Chapter 5
SASHA
“What the h—”
“Excuse me,” Vincent shouts. Even over the alarm, his words drip with ice, and I remember I was about to run.
“We were in the middle of a date,” Vincent says, his voice hard. “I’m perfectly capable of escorting the lady outside.”
A chill scrapes over my skin. I open my mouth to yell at him when I feel Griffin’s arm, which he’s reached behind him, press against the length of my side, keeping me away.
“I’m afraid the date’s over, sir,” I hear over his mountainous body.
I shove Griffin’s hand aside, leaning out again. “You call that a date?”
Vincent’s eyes land on mine, and I immediately regret having exposed myself to him again. And his goon, who looms over his side, his expression shifting around like he’s assessing which way I’m going to go.
“God dammit,” I hear Griffin utter. He goes to push me behind him again, except just then, water explodes all around us.
I’m glad I can still see Vincent, because I get to see the look on his face as his five-figure suit is immediately drenched. While this man barely seems to notice, Vincent sneers like an ugly, half-drowned rat.
“Go!” Griffin shouts in my ear. Water splatters audibly against his hat, and the alarm is still shrieking, but I can hear the urgency in his voice.
I feel it when he practically shoves me toward the stairs.
“I’m going!” I grasp the banister to keep from tumbling down the stairs.
But Vincent’s voice cuts sharply across the cacophony. “We’re not finished, Sasha. You owe me the completion of this date.”
Something scrapes inside me, but I won’t let fear be the last thing he sees on me. I turn, my hand tight on the banister, and face the monster. “I don’t owe you anything!”
Then Griffin’s body shifts, blocking Vincent from view. Purposefully, I know.
Finally I do what I should have done the minute I saw that man.
I run.
Downstairs, I think I catch the scent of smoke, but I don’t see any.
The restaurant’s already empty, half-finished plates flooded like little lakes; wineglasses diluted and plinking with the still-falling water.
I run through the restaurant, squinting against the water.
I’m completely soaked, my hair plastered to my face.
I should be cold—the water’s freezing—but all I feel is the adrenaline pumping through my limbs.
I burst outside into a massive crowd of onlookers and drenched diners.
It’s only then I realize what I’ve done. I’ve left Griffin with two likely dangerous men.
I recall the thick eyebrows protruding over the eyes of the big one, the way his huge hands looked like they’d make fists bigger than my head.
“Shit.” I turn, moving to go back inside.
But a hand wraps itself around my arm.
I whip around to see the server from upstairs. He’s harmless, I know. Shorter than me in my heels and slight. And his eyes are kind. Still, I yank my arm from his grip, rattled by the last man who tried to keep me from moving.
“Sorry,” he says, dropping his hand as if he hurt me. His expression is apologetic. But it’s laced with concern, too. “You can’t go back in there.”
“I have to. I left him.”
“No!” His voice is surprisingly firm. “You should leave. Please, miss, don’t see that man again.” He looks older out here, his hair thinly plastered to his scalp.
“I don’t mean him,” I say, understanding. “The fireman.”
“They’re coming!” the woman next to him says. She points upward, and I realize I can hear the wailing of sirens.
“See? They’re on their way,” the man reassures me.
“No, there’s one inside.”
The man frowns.
“I know him.”
Now he looks concerned, like I’m losing it. “Miss, you’re not going to help anyone by going back in there and putting yourself in danger.”
He’s right, but not in the way he thinks. Still, I look yearningly at the door. There are other staff there now, standing in front of it.
Still no sign of anyone coming down the stairs inside.
Before the miracle of gel nails, I was a nail biter. I still have the habit of bringing my nails to my mouth when I’m nervous. I do that now, tapping my nails on my bottom lip.
“Griff seems like the kind of guy who can handle himself, right? He got his hands on a firefighter outfit.”
The server frowns.
I’m not helping my case for looking sane, but I can’t stop. “He knew where I was. How did he know—”
I turn and look up into the window of the upstairs sushi restaurant across the street. There’s a crowd of people standing there, staring down at us.
I remember that flash of movement.
“He was there.”
The firetruck pulls up then, and firefighters jump off the truck in quick succession.
“Everyone back, please!” they bark.
I’m ushered back with the rest of the crowd.
“Is there anyone inside?” one of them shouts.
“Yes!” I shout. “Yes, there’s a man inside—” Men. But only one they need to help. I’m about to tell them to be careful, that the other two could be dangerous, but they’re already rushing inside.
