Chapter 4 #2
He removes my hand slowly, his fingers wrapping around mine for just a second before letting go. The brief contact leaves my skin burning. “You’re an interesting person, Miranda Carver.”
The way he’s looking at me makes heat rush to my face. It’s too intense. Too focused. Like I’m the only thing in the room that matters. Like he wants to devour me.
I look away, busying myself with throwing away the bloody gauze. “I try not to be.”
He chuckles.
My stomach tightens in a way that I absolutely hate.
This man is infuriating. Arrogant. And now clearly not human.
What I hate is how attractive I’ve suddenly begun to find him.
Maybe I should admit myself to the psychiatric facility.
Being attracted to him is a terrible idea. The worst idea. I don’t even like him.
Except my body obviously didn’t get that memo.
“Who were those men?” He studies me. “They clearly knew you.”
I tap my eye. “The same ones who left me this little gift.”
His jaw hardens. “Are the police involved?”
I give him a look. “Of course not.”
“Of course not?” he echoes, the irritation on his face obvious. “You were assaulted. You’re supposed to call—”
“It’s a private matter,” I say tersely. “Don’t get any more involved than you already are. I know how to handle this.”
It’s a complete lie, but the last thing I need is to get the police involved.
Who knows how Kozlov will react? He’s not going to be happy about someone beating up his men as it is.
I wait for the trickle of fear, but it never comes.
After a year of being hounded and harassed for payments and now this, the fear has transformed into something numb, and that terrifies me because it makes me wonder if I’ve begun to give up.
“What if those men come back?” Grayson asks with a pointed stare.
“They will.” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “They didn’t get what they wanted.”
“Which is?”
“None of your business.” I shoot him a look. When he just stares at me, I sigh, feeling like garbage. “Look. Thank you for helping me, but don’t interfere next time. Okay? You’ve brought a world of problems on my head by going after Kozlov’s men.”
Grayson’s expression is calm, but his eyes are hard. “You don’t care they’re going to come back? They were hurting you.”
“I know,” I say through gritted teeth, turning around to put some of the things away. “I’m going to say this again: Don’t get involved in my business, Grayson.”
His silence following my words makes me wonder if he’s offended. When I turn around, however, he’s standing right behind me. A gasp escapes my lips, and he grins. “Fine. No more questions. How about that dinner then?”
I blink at the subject change. “What?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “If you buy me dinner, I’ll have my mechanic look over your car and fix it up for free.”
I stare at him incredulously. “What part of me being broke didn’t you understand?”
“One small meal versus a free body job.” He shrugs, and the movement draws my eyes to his bare chest again. I force myself to look at his face instead, which is somehow worse because he’s smirking like he knows exactly what effect he’s having on me. “More than a fair trade.”
He’s right, and he knows it, sitting there looking smug about the whole thing.
My mind does the math. A meal at a cheap place, maybe twenty dollars. A mechanic for body work, easily a few hundred. Maybe more.
“There’s a diner across from the hospital,” I say reluctantly. “We can eat there.”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble. Loud enough that we both hear it.
Grayson’s grin is absolutely insufferable. “Sounds like someone else is hungry too.”
“Shut up.” I grab my bag from where I dropped it during the fight. “Come on before I change my mind.”
He moves closer, invading my personal space in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”
The endearment sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
I don’t ask. I don’t look. I just head for the door, putting distance between us before I do something stupid like notice how good he smells under the copper tang of blood.
This is fine. I’ll buy him a burger, he’ll fix my car, and we’ll never have to see each other again.
Except as I walk down the hallway with Grayson Wolfe following behind me, his presence burning into my back like a brand, I have the sinking feeling that nothing about this situation is going to be that simple.
The diner is mostly empty at this hour, just a couple of night shift workers scattered across the booths.
The interior is clean and inviting with bright red vinyl seats and black and white checkered floors.
Neon signs glow in the windows advertising milkshakes and pie, and there’s a jukebox in the corner playing oldies at a low volume.
The scent of coffee and grilled food fills the air.
I slide into a booth near the back, as far from the windows as possible.
Grayson slides in across from me, his eyes sweeping the space with an alertness that seems excessive for a diner.
