Slow Burn (3 page)

There was a scream from inside.

I hurried past Griffin.

“There’s someone in here, doll,” said Griffin, gun trained on the guy on my couch.

“That’s Clint,” I said. “Put the gun away.”

“You know him?” said Griffin.

“Oh, God, Leigh, why is there a guy in your apartment pointing a gun at me?” said Clint.

“You’re scaring him,” I told Griffin.

Slowly, Griffin put the gun back at the small of his back. He eyed Clint warily. “How do you know Leigh?”

“Are you a cop?” said Clint.

“No,” I said. “He’s, um—”

“Leigh’s bodyguard,” said Griffin. “Her father hired me.”

“Whoa,” said Clint. “Your dad really is paranoid.”

“Listen, Clint, it’s not a good time.”

He got up off the couch. “I was just here to get you back.” He pulled a baggy of white powder out of his pocket. “I owe you.”

“What the hell is that?” said Griffin.

“I thought you said he wasn’t a cop,” said Clint.

I snatched the bag from him. “He’s not.” To Griffin. “It’s drugs, mmmkay?”

Griffin took the bag from me. He opened it, touched it with a finger and tasted it. “Cocaine?”

I rolled my eyes.

“I guess I should be happy it’s only coke,” he said.

“Give it back,” I said.

“You do a lot of drugs?” he asked.

“No,” I said. I turned to Clint. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said. “I guess I was just thinking we’d do a line together before I left.”

I glared at him. Greedy son of a bitch. He wasn’t here to give me back anything. He wanted to put half of what he owed me up his nose. I wasn’t spotting him any coke, ever again. “It’s not a great time.”

He looked at Griffin. “Yeah. Okay.” He gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. And then he left.

After the door closed, I held out my hand to Griffin. “Give it back.”

“I don’t think so.”

I put my hands on my hips. “What?”

“Who was that guy? Your boyfriend?”

“No,” I said.

“He kissed you.”

“Maybe we slept together once or twice. But there’s nothing between us. We’re friends.”

“You’re drug buddies.”

“Give it
back
.”

He shook his head. “Coke makes you dumb. You think it makes you more alert, but actually it makes you too cocky too notice if anything’s going wrong. And you blab stuff too. Someone like you really needs to keep her mouth shut. If the wrong people find out about you, you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

I winced, thinking about Rough Hands this morning. I’d told him all about my dad and the phone. I should have kept that to myself. “It doesn’t hit me nearly as hard since I got the serum. I don’t get nosebleeds anymore. And I don’t even do it that often.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve yet to hear of someone who got nosebleeds from snorting coke who wasn’t doing it a lot.”

“Just give it back. This is none of your business.”

“Keeping you safe is my business,” he said. He stalked over to the kitchen sink and began moving dirty dishes out onto the counter.

“What are you doing?” I said.

He dumped the bag into the now empty sink and turned the faucet on.

“Have you lost your mind?” I screamed. I dove for the sink. Maybe I could save some of it.

He caught me by the wrists and held me back. Jesus, he was strong.

“Stop,” he said. His voice was a quiet growl.

“Fuck you,” I said. “Who do you think you are?”

He pushed me up against the refrigerator. He let go of my wrists, but his body blocked me from moving. He rested one hand against the fridge, bending down his face so that it was close to mine. “Your father didn’t want anything to happen to you. He gave his life to keep you safe. He couldn’t have known that you were throwing your life away on a really dangerous, stupid drug. A highly addictive piece of poison.”

“Shut up,” I said.

“He wouldn’t have wanted that for you.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know the way he talked about you. I know how his wallet was filled with pictures of you, from the time you were a baby, clear up to now. You should be glad he never saw you like this. It would have broken his heart.”

I put my hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could.

It didn’t do anything. He was as solid as Suit had been earlier. But he did back up and let me move.

I was crying again. “My father never gave two shits about me until I almost got myself killed in that car accident. Then, suddenly, he’s risking his life to keep me alive. If he would have just noticed me before that, maybe I wouldn’t have had to get so drastic.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I guess I could have said that in a different way.”

