And now Lars was here. He made her nervous. Cutty was in her corner. She wasn't worried about Bic and Angus. But Lars … Him she felt unsettled around.
He'd walked into Cutty's without a word and barely a gesture of acknowledgment. Now he was walking back into the living room and he looked even worse, like someone had stolen his lunch money, or taken a big bite out of his only cookie.
He headed over toward where she was, beside Bic and Angus, and she had no idea what was coming. Would he call her a liar? Accuse her of holding out on them before tossing her on the street?
She got to her feet before he made it across the room, preparing herself for whatever was to come.
"Get your bags," he said curtly.
Her stomach fluttered and her knees wanted to give out on her, but she refused to let them. He'd just handed her a ticket to hell. She couldn't keep that lunatic away from her here and now she was getting kicked out. She swallowed, but had nothing to say. At least he didn't want to kill her. She took a step forward and Lars' arm shot out and blocked her way. "On second thought, let Bic go grab your stuff."
"Okay," she said, taking a step back. She guessed he didn't trust her enough to give her free reign of the house anymore. At least he was letting her keep the clothes.
He looked down at her. He was containing it but he was boiling with anger, and the tendons in his neck were straining. She looked away and wondered if it was even worth waiting to get her clothes. She should get out while she still could. "You'll be better off at my place. Safer."
What? He wasn't killing her or kicking her out? "Okay." Okay seemed to be the entirety of her vocabulary right now but if it kept her alive, that was okay by her.
She was packed and tucked into Lars' car within minutes, even before she got over the shock that her plan had worked. They weren't kicking her out and no one was killing her?
She was so relieved that even the tension pouring off Lars while he drove didn't bother her. She didn't know what he was in a snit about but the silence was better anyway. She had her own thoughts to contend with.
Cutty's words kept playing in her head. If she could just get past this phase, she could start over. The guys were searching for Malokin and she was sure it had nothing to do with sitting down for a nice discussion of their differences over brunch. Keith was Malokin's second in command. There was no way they'd let him walk away. They'd kill him too, and she'd be free.
Once they were eliminated she could regain control of her life. There would be no one telling her to stay here or do this. No, don't do that. Come. Stay. She'd be her own person again, whoever that was going to be.
She'd get through this. Even if the situation really sucked, she wasn't a quitter. And the way she figured it, you never really knew what you were capable of until you were tested, although this was turning out to be one hell of a test. And she'd thought the SATs had sucked.
She wasn't naive about the guys either. Yes, they were helping her but theories on why they might not be kicking her to the curb were clicking into place in her mind. In her panic, she'd foolishly thought that they might kick her out. That's what she got for making decisions when she wasn't thinking right. They wanted Malokin. They knew Malokin and his people wanted her. They'd never kick her out now.
They were playing the game and she was a pawn to be moved. As long as that movement was towards safety and bought her time to figure this mess out, she'd let them push and prod her across the board as they wished.
Currently, it looked like she was getting pushed back to the tattoo shop. Lars parked his black Audi in front of a steel door at the back of the strip mall that held Dead Ink. He got out of the car and motioned for her to follow him. She did, because again, right now she didn't have a choice. And she didn't really care where she slept as long as she was out of Keith's grasp. Sleeping at the shop was still a step up from a bed of dirt and dead leaves.
He grabbed the borrowed bag full of her clothes from his trunk. He walked to the metal door he'd parked in front of and opened it. He waited as she got out of the car and then her body decided it didn't want to go any farther.
"Don't you lock it?" The thought of anyone being able to stroll over and open it was unsettling considering what was going on. It wasn't time to let the fresh air in and love thy neighbor. It was buy an extra deadbolt and stock up on ammo.
"I don't need to," he said. "No sane person would attack here even if they could."
"You have noticed the world is going a bit crazy, right? Sanity is a scarce commodity at the moment, so if you wouldn't mind?" she asked, deciding that no lock on the door was definitely not a push toward safety in her opinion. Plus, she had this strange feeling of wanting to stall, now that she realized it wasn't the door to Dead Ink, but the one beside it.
He nodded, as if pondering her request. "No one that means harm is getting close to this place, sane or crazy. But if it makes you feel better, it's not a problem," he said and there seemed to be a slight softening, as if it finally dawned on him that tonight had been a really crappy one for her.
She hesitated before taking a step toward where he was standing but then shrugged off the hesitation. She didn't have a long list of choices. This was it, at least for now. But still, staying here seemed more dangerous than Cutty's, and she didn't know why she felt so vulnerable.
Telling herself she was being ridiculous, she walked past him to just inside the door and saw a set of stairs. She wasn't sure exactly what she expected to see at the top but at least it wasn't the tiled floor of the shop. Maybe there were wood floors up there? She could do wood. Maybe she'd luck out and it was pine and not one of the harder oak varieties.
With heavy steps, she climbed the flight to the door on top.
"Go in," he said from not far behind her.
The second she stepped inside she knew this was his lair. She could have come here alone, without any idea who the owner was, and she would've still known it was his. It smelled like him, a mixture of cardamom and vanilla that somehow reminded her of strength and virility.
His place was one large room. A king bed sat at the farthest end, and couches dominated the middle of the area where a TV screen took up a large chunk of exposed brick wall. The kitchen area and a dining set sat just beyond the door. The only privacy to be had looked like it would be the bathroom.
There was nothing frilly or feminine about the place and she wouldn't have expected it. It was all hard edges and rough textures, with an occasional smooth spot or soft place that broke up the harshness. It was exactly like him.
"This takes up the entire second floor of the strip mall?" she asked, looking around at everything but the enormous bed that was piled high with pillows.
He nodded. "I had the walls torn down after I bought the building. I like open space." He crossed the room and dropped her bag on the single dresser. "You take the bed."
"I can't do that," she said. What she didn't say was she wasn't planning on sharing it either.
He walked back over to her and stopped a little too close. "Yeah, you can."
She started shaking her head, getting ready to argue.
"You're taking it."
She paused but then relented with a short nod, just to not belabor the point. The truth was the idea of sleeping in his bed, even alone, was unnerving. She didn't want to argue if it meant staying this close to him.
The instinct that had made her hesitate coming in here was now very clear. Whatever tension she felt between them in the shop seemed wholly magnified now that they were alone in his place. The hunger she'd sensed in him during their very first meeting magnified.
Standing this close to him, she felt a tremble go through her that had nothing to do with fear. Her breathing accelerated and she saw something trigger in his eyes, like a lion on the Serengeti, deciding on whether to take down its prey.
It was that look that jolted her out of whatever was happening between them. She wasn't going to be anyone's prey, not even a hunter as glorious as him. She stiffened and took a step away, not caring that her retreat might mark her as weak. Survive first-worry about the particulars later; that was her new motto.
As if her movement snapped something within him, he said, "Go, get some sleep." The look in his eyes seemed to fade slightly, as if he'd decided she wouldn't be that tasty anyway.