Griffin, page 2
I recoil, the absurd thought hurting as if Lu has smacked me across the head like she so often did when I was a child. Drunk frat boy doesn’t sound like that. Quickly, I peer over my shoulder, taking in the dark figure looming large at the top of the stairs.
It’s him.
Well-dressed in black. A gun tattoo on the right of his neck and a spiderweb inking the left. A sharp tingle stabs at the inside of my nose, and tears prick at the back of my eyes. I will not cry. This isn’t over.
Move, Cora. Run.
Spinning forward, I leap down the remaining stairs, expecting a gunshot in the back. That’s all it would take to stop me.
Boom. Dead.
That’s if he didn’t care to have a house full of witnesses but my guess is, he does. Otherwise he wouldn’t be coming after me.
My feet touch the ground floor, and I careen into a muscled college guy. Head down, he’s oblivious to what’s in front of him, and because of my lunge, the both of us topple onto the floor.
Sprawled on his back, he barks, “What the fuck? You should watch where you’re going.”
On top of him, I push off his chest, muttering sorry. My knee throbs from where the bone smacked against the hardwood.
Footsteps explode down the stairs. “Hey, I want to talk to you.”
A University of Georgia ball cap lies on the floor next to me, and I snatch it with the idea—not necessarily a good one—of changing my appearance.
Clambering to my feet, I dive into the crowded living room, and given my height or lack thereof, I’m instantly swallowed by the towering bodies around me. I tug on the hat, tucking all my hair underneath it, and shrug off my jean jacket, checking the pockets before I toss it into a corner.
As I snake through the throng of people, I search for a way out and anything I can use to alter how I look.
Once in the kitchen, I spot a red hoodie on the back of a chair and snatch it before I slip through the open sliding glass door into the night.
Almost home free or that’s how it feels once the cool November night air strikes me.
I exhale a sigh of relief only to nearly choke on it when that voice claws at my insides, coming from not too far away. “There she is. Get her.”
2
Griffin
I clock him the second he enters the bar, barely five feet tall. UGA baseball hat. Drawstring backpack. Faded red hoodie, jeans, and black tattered Vans.
Yawning, I almost dismiss the small guy because he isn’t my target, and I’m tired of waiting even if that’s what my job mostly entails. His jeans, though—something about them claws at my gut, and I look again.
Those legs.
Long despite their diminutive height, lean and coltish, even covered in denim.
I have it all wrong. I’ve mistaken her for a man, and maybe that’s the point.
Now I’m intrigued.
With each step, she shrinks, shoulders rounding, chin burrowing into her chest, deliberately hiding her face under the bill of the cap. A guy stands, opening up a spot at the bar, and she shimmies onto the vacant stool.
I continue my surveillance of the place—door, dance floor, hallway to the restrooms, but keep coming back to the bar, unable to ignore her. I expect someone to join her yet no one does, and she sits there, backpack on her lap, hunched in on herself.
It’s a Friday night in this college town, and it doesn’t take long before she’s noticed in this popular drinking hole. Most everyone here is looking for a good time and to get laid.
A couple of guys squeeze into the tight spaces on either side of her, neither fooled by her disguise, and the bigger of the two leans in close. She flinches but doesn’t flee, only sparing him a quick, nervous glance.
His hungry smile and the suggestive quirk of a bushy eyebrow that looks a lot like a caterpillar readily predict he’ll crash and burn. Her small hand, resting on the bar, quakes, and something foreign, sharp and hard to ignore, pinches in my chest.
She isn’t my problem.
I’m on a job.
And even still, I continue to keep a watchful eye.
Rejecting her lack of interest, bushy brow drops his hand on her shoulder. She recoils, only to bump into his friend on her other side. Like a fucking relay, they hand her off, and the other idiot boldly wraps an arm around her waist.
Hell, no. Fuck this shit.
Before I can talk myself out of it, my ass abandons the seclusion of the shadowed corner of the bar that I’ve occupied for the past half hour. I’m not thinking, only processing what I’m doing as I do it.
