8. Grath #2
"Inside," she says again. Firmer this time. "We need to. Figure out what to do with these."
"Right. Yes. Inside."
We make it three steps toward the door before the sound of metal crashing against brick splits the air. The door to the alley slams open so hard it rebounds off the wall. The noise echoes through the narrow space between buildings.
Janelle stands there. Her face is flushed deep red. Hair disheveled. One hand clutches her phone like a weapon. The other braces against the doorframe as if she's been running.
"You," she snarls. The word comes out raw. Furious. She points directly at me. Her finger trembles with rage. "You broke into my office."
My jaw tightens. The blueprints crinkle in my fist. "You're destroying our homes," I shoot back. My voice comes out rougher. Louder.
"That's business." She spits the words. Takes a step into the alley. "What you did is theft. Criminal trespassing. Breaking and entering."
"What we took is evidence." I hold up the rolled papers. Let her see them clearly.
"Of a legal development project." Janelle's laugh is bitter. Sharp. "Of legitimate property acquisition."
"That you're using lies and intimidation to push through." My free hand clenches at my side. "Threats. Manipulation. Bribes."
Maris steps forward. Places herself slightly in front of me. My chest tightens at the gesture.
"We have proof now," Maris says. Voice steady despite the way her hands shake. "Blueprints showing you planned to demolish before you even made offers. Timelines proving you knew the town council meeting was scheduled. You manipulated the process."
Janelle laughs. It's sharp and cold. "And who's going to believe you? A failed café owner and an ex-gladiator? You have no credibility."
"The blueprints speak for themselves," I say. My voice is low. Controlled. Each word deliberate.
"Those are stolen property," Janelle snaps back. Her chin lifts. Defiant. "Inadmissible in any legal proceeding. You broke the law to get them."
"We'll see what the town council thinks." Maris's voice cuts through. Sharp. Clear.
Janelle's laugh is harsh. Brittle. "The town council does what I tell them to do. I own half of them already. The other half will fall in line once I remind them where their campaign donations came from."
The casual arrogance in her voice—the way she says it like it's nothing, like people are just pieces on a board she moves around—makes something snap inside me. Heat floods my chest. My vision narrows. I take a step forward. My boots scrape against the alley pavement.
Maris's hand shoots out. Small fingers wrap around my forearm. Grip tight. "Don't," she says quietly. Firmly.
"She's threatening us." The words come out rough. Grinding.
"I know. But we have what we need. We can—"
Janelle moves fast. Faster than I expect for someone in those sharp shoes. She lunges for the blueprints. Her hand reaches out. Claws at the papers.
Maris yanks them back. Hard. Too hard. They both stumble. Maris's foot catches on the uneven ground.
I catch her. My arm wraps around her waist. Steady her against my chest. The blueprints crumple between us but stay in her grip.
Janelle recovers. Straightens. Her hair is disheveled now. One side of her collar twisted. Her eyes are wild. Desperate. The polished veneer cracking at the edges.
"Give me those papers." Her voice shakes. Not with fear. With fury.
"No." Maris's answer is flat. Final.
"I'll call the police. Right now. Have you both arrested for theft."
"Go ahead," Maris says. "We'll tell them about the harassment. The intimidation tactics. The doctored photos. All of it."
"You have no proof of any of that."
"We have witnesses. Timestamps. Screenshots."
Janelle's mouth works. She's cornered and she knows it.
"This isn't over," she hisses. "You think you've won something but you haven't. I will make your life hell. Both of you."
She spins. Stalks back away from us.
Maris and I are in the alley. The blueprints crumpled between us. My heart is still racing. My hands are shaking.
"That was—"
"Terrifying," Maris finishes. "That was terrifying."
"But we did it. We got the proof."
"We got the proof."
She looks up at me. Her eyes are bright. Fierce. Alive.
And suddenly the fear doesn't matter. The threat doesn't matter. All that matters is that she's here and safe and looking at me like I'm something worth keeping.
I kiss her again. Slower this time. Deliberate. Tasting the relief and triumph on her lips.
She melts into me. The papers fall to the ground, forgotten.
This time, we don’t stop.