Suddenly, I’m more terrified than I was upstairs.
What if something happens to these firefighters?
To Griffin?
There’s something unfairly awful about people getting hurt while trying to help.
I can’t let Griffin get hurt because of me. Or these firefighters.
I ignore the voice that says they know what they’re doing and step sideways, seeing if there’s a way I can get through the crowd somewhere less central. But as I do, I catch a glimpse of something down the street.
Vincent and his man, slipping into a car. They must have gone out a rear exit.
Even from here, I can see his jaw is red with blood. Is there more than there was before?
“Griffin,” I whisper, panicked.
“Right here,” a low voice growls.
I whip around to see Griffin, soaked but apparently unharmed. The firefighter gear is gone, and even as relief floods through me, hot and warm and throat-tightening all at once, I can’t help but notice I was right in remembering his size.
“You’re okay—” I begin, but he tips his head.
“Over here.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Make way,” he barks at the crowd. Even without the uniform, he commands authority. People jump back, parting like the Red Sea.
Griffin presses a broad hand to my lower back, guiding me toward a narrow alcove at the side of the building.
There’s a warmth spreading over my back at his touch, but I shove it away, focusing on the irritation I feel when he ignores me and leads me away. “He’s gone!” I say. “I saw him leave.”
“Why are you still here?” he demands, ignoring me again.
Anger flares in my chest, but it battles with the electricity shooting over my skin at the feel of his breath and the low rumble of his voice in my ear.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m getting turned on even now?
“Listen, I was making sure you were okay!” I snap as he tucks me into the alcove.
Griffin stands in front of me, his fingers at his hips. His jaw works hard. “Me?” He looks incredulous. “What would—” He grits his teeth. He’s not just his usual grumpy self.
He’s livid.
Anger shoots through me to match. I plant my hands on my hips. “Sorry for caring. You’re right. I should have left you.”
“He could have seen you again.”
“I was well hidden.”
“Were you? I found you just fine.”
I grit my teeth. “You know what? I’ve reached my limit of men who think they can grab me and tell me what to do.”
Griffin curses under his breath. “Let me see your hand.”
In all the excitement, I’d forgotten about my hand. Clearly so had he.
I hold it up, more for myself than for him.
There are angry welts forming where Vincent crushed me with that cruel grip.
“God dammit.” Griffin encircles my wrist with a tenderness that surprises me. Especially since his expression looks murderous. He holds my hand palm up and presses his fingers against my flesh.
Pain spasms through me with each soft press. “Ow!” I jerk my hand away.
He takes it back. “I’m not done.”
I let him prod, biting my cheek so I don’t cry out.
Finally he finishes, gently lowering my hand back down. “It’s not broken. But we still need to get you to a hospital. I’m going to call—”
“No!” I shake my head. “It’s not broken, so there’s nothing they can do. I was serious when I said I’ve reached my limit. Between you, Sam, and that fucking creep, I’m done for the year.”
I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of exhaustion—the backside of all that adrenaline.
I barely notice the dark cloud passing over Griffin’s face, presumably from being lumped in with the previous two.
I slump against the wall of the alcove, but my ankle wobbles under me.
I would go down, except Griffin’s got my arms in his hands.
Warm, big, rough hands that hold me up as easily as if I were a cardboard sign that’s toppling over.
“Creelman.”
“What?” I’m still distracted by his hands on my skin.
“His name is Vincent Creelman, and you need to stay away from him.” Griffin, obviously gauging me as able to stand on my own, lets go of my arms.
“Thanks for that. Didn’t notice he was a fucking criminal who attacked me.”
Griffin softens. “Sasha, I know you’re not going to go out with him again, I—”
“I didn’t go out with him. I was doing a favor for my brother.”
“Don’t do any more favors.”
I clench my jaw, pressing my hands to my temples. I forget about the hand again, though, and pain rips through me at the new angle.
“Fuck!”
“I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“I already said no, and I mean it, okay?”
He looks like he very much wants to ignore me. But his eyes don’t leave mine. I can tell he’s assessing me, seeing how stable I am.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t need your permission. Would you please excuse me now? I just want to go home.”
To his credit, even though I can tell just from the way his whole body remains tense that he wants to throw me over his shoulder and haul me to the nearest ER, he gives me a begrudging. “Fine.”
But he doesn’t move out of my way.
That’s because he’s not finished. “You shouldn’t go home. Can you stay with your family?”