Now across the crowded room, I pry the asshole’s arm off her, and lucky for him, he isn’t as stupid as he looks. He doesn’t put up a fight.
In turn, she tips her head back to get a better look at me, and I’m not prepared for her alarmingly green eyes. Her wide gaze, more terrified than anything else, sweeps over me, and I’m suddenly prickling with awareness. She blinks several times and something shifts between us. No longer alarmed, her eyes now glitter, and a flush tints her cheeks.
My determination to protect her gives way to want, though I haven’t forgotten the two idiots. Bold and instinctual, I cup her face, more out of a need to settle her nerves than anything else, thumbs gliding over the apples of her cheeks.
At first touch, desire, or whatever the hell this is, blossoms into a tingling warmth that spreads from the top of my head straight down to my toes. What the ever-loving fuck?
She gasps at our contact, and I anticipate an objection, physical or verbal, but get nothing. Her breaths come in shallow bursts, eyes shining as I dip my head toward her.
My lips brush against the shell of her ear and she shivers. “Follow my lead and I’ll get you out of here without having to crack skulls.”
“Sorry?” Her warm breath skates across my jaw as the bill of her cap chafes the side of my face.
I pull back and hold her gaze for a beat, trying to convey that I’m here to help her get rid of these losers. We stay like that, staring at each other, until her confusion shifts into understanding, or at least that’s my take.
Bushy eyebrow nudges my shoulder. “Dude, get lost.”
And that seals his fate.
Ignoring him, my fingers, firm yet gentle, grip the back of her neck, and I guide her head so the hat isn’t in the way. I lower my mouth to hers for a quick, barely-there kiss, or at least that’s what I intend until our lips touch.
She’s fucking sweet as peach pie, and I want another taste.
If these assholes don’t understand she isn’t interested in them or they’ve taken what’s mine—Mine? Where the hell did that come from?—then they deserve a beatdown.
I should pull away.
End the kiss.
Only I don’t.
My tongue sweeps across the seam of her warm, soft lips, and she moans, parting them for me. Shock sends a jolt through me at the bright lights popping behind my eyelids. The sensation is as foreign to me as fireworks, rainbows, and unicorns. I don’t do the bright side, and this girl—I’m uncertain if she’s of legal age—is all light. Bright and blinding. And that’s when I get a clue to back the fuck away.
Yeah, sunshine. She’s a sight. Dark lashes, pouty red lips still puckered as if asking for more. If only.
The baseball hat, no longer snug on her head, drops onto the filthy floor, and long, chestnut locks cascade down her back, soft and silky against my knuckles. My cock twitches, already a semi.
It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a woman, let alone fucked one. That’s what this is. A reawakening after a long drought.
My fingers tighten ever so slightly at the nape of her neck, and her eyes snap open. One brow arches, fingers curling into the nylon fabric of the bag in her lap. Something wild and captivating sparks in her gaze.
One of the idiots releases an appreciative whistle, eyes fixed on her hair until he senses my glare and quickly bends to grab the hat. The other asshole scowls at me like I’ve stolen his toy.
“Don’t fucking touch her.” I stab eyebrow with a merciless glower then pin the other one with an equally icy stare. “Get lost.”
I grab her hat and help her off the stool. She threads her arms through the straps of her backpack, and the other guy, not caterpillar, offers a weak, apologetic smile, already backing away. “Dude, we meant no disrespect.”
Now more confident, she faces the college douchebags, head held high but offering nothing, and I slip my arm protectively around her shoulders, continuing to play the boyfriend. Damn, she’s tiny. I’d say a full foot shorter than I am.
Eyebrow frowns, slow on the uptake, assessing me. I’m older, easily over a decade or more at thirty-five, and he probably figures he could kick my ass. I’d like to see him try. In spite of my years, I’ve got muscle, agility, and training. I almost want the shit-stain to take a swing, let me teach him a lesson.