I yanked open the freezer and took out the bottle of vodka. Screw the shot glass. I went to my bedroom and closed the door.

Even the marshmallow flavor didn’t seem to taste that good right now. I clutched the open bottle, leaned up against my bed, and cried.

He was knocking on the door.

“Go away,” I said. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in here, but it was dark outside, and it hadn’t been when I closed the bedroom door. Probably a long time.

“I’m sorry.”

I put the lid back on the vodka. I held up the bottle. After all that, I didn’t think I’d really managed to drink that much of it anyway. I got to my feet and opened the bedroom door. “Sorry?”

He was leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door. He was good at leaning. He looked absolutely gorgeous. He was a jackass, but he was a pretty jackass. “It’s been awhile since I spent much time with anyone who wasn’t either trying to kill me or helping me stop the guys who were trying to kill me. I kind of forgot how to be polite.”

“You think?” I said.

“Not that I’m saying it’s okay for you to be doing coke,” he said. “It’s not. But I was out of line with what I did and what I said to you.” He looked down at his hands.

And I realized that he had blood on him. I grabbed his hands. “Is this from Suit?”

“Who?”

“The guy you killed earlier,” I said. “I called him Suit in my head.”

“Oh.” He pulled his hands back. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Now that I was closer, I could see that there was a fine bit of spatter on his arms and shirt. “You need to take a shower.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you kidding? You saved that guy for me. I don’t care how tough you are, having his blood on you can’t feel good.”

He stared at the floor. “It never does.”

“So, you should take a shower,” I said. “And I think I might even have a shirt big enough for you.”

“I’ve got clothes,” he said. “I brought a pack. It’s in the living room.”

“Okay, great.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he said. “It’s obvious that you don’t want me around. I can watch over you from outdoors. I can crash in the car or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’m being a brat. You saved my life. I’m grateful.”

He shrugged self-consciously. “Look, I hate Op Wraith. I’d probably have killed that guy anyway.”

“But you did it for me,” I said. I looked into his gray eyes. “Thank you.”

He blushed.

Seriously. Mr. Big, Bad Muscle guy blushed. I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up too. Why were we both blushing? “The, um, bathroom’s over there.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

He closed himself in.

And I realized he didn’t have a towel. I went to my linen closet and got him one. I knocked on the door. “I’ve got a towel.”

He opened the door. He wasn’t wearing a shirt anymore. I gazed at his bare chest, which was rippling and taut and tan and... whoa. He was too good looking. It was distracting. My gaze swept over his shoulders and followed down over his pecks and belly...

He had a crudely drawn tattoo on his stomach. It was a circle with a cross in the middle of it.

I gaped at it. “You’re tattoo, um... what is it?”

He snatched the towel from me, covering it.

“Is that a prison tattoo?” I said.

He closed the bathroom door in my face.

He took a quick shower, but I felt bad about it the whole time. Here he was, this guy who’d risked his life to save me, who didn’t owe me anything but still wanted to keep me safe. And I was prying, making him feel uncomfortable.

When he came out, he wandered into the living room without looking at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not judging or anything . You just poured out my coke, so, obviously, I don’t exactly live by the letter of the law. I figure that the only reason I’ve never been locked up is luck.”

He turned to me. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s open minded of you.” He sat down on my couch. “But, you know, they don’t usually lock people up for possession. Unless you’re possessing a lot, and they can get intent to distribute.”

“Oh,” I said.

He sighed. “Sorry. You were trying to apologize, and I just stomped all over it, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t.”

“I might have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder about the jail stuff.” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I got locked up in an adult facility when I was sixteen years old, and those guys ate me alive. I had to survive. The tattoo was just part of it.”

“It’s okay,” I said. He
had
been in jail. “You don’t have to explain.”

“No,” he said. “I do. Because there’s no other way you’re going to trust me. You’re going to be afraid of me. You’ll think I’m a dangerous convict.”

