Chapter 22
Ryder
Violet was hiding something. Subtlety wasn’t exactly her strong suit considering she’d spent the entire train ride wringing her hands in her lap like a nervous schoolgirl.
Not that she could ever sit fucking still, always seeming to fiddle with something.
If it wasn’t fidgeting with something, she would be drumming her fingers against her leg, or doodling.
Clearly, her normal was to always be in motion, but I could tell something had rattled her.
This was becoming more complicated than I’d planned.
We stopped outside the shithole she called her studio, a warehouse that looked more like it should be condemned rather than a place of creativity.
Violet punched in the four-digit code I already knew because I was good at my job, slid the lock free, and shoved at the heavy metal door. It screeched across the concrete like nails on a chalkboard, revealing a dark space before she flicked on the harsh lights.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I muttered, reaching down to pick up one of the easels that had been thrown without care. Clearly whoever had destroyed the place didn’t find much based on the holes punched through a canvas or two. “Grab your spare clothes, then we should get out of here.”
I wasn’t surprised with the carnage in all honesty. It hadn’t taken me long to find her, and now that I knew Cedric was hired before me, there was no telling how many people were after that bloody USB drive.
And my money.
“Fuck me, your hair gets everywhere.” I flicked at my hand, where a few blonde strands seemed stuck to my palm. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I swear I woke up coughing up a hairball this morning.”
Finally dislodging the hair, I spun around to find Violet standing in the centre of the wreckage, her eyes staring at the wall with folded clothes pressed tightly to her chest.
“Violet?” I called, walking up behind her slowly.
“None of this makes sense,” she whispered as I moved around to face her.
“She had me at seventeen, and worked in a supermarket my entire life. She was always a little strange, I suppose. Overly protective growing up, and on edge whenever we were in public.” She looked distant, unfocused, as though she were speaking more to herself than to me. “What if it’s all true?”
“What’s true?” I asked softly, careful not to break the fragile thread of her thoughts.
Her green eyes had darkened, their light dimmed by the weight of tears clinging to her lashes. “Everything!” she choked out, those tears spilling over. “And she’s just been suffering, alone while everyone called her crazy.”
“Violet…”
“The doctors diagnosed her with all these conditions,” Violet whispered, voice trembling, “but… what if she was just scared?” She looked at me then, eyes wide and unguarded, her vulnerability laid bare.
And I had no idea what the hell to do with it.
Jesus Christ.
“Hey, look at me…” I said gently, trying to figure out what to say.
“I didn’t believe her,” she whispered. “All this time, I never believed her.”
“Violet.” My tone came out sharper than I intended, and I caught her jaw between my fingers, forcing her to face me. “Look at me.”
She blinked, her gaze colliding with mine. Steady, and calm, while hers churned like a storm tearing through the forest.
“Your mum is crazy,” I said flatly.
She pushed weakly against me, but I only tightened my hold, my other hand sliding up to cup her jaw, anchoring her in place.
“That doesn’t mean everything she said was nonsense. You did what you could for her. More than most would. But the truth is, no one, not even her, fully understands her own mind.”
“How do you know that?” she cried.
“I don’t,” I admitted quietly. “But I do know a thing or two about mothers who live in their own world… and who make their children carry the weight of it.”
Violet’s lips parted, and before I could stop myself, my thumb traced the velvet softness of her mouth. The simple touch rattled me. Gentleness wasn’t my habit, not even when initiating sex, and yet with her it came too easily. Almost naturally, which was a worrying thought.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I murmured, trying to steady her. “I—”
“Violet?”
I flinched, so wrapped up in her emotional storm that I hadn’t noticed that bloody lizard-girl slithering in behind us.
What was wrong with me? I was usually much more observant of my surroundings.
“Get the fuck away from her!” she snapped, shoving me back with surprising force. A short woman, five foot nothing at best, jabbed a finger at my face. “Violet, run! I’ll keep him here.”
I arched a brow. “Will you, now? And how exactly do you plan to manage that?”
Christ. She weighed about as much as one of my thighs. Nothing on her, no muscle or curves, none of Violet’s soft legs or an arse you could actually hold. And yet here she was, squaring up to me like she thought she had a chance.
I had to resist the urge to flick her aside like an annoying insect. Probably for the best. Something told me roughing up Violet’s friend wasn’t the fastest way into her good graces.
Plan A and all that.
“Bug, he’s fine,” Violet finally said, having regained some composure. Her face still looked like shit, all puffy and wet from her meltdown.
“Seriously, go. I’ve got this!” Bug shoved me again, and I bit back a snarl.
Don’t hit her back. Don’t hit her back.
Violet stepped between us, turning so she faced her friend.
“Vi, what’s going on?” Bug demanded, still glaring at me like I was the devil come to drag her friend straight to hell.
Which, fair… but that wasn’t the point.
“These guys turned up asking about you, and all I’ve had is your bloody voicemail!” Her glare cut to me.
Violet opened her mouth to reply, but I gave a subtle tug on a strand of her hair in warning. The more people she told, the more lives she’d drag into danger. And if I’d learned anything about Violet, it was that putting others at risk was the last thing she’d ever want.
Fucking hell, look at me, being all thoughtful. Maybe I should call Roman, have one of his doctors check me over in case I’ve come down with something. I’ve never poured this much effort into anything that didn’t end with my dick getting sucked.
Which was a joke, because with a face and personality like mine I rarely had to put any effort in.
“Violet, what’s going on?” Bug demanded once more, having lost some of her earlier bravado. “Men came and destroyed the place. They only left when the police turned up.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…” Violet finally looked around, as though the destruction was only just registering. “Is everyone okay?”
“We’re all fine, we’re just worried about you.” Bug pulled Violet into her arms, as if the casual touch was the most natural thing. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble? Why are you dressed in men’s clothing?”
Violet squeezed her friend, her spare clothes slipping from her grasp to land at their feet. “It’s complicated,” she whispered. “You have to trust me.”
I glanced outside, noticing the sun setting. “Come on, blondie, we need to get a car before it turns dark.”
“Seriously, what the fuck’s going on?” Bug screeched, holding onto Violet like she was leaving forever. “Violet, please. Do you need help? GREEN!” she began to scream before Violet slapped her palm over her lips.
“You can’t tell anyone I was here. Please.” Violet turned to look at me like she was begging for help.
But what the fuck did she expect me to do? Tie her friend up and gag her?
Because, honestly, I was game.
Bug frowned, attention darting between us before she pried Violet’s fingers away from her mouth. “You’re scaring me, Vi. What’s going on?”
“I love you, but I can’t say anything.” Violet pulled herself back before reaching for the clothes. “I’ll call you when I can,” she tried to assure her.
Bug’s eyes darted to me, sharp with suspicion. She dug into her pocket, pulling out her keys, and held them out. “If anything happens to her, I’ll find you. Do you understand?”
I plucked the keys from her grip with a wink. “Don’t frown. Wrinkles won’t suit you.”
Violet hugged her once more, then followed me out. Waiting at the curb was a vintage Volkswagen bug, green of course. The thing groaned like it was on its last legs when I shoved it into gear and pulled away.
Violet twisted in her seat, staring back at Bug, who stood framed in the doorway of her studio, watching us disappear in defeat.