His stubby finger points at us. “You two know each other?”
“Let me make this clear.” I tighten my grip on her, focus no longer on the dumbass, and lock eyes with hers. “Kiss me.”
Without question or hesitation, she twists and pushes her chest into my side, and I dip my head to capture her mouth. The fucking savage within howls for me to slide my tongue between her plump, sweet lips and own her. It takes everything in me to keep it chaste.
Eyebrow utters a fuck or something like that and leaves. His verbal intrusion reminds me that I’ve got a job to do, and kissing this stranger, more than once, isn’t cool.
I rip my mouth from hers on a groan, and she drops her gaze, hand going to her wet lips as she steps back. “Um, thanks for getting rid of them.”
She doesn’t wait for my response and heads for the door. I can’t say why, but a sense of danger urges me to go after her. Still, I shouldn’t. I haven’t been doing my job. Zero will rip me a new one. The target most probably came and left, and I’ve botched the job. Shit.
In which case, I might as well follow her out onto the street. “Hey, wait up.”
For a tiny thing she’s quick, already to the next block when she glances back, slows somewhat, then thinks better of it and picks up her pace.
In a few quick strides, I’m at her side. “Do you need a lift?”
What the hell am I doing?
“Uh, I…” Clearly, she’s running from something or someone, and doesn’t slow or stop.
Is it me? Did I freak her out with the kiss? “Hey, back there, when I—”
She stops, eyes briefly landing on me. “It’s okay.” Her gaze bounces from me to her left, me to her right. “Did you mean it about giving me a ride?”
I nod, sliding a hand into my leather jacket to take out my keys. “Yeah. Where do you live?”
“Ah, this might not be a good idea.” She’s talking more to herself than to me, still watching the area like radar tracking planes. “I live in a…a shady part of town.”
“That’s all right. My truck’s just over this way.” I point down the street and hit the fob to unlock the doors.
The truck lights up and she visibly relaxes, muscles loosening, fingers slackening on the straps of her bag.
She hustles toward the vehicle, and I keep pace. “What’s your name?”
Skittish, she jerks, possibly remembering I’m a stranger. A stranger whose vehicle she’s about to get into.
“You know what, um, on second thought.” She swings to face me. “Thanks for the offer but I’m going to…”
She bends then straightens two of her fingers in the air to mimic walking as her feet do the same but abruptly halts when her eyes glue to something over my shoulder. Panicked, her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
“Let’s go.” She grabs my arm. “Quick.”
I glance behind me even as she drags me in the opposite direction, toward the truck.
Across the street, a tall, dark figure lurks in the shadows, easily half a dozen or more shops away. It’s a man judging by the height and breadth of his shoulders, but I can’t make out his face. Is she running from this guy?
At the truck, she doesn’t wait for me and climbs into the front passenger seat, bag still on her back, and buckles the seat belt. I get in and she cranes her neck to keep an eye on the man through the rear window of the truck.
Her voice and body shake and she turns forward, hugging her arms around her middle. “Drive.”
“Where to?” I turn on the engine and she rattles off an address.
I’ve been to Athens, Georgia, enough to know my general way around the city, and while driving, I check the rearview often, not sure what I’m looking for though I doubt we’re being followed. We left the guy standing on the street with what looked to be a cellphone to his ear.
“Why were you at The Mill?”
At first glance, I’d have guessed she’s a girl, not even eighteen, but something about her, the way she carries herself, observant and perceptive even if only to blend in to the background, suggests she’s older or, for sure, wiser than most her age.
She doesn’t answer, keenly focused on inspecting every vehicle that nears the truck. I doubt she’s even aware I’ve spoken so I try again. “Who was that guy?”
Flinching, she fidgets in the seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Boyfriend?”
Nothing. Okay, I’ll come back to him.
“You go to UGA?” I pull the baseball hat from my jacket and place it on her lap.
“No…it isn’t mine.”
“Hmm. Well, how did you end up with it?”
She worries her bottom lip, sneaking furtive glances my way. “Long story.”
