Chapter 13
QUINN
Ipush through the heavy steel door of Lanek's butcher shop, the sharp tang of cold meat and iron washing over me. The familiar scent usually makes me happy but it’s a weird Pavlovian response to knowing he's close. Today it makes my stomach twist.
Because Lanek isn't behind the counter. His pristine display cases are unmanned, the hand-painted chalkboard menu listing today's specials in his surprisingly elegant script hanging abandoned.
The shop is completely silent except for the industrial hum of the refrigeration units and a low, rhythmic scraping sound coming from the back.
Metal on stone. Slow. Deliberate.
My heart kicks into overdrive.
"Lanek?" I call out, moving past the counter into the restricted prep area. The swinging door to the cold storage is propped open, letting frigid air spill into the workspace. "Are you back here?"
The scraping stops.
I round the corner into the doorway of the walk-in freezer and freeze.
Lanek stands in the center of the space, one massive hand wrapped around the handle of his largest bone cleaver, the other holding a whetstone.
His grey skin looks even darker in the harsh fluorescent lighting, his tattooed forearms flexing with each measured stroke of stone against steel. He's calm. Focused. Utterly unhurried.
And backed into the far corner, pressed against the hanging racks of dry-aged beef, is the corporate developer who slapped the eviction notice on my table yesterday.
The man's expensive suit is rumpled. His face is sheet-white. His eyes are wild with terror, darting between Lanek's impassive expression and the gleaming edge of the cleaver catching the light with each pass of the whetstone.
"What the fuck is happening right now?" My voice comes out strangled.
Lanek's gaze flicks to me, and something warm and possessive softens his expression. "Good morning, little baker. I made coffee. It's on the counter."
"Lanek." I step fully into the freezing room, my breath misting in front of my face. "Why is there a terrified man in your meat locker?"
"He's not terrified." Lanek returns his attention to the blade, running the stone along the edge with a sound that makes my teeth ache. "He's having a conversation. Aren't you, Mr. Corrigan"
The developer makes a choked sound that might be agreement.
I look at my Orc, my heart sinking into my stomach. "What kind of conversation?"
"A productive one." Lanek tests the blade's edge with his thumb, nodding in satisfaction before setting the whetstone down on the butcher's block.
He turns the cleaver slowly, letting the light catch the wicked curve of the blade.
"Mr. Corrigan and I have been discussing fair market rent prices.
Reasonable lease terms. The importance of supporting small businesses in gentrifying neighborhoods. "
"Is that right?" My voice is flat.
"Very reasonable," the developer stammers, pressing himself harder against the beef carcasses.
"Extremely reasonable. In fact, I've decided to completely reverse my position on the rent increase.
Ms. Hayes can stay at her current rate. For as long as she wants.
In perpetuity. I'll have my lawyer draft the new lease by end of business today. "
Lanek smiles, all tusks and dark satisfaction. "See? Productive."
The developer's eyes dart to me, pleading. "Can I go now? Please?"
I close my eyes, trying to control the rage building. "Yes. You can go."
"Quinn—" Lanek starts.
"Get out," I tell the developer, my voice sharp. "Now."
The man doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles past me, nearly tripping over his own expensive shoes in his haste to escape. I hear him crash through the prep area, the front door chiming violently as he bursts out onto the street.
Silence settles over the freezer.
I turn slowly to face Lanek, crossing my arms over my chest. "You kidnapped him."
"I invited him to have a conversation." Lanek sets the cleaver down carefully, his expression shifting from satisfied to wary. "He accepted."
"He accepted because you're six foot eight and holding a weapon designed to dismember large animals!" My voice echoes off the metal walls. "That's not an invitation, Lanek. That's a threat. That's assault. That's potentially a felony depending on how long you kept him here!"
"He came to the shop on his own." Lanek's jaw tightens. "I simply suggested we discuss his business practices in private."
"While sharpening a cleaver."
"I sharpen my tools every morning. He happened to be here during my routine maintenance."
"Stop." I press my hands to my face, trying to breathe through the crushing disappointment. "Just stop. Don't try to spin this into something reasonable."
He steps toward me, and I back up instinctively. Hurt flashes across his face.
"I was protecting you," he says quietly. "He was threatening your livelihood. Your home. Everything you've built. I wasn't going to let him destroy you."
"So you decided to terrorize him instead?" I drop my hands, meeting his gaze. "You decided to solve a legal business dispute with intimidation and violence?"
"I solved it." His voice hardens. "He's going to give you a fair lease. You can keep your bakery. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Not like this!" The words burst out of me, sharp and desperate.
"Not with you dragging people into your freezer and threatening them!
Not with you making decisions about my life without consulting me!
We talked about this literally yesterday, Lanek.
