Page 40 of Blood of Vengeance

“The fuck-around-and-find-out town.”

I raised my cup as if in a toast. “The very one. She died there, and I didn’t want to be there without her, so I turned around and went back to where I had felt the most at home. Ended up in Detroit.”

“And you like it there?”

“I do—most of the time. Winters are hard.” At that moment, a chill not due to the temperature around me skated up my spine. The weight of someone watching me settled firmly on my shoulders, and I darted a look outside. Unable not to. Needing to find whoever seemed to have taken an interest in me.

It took me far longer than I had hoped, but eventually, I noticed a man standing in the shadows across the street. He wore casual clothes—generic, not standing out—and sported mirrored sunglasses, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was staring right at me. As I watched, he removed the sunglasses, holding my gaze the entire time. Unblinking. Deep, dark eyes locked on mine in a way that made my blood run cold. And his hands—such long, thin fingers. Something about his hands didn’t sit right with me. Made me wonder if he was even human, which would have been an odd thought to have except for the fact that I was sitting across from a man who could shift into a wolf.

“You okay?” the prospect asked, concern laced through his voice.

I shook my head, unable to stop staring at the man across the street. Almost enthralled into doing so, even though I wanted nothing more than to stop. “No. I’m not. I need to go home.”

The prospect did something that made him leave his chair—likely dealing with our garbage and dirty plates—before he came and grabbed my arm. It was only his touch and tug that made me vacate my seat, only his constant pressure to move that had my feet stepping in the direction of the door. It was almost as if I had little to no control of my body, and I didn’t like it.

“What the fuck is happening?” The prospect turned me toward him, breaking my stare-off with the man across the street and sounding downright angry. “What’s got you all zombie-like?”

I swallowed and licked my lips, my mouth suddenly too dry. “Did you see that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The one in front of the restaurant across the street.” I looked over his shoulder, but the man was gone. I even stepped around the prospect to look up and down the street, but the man with the weird hands and the dark eyes was nowhere to be found. “He was right there.”

“We’re going back to Flinch’s,” he said, pulling me to the truck. A single red rose lay on the ground in front of it, half dead and covered in ants. So completely out of place that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the thing. Not even when the prospect stepped on it as he pulled me to the passenger side. I finally had to look away as the prospect—I still didn’t even know his name—shoved me bodily into the truck, not letting me go until he had me settled on the seat and even buckled in. “You sit right there. I’m driving.”

Which seemed like a good idea, seeing as how I still felt oddly shaky and out of control. And all I could think about was that weird red rose.

The drive home helped, the distance between me and the strange man likely working in ways nothing else could. Once the prospect pulled into Flinch’s driveway, I headed directly into the house, locking the door behind me and walking straight into Flinch’s main bathroom. His soaps were there, his scent deeply embedded in the space. I stepped right into his shower and sat for a long moment just breathing him in, trying to re-center myself. Trying to shake off the feeling of being completely out of control, of the loss of agency that man had instilled in me. It took more time than I would have liked, but I eventually began to feel more like myself. Mostly.

“You need some exercise,” I said to myself, still reeling from my morning. “Clear away the cobwebs.”

I slipped into my swimsuit and headed out back, knowing a swim would cool me off in the best way possible. I had just dived in when the prospect came around the corner. The second his eyes locked on me, another shiver raced up my spine. This one different from the one the man in the shadows had initiated. That man had seemed to want to control me. The prospect wanted to…well, I wasn’t totally sure, but I had a feeling my being in so little clothing played into his hands just fine. A thought that had me doubting myself. He had been nothing but kind when we’d been in the truck. Just the initial weird staring, which could have been my perception of something being off. Just like his being around me in the pool—he could have shown up without any sort of untoward intentions. I might have been a little too overstimulated by the day’s events.

“I’m okay,” I said, wishing he would go back to the front porch and hating myself a little bit for feeling so anxious. “You don’t need to babysit me back here.”

He shrugged his boulder of a shoulder. “Flinch said watch you, so I’m watching.”

That answer only made me feel more awkward. I swam back and forth for a few minutes, entirely too aware of how high cut my bikini bottoms were and how much of my ass cheeks likely showed, before I no longer felt comfortable. The swim wouldn’t clear any of the cobwebs in my head or calm me down, so I exited the pool at the far side, grabbing the towel I had brought out and wiping myself down. I was just about to wrap the towel around my body to cover up when I heard my name called in the most comforting voice in the world.

“Flinch!” I hurried toward him, towel still in hand. Awkwardness of being in my bikini forgotten.

Flinch stepped around the corner of the house, and all my worries disappeared. All the stress flew off my shoulders. And the way he looked at me—those light eyes catalogued every detail from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. He ran that gaze over me multiple times, taking in every inch. Eyes growing darker with each pass. Unlike the prospect’s, Flinch’s gaze didn’t make me want to hide. At all. I liked him watching me.

“Having fun, short stack?” he asked. Before I could answer, he darted a look over my shoulder, and his entire face changed. He suddenly looked pissed as hell and ready to fight, which meant he had noticed the prospect who was likely still staring at my ass.

“Flinch.”

He growled, the sound deepening quickly and becoming more like a snarl as he tugged my towel to cover me. With one move, he grabbed me by my ass and lifted, settling me in his arms as I wrapped my legs around his waist. His hands stayed covering my ass cheeks, and he looked over my shoulder, that growling snarl growing deeper and more menacing.

“Get the fuck out of here, prospect. I can take care of my girl.”

The growling continued, so I ran my hands up over his shoulders and neck and into his hair. Trying to soothe him. Relaxing into his hold to give him the same comfort he gave me. It didn’t take too long, likely just enough time for the prospect to bug out, but eventually, Flinch stopped growling.

“Feel better?” I asked, still tugging on his hair.

He squeezed my ass and sighed. “He always look at you like that?”

“Like he wants me to be wearing even fewer clothes than I already am?”

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