Man. Dangerous or not, he was really nice to look at. He was still a little bit wet from the shower. There was a droplet of water running down his neck. I bit my lip. “Uh, it’s okay. Seriously. It’s not my business.”

He seemed interested in the armrest of my sofa. “I did a stupid thing when I was a kid. I robbed a store with a toy gun. I didn’t think I’d get any money, but I tried it anyway.” He shrugged. “It worked.”

I had to admit it sounded like something a sixteen-year-old boy would try.

“That was armed robbery as far as the state was concerned,” he said. “I got tried as an adult.”

“Geez,” I said. It seemed extreme.

“Well, I was the idiot who did it,” he said. “I’d still be in jail if it weren’t for Op Wraith and the serum. I got beaten up real bad once—well, I got beaten up a lot on the inside. But this time it was over-the-top bad. I might not have made it. I was dying in the hospital, and Op Wraith took me and doped me up.”

I knew about Dewhurst-McFarland doing stuff like that. My father had told me. “You were a test subject.”

“Who cares what happens to a criminal, right?” said Griffin, bitter. “Especially a criminal who’s probably going to die anyway.”

“They gave you the serum to see if it worked,” I said. “When it did, they turned you into an assassin.”

He nodded.

That was a pretty horrible story. So Griffin had dumped my coke down the sink. That had been a dick move, but he’d also saved my life and was spending his time making sure no one else tried to hurt me. He was right. He was a good guy. “You weren’t a criminal,” I said. “You were an idiot kid. They had no right to do what they did to you.”

He raised his gaze from the sofa to my eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course.”

He looked away again.

Chapter Two

“I thought you were going to class,” said Griffin. He was standing in my living room, arms folded over his chest.

“I am,” I said.

“Wearing that?”

“What?” I looked down at my outfit. I had on a tiny jean skirt and a pink t-shirt that said, “I Heart Bad Boys.”

“Can you just try not to stand out so much?” he said.

“How am I standing out?” I said.

He sighed. “Listen, doll, there are people out there who are trying to kill you. Serious bad guys, all right? They know you’re a pretty blonde girl. Now, if they walk into your classroom, who do you think is going to jump out at them?”

“Should I dye my hair?”

“Can you put on something that’s a less bright color?” he said. “Something less tight? And short?”

“Go to hell,” I said. “You sound like the father I never wanted.” I picked up my back pack and slung it over my shoulder.

He rubbed his head. “I’m not going to be able to convince you to change, am I?”

“No,” I said, swinging open the front door and heading down the steps.

“Hey,” he called from behind me. “You gonna lock the door?”

“I lost the key,” I called back. “Besides, you can’t tell me those Op Wraith guys can’t pick locks.”

“That is true,” he muttered, coming down the steps after me.

I paused, opening the door to my car. “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?” I said. “But I’m only going to class.”

“I’m going to be coming with you everywhere, doll,” he said, opening the passenger door. “You might as well get used to it.”

Seriously? I sagged against the car door.

“Better get going,” he said from inside.

I ducked my head into the car. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to convince you not to come, is there?”

“Nope,” he said.

I got in the car and slammed the door shut.

He didn’t go into class with me, but he did sit outside the entire time, and I saw him pacing in front of the door occasionally. He was like a stalker or something. He did it all day. After every class, he’d be waiting outside for me. “Where do we go next?” he’d say cheerily.

He followed me across campus, from my math class to my English classes to my art appreciation class. He followed me to lunch. There was a cafeteria on campus, but it was mostly for the kids who lived in the dorms. Instead, I usually went to The Wolves Den, which was this little sandwich place that was run by the college. It was only open for lunch during classes. Griffin followed me there too.

There were a few girls from my art class that I usually ate with.

“You want me to sit at a different table?” said Griffin.

“Yes,” I said. It was really annoying to have a shadow.

But I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Who’s that guy?” said one of my art class friends.

“He’s been following you all day,” said another.