Seriphina Joseph #4
“He also pissed himself.” Bishop calmly cuts his steak like this is a completely normal conversation. “Important detail.”
“Wait, so you scared him into coming out with funeral music?” I look at him incredulously, not fully understanding.
Bishop chews slowly, savoring his steak before answering. “Didn’t even break a sweat. Man had the survival instincts of a goldfish.”
“And then,” Jax says, leaning in again while shoving a fry into his mouth, “when the guy finally cracks and comes stumbling out? Bishop just yawns, stands up, and goes ‘Took you long enough.’ Like he was bored waiting for his dry cleaning.”
Griffin shakes his head as he reaches for the truffle fries. He nudges some toward my plate without looking up. “Still the most efficient takedown I’ve ever seen.”
“Wow, that’s... I don’t know what to say.” I take the offered fries, swallowing before turning back to Jax. “So Bishop is Reaper. What are you? What’s your story?”
Jax grins and sits back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table. “My call name isn’t that dramatic. I’m known as ‘Luck.’”
Bishop snorts.
Griffin runs a hand over his face. “Jax has the craziest luck in the field. Sometimes it borders on ridiculous. Like the time he literally tripped runnin’ through the Columbian jungles and landed on a guy with a briefcase full of drug money.”
“Fate, baby,” Jax says smugly.
“Luck, Reaper, and...?” I look directly at Griffin expecting him to spill.
He takes a slow sip of his whiskey before smirking at me. “Guess.”
“Grim.” I say pointedly before shoving another fry in my mouth.
Griffin pauses mid-bite then slowly lowers his fork. Jax bursts out laughing, slapping the table. Bishop raises a brow in quiet amusement.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Griffin mutters, pointing his knife at me. “Who told you?”
Jax wheezes, “She guessed it! How the fuck did you do that?”
“Huh.” Bishop leans back in his seat, studying me with renewed interest. “Maybe she is psychic after all.”
“Wait? That’s actually it?” My eyes go wide and I hold my hands up in front of me. “I was kidding because you’re always so broody and I figured no one escapes you, like no one can escape death. Isn’t that too close to ‘Reaper’ though?” I poke him when I say ‘broody.’
He catches my finger before I can retract it. “Close, Reaper fucks with people’s heads. I get the job done.” His grin sharpens, all predator. “Permanently.” Then he lets my hand go.
“Ugh.” Jax fake shudders. “And that’s why no one invites you to parties.”
Bishop raises his glass in silent agreement.
“And I bet it’s also an honor for you to have a connection to Bishop in that way,” I say quietly, hoping I’m not overstepping on some unwritten rule.
They all go still. After a beat of heavy silence, Griffin picks up his whiskey glass.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He squeezes my thigh reassuringly under the table before nodding.
“Bishop’s the closest thing to family I’ve had.
He looks out for me and for Jax.” Then less seriously.
“Even if he gets off on bein’ the only one who can make fun of me without gettin’ shot. ”
Bishop grins. “It’s a gift.”
Jax whistles before raising his own glass. “To fucked up family trees and the idiots who water ‘em.”
Bishop snorts again, which seems to be the way he communicates for the most part. Griffin rolls his eyes but he clinks his glass against theirs anyway. It’s brief but there’s something soft about his expression when he drinks.
They fall into quiet conversation. I sit back and watch while eating appetizers and whatever else Griffin decides to shove in front of me.
He doesn’t stop until I’m too full to eat another bite.
I’m regretting my life choices when I hear one of them bring up Sokolov.
My attention is drawn back to them. The mood shifts almost imperceptively.
Griffin’s shoulders tense, his fingers stilling around his glass before he sets it down.
Jax sobers instantly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“We’ve got eyes on three of his known associates,” Bishop says low, gaze flicking to me briefly before returning to Griffin. “But Sokolov himself? Ghosted. Like he knew we were coming.”
Jax taps a restless rhythm against the tabletop. “Which means either someone tipped him off or the prick’s got instincts like a goddamn cockroach.”
Griffin’s jaw ticks, before he nods toward my plate. “You done?”
He isn’t really worried about the food. It’s about getting me out of the conversation before it gets darker.
“Yeah, I couldn’t eat another bite even if you ordered one of those chocolate lava cakes.” I pat my stomach.
“Good.” He seems to decide I’m okay because he throws an arm along the back of the booth and turns his attention to Bishop. “What are the chances it’s the latter? That he got suspicious?”
Jax rubs his forehead, looking tired. “I’ll be honest, man. I don’t like the look of this. It feels like a trap.”
“Or he’s runnin’ scared now,” Griffin replies.
“What do you think then? We stop looking?” Bishop asks.
“No. We don’t stop.” His fingers flex against the back of the booth. His gaze cuts to me before returning to them, harder. “But we change tactics. If he’s settin’ up for a fight, we make sure it’s on our terms.”
“I can dig deeper into financial trails.” Already pulling out his phone and tapping rapidly. “Offshore accounts don’t just vanish.”
Bishop leans forward, voice pitched low enough I almost don’t catch it. “Look, I know you’ve never bailed on a contract, but if he is baiting you?”
I freeze solid as stone, staring into my glass of water. My knuckles go white around it.
“You think I should give up?” Griffin responds cooly.
“No.” Bishop stares back at him, his expression inscrutable. “I know how far you’re willing to go for the sake of finishing a job. It makes you predictable.” He flicks his eyes to me then back to Griffin. “And in this instance, predictable is dangerous.”
My mind won’t stop racing. Contract? He’s had a bounty for Sokolov this whole time?