The dumpster smells terrible, not helpful to the current mood. However, I am okay with it, because caring about it is too much trouble. Not with Maris pressed against the brick wall, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth hot and demanding on mine.
"This is insane," she gasps between kisses, her breath coming in short bursts against my mouth. "This is completely, we're literally behind a dumpster. An actual dumpster."
"Don't care." I kiss along her jaw, tasting salt and fear and something sweeter underneath.
"There's probably rats watching us right now. Multiple rats. A whole rat audience."
"Still don't care." My hands find her hips, hold her steady against the rough brick.
"Grath—" She tries again, but her voice breaks when I nip at her earlobe.
I kiss her harder. Swallow whatever protest she was about to make. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. She makes a sound low in her throat that shoots straight to my groin.
"We should go inside," she says, but her voice wavers and cracks in the middle, completely unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Should we?" I pull back just enough to look at her face. Her pupils are blown wide. Her chest heaves with each breath.
"Yes. Probably. Maybe." Each word comes out more uncertain than the last. Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
"You're thinking too much." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. Watch her eyes flutter closed.
"Someone has to think." But even as she says it, she's leaning into my touch, turning her face to kiss my palm.
"Not right now." I capture her mouth again, swallowing whatever logical argument she was building in that clever head of hers.
I press closer. Feel every curve of her against me. She's so small. So fierce. So perfect.
Her hands slide into my hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands. She tugs hard enough to make me groan low in my ribs. The small bite of pain sends heat racing down my spine.
"You're going to be the death of me," she mutters against my mouth, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Good death." I mean it. If I died right now, crushed against this wall with her in my arms, I'd die happy.
"Terrible death. Embarrassing death. Death by dumpster in an alley behind a cat café."
I laugh against the curve of her neck, the sound rough and breathless. She shivers in response, her whole body trembling against mine. Her pulse hammers wildly under my lips when I press them to the soft skin of her throat.
"Maris."
"Yeah?" The word comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.
"Stop talking."
"Make me."
So I do.
I kiss my way down her throat, taking my time despite the urgency thrumming through my blood.
I find the spot just below her ear—the one that made her gasp earlier.
When my lips brush over it again, she doesn't disappoint.
Her legs tighten around my waist, the movement sudden and involuntary.
It presses her center directly against the hard, aching length of me.
We both go completely still.
The world narrows to the point of contact between us. Her heat. My need. The thin layers of fabric that suddenly feel like both too much and the only thing keeping us from doing something reckless.
"Grath." My name is half plea, half warning.
"I know." My voice comes out strained. Every muscle in my body is locked tight, fighting the urge to move.
"We can't. Not here. We can't."
"Why not?" It's a genuine question. Right now, I can't think of a single reason why I shouldn't take her against this wall.
"Because. Because someone could see. Because it's. It's not appropriate." She's trying to sound firm, but her voice wavers on every word.
"Don't feel appropriate." I shift slightly—barely anything at all—and her breath hitches.
"No. It feels. God, it feels—"
I rock my hips. Just slightly. Just enough pressure to make her feel exactly what she does to me. Just enough to make her moan—a broken, desperate sound that I want to hear again and again.
"Inside," she says, and this time her voice is firmer, more certain. "Now. Please."
I set her down. Gentle despite the urgency screaming through my veins. She steadies herself against the wall. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are swollen. She's never looked more beautiful.
We make it to the café's back door. I fish out the key. Drop it. Curse.
Maris laughs. The sound is breathless and wild.
"Smooth."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I grab the key. Shove it in the lock. The door swings open. We tumble inside.
The storage room is dark and cramped and smells like coffee beans. I back Maris against a shelf. Cups rattle above us.
"This is still completely insane," she says, her voice breathless and unsteady, each word fighting against the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
"You keep saying that." I lean in closer, letting my forehead rest against hers, breathing in the scent of vanilla and coffee that clings to her skin.
"Because it keeps being true." Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt, knuckles white from how tightly she's gripping the fabric. "This is reckless and—"
"Do you want me to stop?" I pull back just enough to see her face properly. To give her space to think. To choose. Because despite everything screaming in my blood to claim her right now, I need to hear her say it.