easy to overlook, when she had people around the table to distract her. But can I stop myself now that we’re alone? While those perfect pink buds jut out against her tight shirt?
“It’s really cool what you did for my dad,” she says, freckled cheeks pinched up in a soft smile.
“He’s a good man, and I couldn’t leave him to face it alone.”
“Not many people would do something like that.” Emma leans forward in her chair. Through the V of her shirt, her cleavage spills out towards me. I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle whatever reaction wants to escape me.
“You’d be surprised at what humanity will do to protect their kind.” A silly line, but I’m not thinking with the right head. The only thoughts consuming me are bending Emma over this table and having my way with her.
Again, my teeth dig into the soft inner lining of my mouth. This time it hurts.
“You mean like this vigilante running around town?” Emma eases back in her chair, her eyes staring dreamily off into the distance at the thought of the vigilante.
Interesting.
“The killer? He’s another low-down thug. I’ll catch him eventually,” I say.
A cop by day, a killer by night. I’ve never forgotten my place in this world. When I speak of the vigilante, I disassociate from the acts I’ve committed. Yet, I’m the lead investigator on his case. A way to cover my tracks, if I let anything slip – but I never do.
“I think he’s a hero,” Emma says, and it instantly sets my heart alight.
She thinks I’m a hero?
“He’s taking back the power. Removing it from the hands of the bastards of this world.” Her face suddenly turns deadly serious. “You can’t tell my dad I said that.”
“My lips are sealed,” I say.
“Good,” Emma pushes out of her chair.
“Where you off to?” I ask, rising as well.
“I’ve gotta get to work,” she says. “I need to change before I go.”
Change? If she wasn’t staying with us long, why would she not wear her work clothes?
Instead, she wore the outfit that’s left my jaw on the floor all afternoon.
Her tight, black skirt shows off her curvaceous ass and leaves nothing to the imagination.
Her silky, slender legs spill out beneath it, ending mid-thigh, and have me drooling.
Every step she takes makes her tits bounce in the tube top, and I sit back down to hide my growing hardness.
Sure, my relationship with the McAllisters started with good intentions. I wanted to be her savior, but somewhere along the path, I lost myself to unyielding lust.
Emma excuses herself from the party and heads into the house. When she returns, she’s changed into a white-collar shirt, black suit pants, and a matching jacket. She says goodbye to the party guests, one by one, and finishes with me.
“Are you gonna be here when I get home, later?” she asks, with a naughty smile. I’m probably reading too much into it. She’s more concerned about the night of drinking me and Mark are going to have in her absence.
“Who knows?” I reply. The answer is yes. Of course, it is. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to pass up on another opportunity to see her before I head off.
Emma’s lips curl in a pout, as if she’s upset at my answer.
I’m definitely reading this too deeply. I’ve deluded myself into thinking this old man stands any chance with such a pretty young thing.
She doesn’t speak, and instead she throws her arms around my waist. I wrap mine around her shoulders, drawing her into a tighter hug than our hello earlier.
It lingers longer than I expect. Her perfume strikes my nose and shoots my heart into my throat, while my blood rushes south.
I hope she doesn’t notice it. Not that I think she will. Emma keeps to herself. She goes to work and comes home. With her busy schedule, she’s got no time to get involved with guys.
She breaks our hug and departs, and I go back to steaks and beers with the boys. Another long night of sitting around and pretending I’m here for any other reason than Emma.