“We’ve got time.” The address she gave me isn’t too far, but I want to continue since she’s answered two questions in a row. “How about you tell me your name?”
“Cora.” She picks at the skin around her nails. “What’s yours?”
“Griffin.” The steering wheel spins beneath my palm as I make a right turn. “You got a last name, Cora?”
“Sure. Don’t we all?”
My lips twitch, amused at her coy defensiveness. Though she’s a stranger, her sarcasm feels genuine, more like her.
“What’s got you scared? The guys at the bar or something else?”
Cora was on edge when she walked into the bar, well before those college assholes bothered her. My question is deliberately misleading, curious if she’ll lie.
“What? What makes you think I was scared?”
I shrug, dropping it easily. This is none of my business. She needed help so I helped. She’ll soon be safe at home. End of the story. Good deed done.
That’s what Zero will say when he hears what happened, but only after he reams me out for getting distracted. He’ll accuse me of playing the white knight instead of locating the target.
I’ve heard it all before and he should talk. White knight…look in the mirror. But fuck, he’ll have every right to lose his shit on me. This is the first time one of my good Samaritan detours blew the operation.
Several months of risky work and a lot of agency coordination went into tonight’s job, and the big pile of nothing we’re left with is all thanks to me. Sloppy.
Before Cora walked into The Mill, I was frustrated, maybe even bored. Shit, I hate to admit it, but I wasn’t on my game, and contrary to that, I like what I do. My job has purpose. I help people. Yet in this line of work, boredom, or fatigue, or whatever the fuck is going on with me, will get you killed.
Nah, I’m not bored. More like stuck in limbo, and it’s time to get out of this line of work even if I haven’t accomplished what I set out to do. This operation is proof of that. Zero will have my head when he learns of tonight’s SNAFU.
I slow the truck, scanning the house numbers when she opens the door and jumps out before I can hit the brakes. “Hey, Cora.”
Her legs carry her toward a row of houses, and she glances over her shoulder at me. “Thanks.”
She disappears into the night, and I park the truck along the curb, countless questions about this woman springing to mind as I take note of the house she steps into.
The night might be a total bust when it comes to my job, but as for Cora and whatever has her on edge, I’m curious and want answers.
I’m not ready to move on.
3
Cora
Lulamae’s throaty cackle causes me to jump and my back smacks into the doorknob. Damn, I’m still on edge even though I’m now safe at home, and the thing is I can’t tell what has me more rattled, Finch’s murder and the killer’s pursuit, or the beautiful stranger who kissed me and drove me home.
Who am I kidding? All of it has me in knots and freaked the fuck out.
“Cora?” My name always sounds like a curse out of my mother’s mouth.
Why is she home? She’s usually out on a Friday night, selling drugs, turning tricks, getting high, stealing something, or all of the above. I don’t bother to answer, quietly slinking toward the staircase.
Suggestive moans carry from the front room. Lula’s got a john over. Great. I try not to retch on my way up the stairs. Neck muscles tight, I roll my shoulder blades together a few times, trying to loosen the tension. Why don’t I feel any different, more like myself, now that I’m home?
Adrenaline still pumps through my veins like it did after rushing from the house party with that man on my heels. Once I ducked into one of the more popular bars, just a few streets over from the frat house, Finch’s murder and my near escape had me so freaked out that I froze when those dumbasses swarmed me.
Then Griffin.
Sandy-blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, chiseled features, and colorful tats. I only got a glimpse of them, dark ink peeking out from the sleeves of his jacket. I wanted to see more.
Who is he? Not a college kid, though maybe a grad student. Though I never got that feeling nor do I figure him for a professor. Too edgy in his faded jeans, Bowie T-shirt, well-worn leather jacket, and Doc Martens. While his clothes aren’t anything unusual, no one wears them like this guy.
And too alert. A raw energy spins around him as if he’s ready to pounce, and that’s unlike any prof I’ve ever read about or seen in a movie or show.
