Chapter Three #2
He checks the kitchen. Bathroom. Bedroom. I stand in the doorway with Milo hovering behind me, both of us silent.
Steel returns after less than a minute. “It’s clear.”
“Wow,” I say. “Do you want a sticker?”
“No.”
“You sure? I have dinosaur ones somewhere.”
Milo brightens. “You do?”
“Not the time.”
Steel’s gaze moves over the locks. “The window in the bedroom doesn’t latch right.”
I stiffen. “How do you know?”
“I checked it.”
“I said, don’t touch my things.”
“A window lock isn’t a thing. It’s a weak point.”
“It’s my weak point.”
His eyes cut to mine. “Not anymore.”
The air changes. It’s not fair how fast he does that, how a few words from him can turn irritation into something heavier. Something I don’t want to name.
Milo looks between us and starts backing toward the hall. “I’m going to go. Before the tension kills me and ruins my perfect attendance record.”
I whip around. “You’re leaving me with him?”
Milo pauses. “Do you want me to stay?”
Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck if I know.
Steel says nothing. Which, annoyingly, gives me room to answer honestly.
“No,” I mutter. “Go home. Text me when you get in.”
“I will.” Milo points at Steel. “Don’t murder her.” Steel stares and Milo swallows. “That sounded funnier in my head.”
“Goodnight, Milo,” I say.
He leaves, the door shuts, and the silence expands.
I’m alone in my apartment with a man made of violence and restraint.
I should be terrified, and a part of me is.
But another part is aware of how close he stands.
How much space does he try not to take? How his gaze keeps tracking back to my face like he is checking for cracks.
“I’m not going to break,” I say.
“No. I didn’t think so.”
“You say that like you believe me.”
“I do.”
I blink. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you kept working with bullets hitting concrete beside you.”
“That was adrenaline.” I brush off his words that feel strangely like praise.
“I know you ordered Jax around while he cursed at you.”
“He was being an idiot.” I roll my eyes at the stupidity of men.
“I know you’re scared and pretending anger covers it.”
My throat tightens. There are things men like him shouldn’t be allowed to see.
I turn away and head for the kitchen. “Do you want coffee?”
“No.”
“Good. I wasn’t making you any.”
I fill the kettle anyway because I need my hands occupied. Steel stays near the door, exactly where he said he would leave, except he has not left.
“You can go now,” I say.
“I’ll be outside.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yes.”
I slam a mug onto the counter. “You can’t stand guard outside my apartment like some emotionally constipated gargoyle.”
His brow lifts a fraction. “Gargoyle?”
“Did I stutter?”
“No.”
“Then leave-leave. Not lurk-leave.”
His gaze drops to my hands. Damn it. They’re shaking. I curl them around the edge of the counter, and Steel tracks the movement. He sees everything and says almost nothing, which is a horrible combination in a man I’m trying not to want near me.
He takes one step closer, I tense, and he stops immediately.
“I won’t touch you,” he says.
My pulse stumbles. “That’s not...”
“It is,” he says, cutting me off.
I hate that my eyes sting. I hate it so fucking much I almost laugh.
The kettle begins to hiss behind me.
“I don’t like violence,” I say, staring at his boots because they are easier than his face. “I don’t like men who solve problems with fists. I don’t like guns. I don’t like clubs. I don’t like whatever the hell this is.”
“I can tell.”
“And I really don’t like you standing there acting like you’re the only thing between me and death.”
His voice drops. “Tonight, I might be.”
The fear finds the crack, and it slides in cold. I look up to find Steel’s face is hard, but his eyes aren’t empty. They are focused on me with a patience that feels almost painful.
“What did they say?” I ask, and his jaw tightens. “The men in the sedan,” I clarify. “What did they say about me?”
“Nothing you need in your head.”
I laugh, but it comes out wrong. “That bad?”
“Yes.”
Honesty again. Sharp. Ugly. Clean.
I wrap my arms around myself. “I saved someone. That’s all I did.”
“I know.”
“That’s my job.”
“It is.”
“I don’t choose who deserves to live.”
Something moves in his expression, dark and unreadable. “No,” he says. “You don’t.”
“And you do?” The question lands like a slap, and Steel goes still.
I regret it as soon as I say it. Not because it isn’t fair. Because I already know the answer, and I suddenly don’t want to hear it.
His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Sometimes.”
My stomach dips. There he is, the monster. Not hidden or denied. Simply standing in my apartment beside my chipped kitchen counter, telling me the truth like I asked for it. And I suppose I did.
I should step back. Instead, I ask, “Does it bother you?”
His eyes hold mine. “Not when they deserve it.”
“And when they don’t?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw and the silence tells me more than his answer could.
I turn off the kettle. For a while, neither of us says anything. Then his phone buzzes. Steel checks the screen, and whatever he sees puts the enforcer back in his face. The human piece disappears behind locked doors.
“I have to go.”
Relief and panic hit me at the same time. “Good,” I say too fast.
He heads for the door, then stops with his hand on the knob. “Keep the chain on. Don’t open for anyone you don’t know. If you see that sedan or anything out of place, call me.”
“I won’t need to.”
He looks back at me. Not angry, but certain. “You will.”
Then he leaves, and my apartment feels too quiet after he is gone. Too small. Too exposed. I lock the door. Chain it. Check the windows. Check the bedroom latch and curse when I realize he’s right. It doesn’t close properly.
I stand there in my bedroom, staring at the useless lock, skin prickling.
Outside, an engine starts. Steel’s bike. It idles for a moment, then fades into the night. I tell myself I’m glad he’s gone, I tell myself men like him are the reason women like me end up patching holes in bodies, and I tell myself the strange hollow feeling in my chest is exhaustion.
Almost an hour later my phone buzzes with an unknown number. My pulse kicks as I open the message.
Unknown: The window gets fixed tomorrow. Sleep with the bedroom door locked tonight.
I stare at the screen. No signature because there’s no need for one, I know who it is. I should block him, but instead, I save his number. I should throw the phone across the room. I should absolutely not type back, but my thumbs move anyway.
Me: Stop giving orders.
Three dots appear, disappear, and appear again.
Steel: Stop making me worry.
My breath catches. I hate him. I hate the way those five words settle low in my chest, warm and dangerous. I type one word before I can think better of it.
Me: Gargoyle.
His reply comes almost instantly.
Steel: Paramedic.
I laugh. Just once. Small. Stupid. Real.
Then something taps against my bedroom window.
I freeze, and the phone slips in my hand.
Another tap. Soft and deliberate. My blood turns to ice.
For one endless second, I can’t move. The black card on my kitchen counter might as well be screaming.
Not that I need it now that I have his number.
I grab my phone. This time, I don’t text. I call.