Why would he hide that from me? Is this the reason he stuck around?
The whole reason he helped me to begin with?
A million questions fire off in my head as I continue to try and act like my whole world didn’t implode around me.
Griffin’s hand, warm and rough, closes over mine where it’s clenched around the glass.
He doesn’t look at me, but his thumb traces a slow line over my knuckles as he keeps talking to Bishop in that same low growl.
“I’m not walkin’ away.” His grip tightens around my fingers. “But I am adjustin’ the plan.”
Bishop studies him for a long moment before nodding once and leaning back again. Jax stays quiet, watching us with something unreadable in his expression.
The silence stretches for a beat too long before Griffin turns his head to me, voice dropping to a murmur only I can hear. “We should talk.”
“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” I say a little too stiffly.
“Yes. It is.” His voice vibrates against my ear. “Outside. Now.”
He doesn't wait for an answer, standing abruptly and throwing cash on the table. He pulls me up beside him with terrifying gentleness before guiding me toward the exit with one hand settled possessively on the small of my back.
The night air hits my face as soon the door swings open. The moment we are outside, Griffin turns sharply, crowding me against the brick wall with hands braced on either side of my head.
“You have every right to be pissed at me,” he mutters. “But don't ever think this was only about a bounty.”
The second my back hits the wall, my eyes close and my body locks up. I answer him through gritted teeth. “You don't know what I'm thinking.”
He reacts instantly, his hands flying away from the wall. His entire body jerks back once he realizes what he's done. His expression shatters, filled with guilt. “Fuck, Seriphina, I didn't—” He drags his hand through his hair. “Tell me what you need.” His voice cracks. “Just tell me.”
“Space! I need you to back off!” I push away from the wall and move past him. My footsteps echo on the sidewalk as I create as much distance as I can.
“Seriphina,” he speaks softly, almost pleading. “Look at me, please?”
I don't turn around but I stop walking.
“The contract was already done before I met you,” he admits. “I didn't take it for you. But I sure as hell will finish it because of you.”
“Do you always fuck your bait?” My hands ball into fists. “Or am I just lucky?”
Griffin makes a noise like he's been gutted. When he speaks again, it's stripped bare, nothing but raw honesty. “You were never bait,” he growls. He moves closer. “I walked into that bookstore chasin’ a lead on Sokolov’s whereabouts. I walked out thinkin’ about how your laugh felt like sunlight hittin’ my skin for the first time in years.
Tell me to leave and I will, but don't walk away thinkin’ you were ever just part of the job. ”
“This. This is why I don't do labels. Why I don't do feelings. Because, this. This makes more sense than us.” I turn to face him.
The pain of my own thoughts torturing me with false scenarios because even after everything I can't wrap my head around how he wants me.
“You had to keep me interested right? You know he'll take me out eventually, then you'll get your guy. Finish your stupid contract?”
His entire body locks up, when he speaks next his voice is a lethal whisper.
“Sokolov could put a bullet in my skull tomorrow and I still wouldn't trade one fuckin’ second of havin’ you in my life.
” He lifts his hand as if to reach out to me but stops himself.
“You think I give a shit about the money? About the contract? Wildflower, I would burn every last cent just to see you smile again.” He takes a last step, not crowding me just present.
When he speaks it's rougher, like gravel. “That day in the storm, when we met. It's like I was wanderin’ around in the dark and you were the first fuckin’ star that could make it through the clouds. I don't do labels either. I don't do feelings. But I will be goddamned if you think you’re worth less than the breath in my fuckin’ lungs.”
All I can do is stare at him. I'm pissed he didn't tell me he had a contract for Sokolov.
I asked him over and over what's in it for him to help me.
How can I trust this is real when he's had an agenda the whole time?
But the words he says steal my breath away.
I'm reeling. What reason does he have to lie now?
I want to believe him. Gods, do I want to.
“I'm not bait?” I ask quietly.
“Never.” He caresses my cheek, his thumb trailing gently over my skin.
“You were the reason I stopped givin’ a shit about the bounty.
I could have grabbed him and left a long time ago.
But the second I saw you in that shower?
Sokolov stopped bein’ a paycheck and started bein’ the bastard that had to die for ever layin’ a hand on what's mine.” He searches my face for a moment. “Tell me you believe me.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “I believe you. I'm scared. But I believe you.”
He pulls me to him so suddenly, so tightly, that my feet barely touch the ground.
“Good,” he mutters into my hair. “Because I don't know how to be anything but yours anymore.” He doesn't let go.
He holds on like he's worried I might vanish if he does.
“We're goin’ home and I swear to God if you try to take off again, I will tie you to the damn bed.”
I snort, “You never know, I might like that.”
His arms tighten around me for a half a second before he chuckles. “Careful, Seriph.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “You keep talkin’ like that and we won't make it home.” He leads me to the jeep. “Let's get out of here.”
“What? I might be into that too.”
“Fuck. Me.” He makes a sound that's part groan, part growl before spinning me around so fast my back hits the passenger side door.
“You're tryin’ to kill me. That's the only explanation.” His mouth crashes down onto mine.
Devouring me before he pulls away, his words come out ragged.
“Get in the goddamn jeep before I forget we're in public and we both end up with indecency charges.”
He yanks open my door and all but lifts me into the seat, buckling me in with startling precision. I can't help but giggle at his impatience.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
He slams my door and stalks to the driver's side. The engine roars to life and all that barely leashed energy translates into speed as he peels out of the parking lot. His free hand finds my thigh like always, heavy, grounding, and safe.