We agreed to be partners. To handle things together. "
"You were sleeping." He crosses his arms, matching my defensive posture. "You were exhausted from crying yourself sick over this bastard's threats. I wasn't going to wake you up to ask permission to defend what's mine."
And there it is. The thing that's been lurking under all of this since the beginning.
"I'm not yours to defend," I say quietly. "Not like that. Not like I'm territory you need to patrol and protect from invaders."
His eyes flash. "You said you were mine. Last night, in your bakery, you told me you belonged to me."
"I meant emotionally!" My voice cracks. "I meant I love you, you idiot. I didn't mean you get to make unilateral decisions about my problems and solve them with violence!"
"This is how my people handle threats." He's not yelling, but his voice fills the small space. "When someone comes for my mate, I eliminate the threat. That's not violence, Quinn. That's protection."
"Your people don't live in a modern city with laws and lawyers and security cameras!
" I'm shaking now, from cold and anger and heartbreak.
"Your people's traditional methods are going to get you arrested!
What happens when Mr. Corrigan goes to the police?
What happens when they show up here asking questions about why a terrified man ran out of your shop this morning? "
"He won't go to the police." Lanek's certainty is infuriating. "He's guilty of predatory real estate practices. The last thing he wants is legal scrutiny."
"You don't know that!" I'm yelling now, my careful control shattering. "You're gambling with your freedom because you can't let me handle my own problems!"
"I'm ensuring you don't lose everything you've worked for because some corporate bastard sees an opportunity to exploit you!
" He takes another step toward me, and this time I hold my ground.
"You're brilliant, Quinn. You're fierce and strong and capable.
But you're also five foot two and running a failing business in a neighborhood full of predators. You need someone watching your back."
The words hit like a slap.
"A failing business?" My voice drops to something cold and dangerous. "Is that what you think? That I'm some damsel in distress who needs her big strong Orc to save her from the mean corporate world?"
He falters. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" I step closer, tipping my head back to glare up at him. "Explain to me how terrorizing my landlord is you watching my back instead of you completely undermining my agency and treating me like I'm incapable of fighting my own battles."
"I'm not—" He drags a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "You're twisting my words."
"No, I'm hearing them clearly for the first time." The realization settles over me like ice water. "You don't see me as a partner. You see me as something to protect. Something to claim and defend and keep safe."
"You are safe with me." His voice roughens. "Always. I would die before I let anyone hurt you."
"I don't want you to die for me!" The words tear out of my throat. "I want you to trust me! I want you to respect that I can handle my own problems! I want you to ask me what I need instead of deciding for me!"
We stare at each other across the freezing space, our breath misting between us.
"I do respect you," he says finally, but his voice lacks conviction.
"No." I shake my head slowly. "You respect my fire. You respect my strength when it's directed at you. But the second a real threat appears, you revert to some primal Orc instinct that says you need to eliminate it before I even know it exists. That's not respect, Lanek. That's control."
His expression hardens. "I'm protecting you."
"I didn't ask you to!"
"You shouldn't have to ask!" His voice finally rises to match mine. "That's what a mate does! That's what love means in my culture! I provide, I defend, I ensure you never have to face a threat alone!"
"Well, I'm not Orc!" I'm crying now, hot tears tracking down my frozen cheeks. "I'm human! And in my culture, love means trusting your partner to make their own choices! It means supporting them, not steamrolling them! It means being a team, not a warlord and his protected territory!"
Silence crashes down around us.
Lanek peers at me, something breaking behind his eyes. "So what are you saying?"
I take a shaky breath. "I'm saying I can't do this. Not if you're going to keep making decisions for me. Not if you're going to solve every problem with intimidation and violence. Not if you can't see me as an equal partner instead of something fragile that needs constant defending."
"Quinn." My name is a plea. "Don't do this."
"You did this." I swipe at my tears angrily. "You made this choice when you dragged a man into your freezer instead of talking to me. When you decided your way was more important than my agency."
He reaches for me, and I step back, shaking my head.
"I need you to stay on your side of the alley," I say quietly. "I need you to leave me alone. I need you to let me handle my own life without interference."
"You don't mean that." But his hand drops, uncertainty flickering across his face for the first time.
"I do." The words taste like ash. "I love you, Lanek. But I can't be with someone who doesn't respect me enough to let me fight my own battles. I can't be with someone who thinks love means control."
I turn and walk out of the freezer before I lose my nerve, before the devastation on his face breaks me completely.
He doesn't follow me.
I make it through his shop, past the abandoned counter, out the front door, and exactly three steps down the sidewalk before I double over, pressing my hand to my mouth to muffle the sob clawing its way out of my chest.
This is the right choice. I know it's the right choice.
So why does it feel like I just carved my own heart out with one of his cleavers?