Page 77 of The Ripper

Did I just call Grimm my boyfriend in front of a stranger?

“Don’t apologize. Most men are shit in the kitchen. What did he cook for you?”

“Eggs, with an entire pound of salt on them.”

He laughed and shook his head, and I watched him with fascination, because he seemed so serene when he laughed, as if all the darkness radiating off him dissipated, leaving nothing but the men underneath.

“You’re going to feel a little pinch,” I said as I prepared to give him the injection.

“I don’t need anesthetic,” he said dryly.

I frowned, but decided not to ask why, just as I decided not to ask why he was lying about how he got injured, even though I knew it was self-inflicted, because the area of the cut, the angle and size were inconsistent with chopping vegetables.

“All right,” I relented, setting the syringe aside with the needle still covered. “It’s here in case you change your mind, it might hurt more than you think.”

He smiled, almost bitterly. “I’ve known pain all my life, my dear, don’t worry.”

I ignored the nickname he gave me and began to clean his wound, focusing on my task and not the intimidating man who seemed to be watching my face a little too intently. He showed no signs of discomfort as I stitched him up, almost as if it was just another day for him.

“There,” I smiled. “Good as new.”

I took off my gloves and threw them in the bin, then washed my hands and took out my prescription pad.

“I’m going to prescribe you a mild antibiotic to combat the risk of infection and I’ll ask you to come back in a week so I can check on the healing process,” I said as he stood up.

“Or I could give you my address and you can come by and see for yourself,” he said as he took his jacket from the hanger next to the door.

I shook my head, trying not to be intimidated by his size now that he was no longer seated. “I don’t make house calls.”

Was he flirting with me?

“Not even to your future father-in-law?” He smiled, and I froze.

Fuck.

When I looked up from my file, allowing myself to analyze him better, I could finally see it. The resemblance, the identical eyes, the apparently severe and dark exterior. He was an older version of Grimm, or rather Grimm was a younger version of him. His father, in the flesh, in Trauma 1, in the hospital where I worked.

Now it made sense why he asked for me specifically.

“Nikolai Abaddon,” he held out his unharmed hand, and I took it hesitantly.

But he didn’t shake it. In turn, he did what Klaus had done with Fleur that day at her house. He kissed the back of my hand and each of my knuckles before raising it to his forehead.

It was so strange to see all these burly men — who were presumably mafia affiliated — turn so gentle with women, and I wondered what made them like that, because criminals weren’t usually associated with tenderness. The ones I knew before used to hide that side of themselves so well you would think they were actually sociopaths. Some actually were, while some were just so afraid of vulnerability that they masked it every morning.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea you were Grimm’s father.” I smiled, although I was somewhat scared of him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my dear,” he said. “I should apologize for barging in on your workplace, but I had to see you, since my son seems so intent on keeping you away from me.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t know how our relationship will unfold and didn’t want you to meet a potential ex,” I said with a shrug, but he didn’t laugh at my joke. “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me.”

He smiled again, and for some reason, not that I knew who he was, that smile looked odd on him.

“You apologize a lot, Arella.” He shook his head. “I’m sure he had his reasons, but uncertainty regarding the relationship you two have is for sure not on the list.”

He took the prescription out of my hand.

“Is there a reason you wanted to meet me? I mean, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks.”

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