Chapter 8 Seriphina Joseph
~ Seriphina Joseph ~
THE DRIVE TO THE CABIN takes a little over two hours.
We stop once at a drive-thru for food before getting back on the highway.
Griffin lets me connect my phone to the radio’s bluetooth and tells me to listen to whatever I want.
I can tell he is trying to make me feel comfortable but nothing he does can really stop the aching hole in my chest. I turn on my Sleep Token playlist which includes every album and EP they’ve released and stare out the window.
I’m too upset for small talk. I don’t feel like taking the energy to pretend with him when my entire life imploded and the universe isn’t done with me.
I don’t think about the fact that I let a complete stranger put me in his jeep so he can drive me to fucking gods know where.
I haven’t told my closest friends who I’m with or where I’m going.
And I’m struggling to keep from falling apart in his front seat.
He doesn’t seem to mind the quiet though.
And I’m grateful for his silent sentry over my pain; the trauma that I haven’t figured out how to come to terms with.
I haven’t begun to process what happened last night.
I went straight into survival mode. I decided to fight for my store and every moment of focus was spent on doing that.
But now? Now where do I put the thoughts that threaten to break through at any moment?
The ones that remind me why my back burns and my muscles ache?
My nails press into my palms as we pull into a gravel drive.
The driveway is long and curves off into the woods.
Griffin slows the jeep down to a crawl, following it deep into the trees until a cabin comes into view.
It’s small, secluded, and surrounded on all sides by forest. He cuts the engine and steps out, scanning the treeline.
Rounding the front, he opens my door. I take his hand and allow him to help me down.
It’s quiet here under the night sky, with only the wind, the trees, and the stars.
He grabs my luggage out of the back and I follow him up to the porch.
He unlocks the front door, which has way too many locks for a cabin no one is going to find.
He steps back and holds the door open in quiet invitation.
I seal my fate as the victim of a super hot serial killer and walk inside.
The interior of the cabin is surprisingly cozy.
It’s not what I expected from a guy like Griffin.
Although, I barely know the man, so it doesn’t make sense that I enter his home or murder lair with expectations anyway.
For someone who walks around like danger wrapped in shadows, it’s homey.
There’s a large flatscreen TV sitting above the fireplace in the center of the living room.
A plush faded leather sofa and a single recliner with a knitted throw blanket sit around a coffee table across from a bookshelf crammed with dog-eared paperbacks and military manuals.
A bar stands in the corner. On the other side of the space is a dining room table and a kitchen with a fridge, sink, and large island with an embedded stove top and oven built into it.
There are plenty of cabinets and a pantry.
A hallway leading off to the side, goes to what I assume are the bathroom and bedrooms. The windows and doors look reinforced with a ton of locks and metal bars.
If it weren’t for the personal items here and there, this would look like a safe house from the movies.
“Make yourself at home.” He walks around me and sets my bag down.
I probably look like hell. I’m mentally, physically, and emotionally spent.
I can tell from the itch on my back that my bandages need to be redressed.
I’ve taken no time to figure out who this man is or what he does for a living.
He has a cabin in the fucking woods that looks like it could survive a bomb drop.
He carries large knives and a gun holstered to his side.
His jeep looks bulletproof. He obviously knows how to fight—if the way he took down the guys in my store is any indication.
Did I jump out of the frying pan and into the fire?
I’m afraid of him but the fear I feel isn’t for my physical well-being.
It’s the kind of fear that says he will destroy my heart not my body.
Well, at least not in a way I don’t want him to.
I don’t move further into the room. I convince myself, if I don’t take another step, I can still run away.
We stare at each other awkwardly for a long time. “You need sleep,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. Something I’ve wanted to do since I saw him in the bookstore.
“What do you do?” My fingers twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to fiddle nervously.
“I’m a bounty hunter.” He crosses his arms over his chest, brow furrowing. “I hunt the people law enforcement can’t. Or won’t. Mostly because no one else wants to.” He cocks his head to the side, studying me. “Why do you ask?”
“That... that isn’t exactly what I would have guessed. I’m not really sure what I thought.” I don’t know if the revelation made me feel better or worse. The only thing I know about bounty hunters is from books and tv shows and he’s nothing like that.
“You don’t have to stand there like I’m gonna bite.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he walks over to the bar. “This place is as much yours as it is mine while you’re here. So sit down, or don’t. But stop lookin’ at me like I dragged you into a fuckin’ lion’s den.”
“Bathroom?” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “Where’s your bathroom?”
He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and points to the hallway off of the kitchen, “Down the hall, first door on your right.” Pouring two fingers, he drinks half of it in one go.
I walk down the hall and hear him set his drink down hard on the bar.
After doing what I came in here for, I wash my hands, dry them, and look in the mirror.
My hair is messed up and my eyes look haunted.
I press on the mottled skin covering my cheekbone.
Taking my hair down, I run my fingers through it before securing it back on top of my head.
Then I dab cold water under my eyes and walk back out to the living room.
I avoid looking directly at him as I walk over and sit on the couch, too wound up to relax.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
He pauses mid-sip. “For what?”
“You didn’t have to help me or bring me here. I still can’t understand why you’re doing this. Every time I ask, you give me vague answers. Why didn’t you dump me at the hospital last night and wash your hands of all this?” I look down at my fingers and tug on the hem of my halter top.
He shakes his head and sets his whiskey down.
“Wouldn’t have helped.” He turns to face me.
“Hospitals report assaults like yours to the cops. Cops ask questions. Questions lead to Sokolov’s men realizin’ you talked.
” His jaw clenches. “And then they finish what they started.” He rubs his fingers over the stubble on his chin.
“So yeah, I could’ve dropped you off somewhere and walked away.
But that would’ve been a death sentence for you. ”
“Sokolov?” My brows draw together. Who the hell is Sokolov? And why would he know the name of the man that sent those goons to my store?
“Yeah, Alexei Sokolov.” He studies my face like he’s trying to see if I recognize the name. “Russian arms dealer turned human trafficker with a side hustle in murder-for-hire.”
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open. “Russian? Like scary mobster Russians? Like the Russian mafia, Russians?” My nose scrunches up. “You’re fucking with me.” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Wish I was.” He grabs the whiskey bottle again, pouring another drink.
“Sokolov isn’t some bargain-bin thug. He’s got connections, resources, and enough bodies buried across three continents to make most governments nervous.
” His fingers whiten around the glass before he knocks it back.
“And now he’s decided your store is his newest laundromat. ”
“My store doesn’t make enough to wash the kind of cash they tried to throw at me.
” I think back to the slap earlier and my hand comes up to my bruised cheek.
“You knew my plan would never work. That I wouldn’t be able to get that kind of intel because this was bigger than what I could take on.
Why did you let me try?” I thought I was dealing with something small.
Local assholes trying to make names for themselves.
That my store was their only target. I couldn’t have known how big this really was.
“Because you were determined,” he replies bluntly.
“And when someone’s got their mind set on somethin’?
They either learn the hard way or they don’t learn at all.
” He pauses, then quieter. “Didn’t think they’d put hands on you again this fast though.
” A shadow passes over him and he rubs the back of his neck.
He crosses the room and sits in the recliner.
“You were never gonna win this playin’ their game.
You don’t have the connections, the firepower, or the reach.
” He stops talking for a minute like he’s debating on how much to tell me.
Then he shrugs his shoulders as if to say ‘fuck it.’ “But I do.” His gray eyes hold mine without flinching. “So let me handle Sokolov.”
“I only lose everything I have in the process,” I grumble.