Our waitress has gray hair pulled back in a neat ponytail and bright red lipstick. Her eyes widen when she sees Grayson.
“Oh my goodness, you’re that hockey player, aren’t you? My grandson loves you!”
Grayson beams at her in a way that would have any woman swooning. “That’s very kind. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Could you sign something for him?” She pulls out her order pad, her cheeks red, already flipping to a blank page.
“Of course.” Grayson takes the pen she offers and scrawls his signature with a flourish.
She practically glows, carefully tearing the paper and folding it before placing it in her pocket. “He’s going to be so thrilled. Now what can I get you two?”
Before I can speak, Grayson says, “Three beef burgers, fully loaded. Large fries. Onion rings. And a Coke.”
My eyes widen. Three burgers? The prices flash through my mind. That’s at least forty dollars right there, not counting the sides.
“And for you, dear?” She turns to me.
“Nothing for me, thanks.”
Grayson’s eyes crinkle around the corners as he smirks. “She’ll have your most expensive item on the menu.”
The blood drains from my face. “No, I won’t. I’ll have the chicken pot pie.”
“Add an apple pie to that,” Grayson says smoothly. “And a strawberry milkshake.”
She scribbles it all down, oblivious to the murder I’m contemplating across the table. “Coming right up!”
The moment she’s gone, I lean forward. “Are you mocking me?”
“What?” He looks genuinely confused.
“I told you I have very little money.” My hands clench into fists on the table. “And you just ordered half the menu.”
“I’m hungry.” He shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “And you need to eat. When’s the last time you had a real meal?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Everything about you seems to be none of my business.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth and studying me. “So let’s start with something simple. What did those men want from you?”
My brows snap together. “I told you it’s none of your business. Is that why you wanted to have dinner? To grill me some more?”
“Yes,” he says easily. “Miranda.” The way he says my name has my lower belly tightening. “How much money do you owe them?”
I stiffen. He knows. Of course he does.
I look away. “None of your business.”
I start to slide out of the booth, but his hand shoots across the table, wrapping around my wrist. His touch is firm and deliberate.
“Let go.”
“Sit down.” His voice is quiet but firm.
“I said let go.”
“And I said sit down.” His amber eyes meet mine, unyielding. “You want me to get your car looked at by a mechanic? You actually have to sit through this entire meal with me. That was the deal.”
I want to throw my water in his face. I want to storm out, but I can’t afford that. The smug bastard knows it too.
I sink back into the seat, crossing my arms over my chest. “I regret accepting your offer.”
“Noted.” He releases my wrist, and I immediately tuck my hands under the table, trying to ignore the lingering heat of his touch. “Now answer the question. How much debt are you under?”
I stare at the polished surface of the table, at the neon lights reflecting there. “Around eight hundred thousand dollars. After interest.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
When I finally look up, Grayson’s expression is curious. “Do you gamble?”
White-hot anger flares through me. “No!”
“Then how—”
“My mother was ill.” The words come out sharp and bitter.
“Cancer. Stage four. We finished my savings in the first year. The insurance barely covered a fraction. So I borrowed money from unscrupulous characters who were willing to give it to me, no questions asked.” I lean forward.
“And before you judge me for being stupid, I was desperate. She was dying, and I would have done anything to save her.”
“I’m not judging you.” His voice is almost gentle now.
I just turn my head away, unwilling to see the pity in his eyes.
Our waitress returns with the drinks, the glasses clinking as she sets them down. The milkshake is obscenely large, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. She sets it in front of me with a smile before heading back to the kitchen.
I stare at the pink monstrosity. I can’t remember the last time I treated myself to something like this. Something frivolous and sweet.
Grayson takes a long drink of his Coke. When he speaks, his voice is casual. Almost too casual. “So your loan shark wants you to sleep with him.”
I guess he overheard that as well. My face burns with humiliation. I wrap my hands around the cold glass of the milkshake but don’t drink. “Yeah.”
“And you’re not going to.”
“No.”
“Then what are you going to do?” He leans forward, and despite the light tone, his eyes are hard. Sharp. “When he forces your hand? Makes you choose between paying everything upfront or sleeping with him?”