Page 39 of Grave Games

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, baby. Don’t you ever let go of me.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m holding you to that.” His expression hardened as he looked around the alley, before he wrapped a strong arm around my shoulders and headed toward the parking lot. “Let’s get you out of here before this shit-stain’s brothers come along and scrape up whatever’s left of him.”

*

Romeo

Anger.

I thought I knew what that felt like. As far as I was concerned, it was an emotion I could mold into a weapon whenever I needed it and could wield to my advantage.

But this…

As I drove Shy to my place, I could feel my hands shaking as they gripped the wheel. Not from fear. Hell, no. My whole damn body shook with a rage so epic it didn’t seem to have an end. But it had a beginning, and that beginning’s name was Marvel.

You wanted to spread your legs for me right from the jump, so crying rape now is pretty goddamn hilarious.

To hear that sonofabitch slut-shame the woman he’d raped snapped something in me that I hadn’t even known was there. My Shy had been damaged by that motherfucker, and now he dared to come back to rub her nose in it. So fuck him. Fuck him, fuck the fact that he was Hades Colgrave’s son, and fuck the fact that beating that unworthy little worm into nothing would no doubt trigger the First Blood rule and cause a war. I didn’t give a shit. No one disrespected Shiloh while I was around.

No one.

“Are your hands okay?”

The violent rage roaring through me quieted as if by magic at the sound of Shiloh’s voice. God, how I loved her voice—soft and sweet and more soothing than any music on the planet. Quickly I glanced over at her, huddled in the passenger’s seat in a way that made me think she was trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Because she was scared of me?

Oh shit, was my Shy girl afraid ofme?

My breath caught as that thought beat back the remaining anger, until all that remained was her. As gently as I knew how, I reached over to take her hand in mine.

“You tell me, baby. Look, see how good my hands are? I can hold your hand like nobody’s business.” For extra reassurance, I gave her fingers a squeeze. My heart did a crazy bump when she squeezed right back.

“I’m so worried you’re going to be in trouble now,” she confided, and at last her taut expression made sense. She wasn’t scaredofme. She was scaredforme. “What if Marvel and Radar go to the police? They know who you are. They could identify you.”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh, my chest suddenly feeling lighter than air. “Oh, my sweet Shy girl. You worried I’ll be dragged off to the pokey?”

“This isn’t funny, Romeo. I’ve heard of people sentenced to years behind bars for a fight like that.”

“Baby, the last thing those knuckleheads are going to do is go crying to the police about a beatdown. Hell, they wouldn’t go to the cops if I’d murdered their entire families all the way down to their pets. Going to the police is how the civilian world works, but you’re in the Gravediggers world now. We handle our problems ourselves.”

I heard her swallow. “Why do I get the feeling that going to the cops would be a way less murder-y thing to do?”

“Because you’re smart. And brave as hell,” I added, shooting her another glance. If anything, she looked more freaked out than ever, which was the last thing I wanted. “I came into the restaurant just at the tail end of you giving that piece of shit a first-class tongue-lashing while he sat there looking like he was about to bawl. But as much as I love the fact that you refused to let yourself be intimidated by him, I thought I told you to not engage. Did I not make myself clear?”

Her worried little face suddenly scowled, and that flash of feistiness cheered me right up.

“My idiot manager refused to let me hide out in the back until you got there, even when I told him that my kidnapper-slash-rapist had made an appearance. It didn’t matter that I’ve never been a problem employee before, or that I felt I was in danger. All that mattered to Dubya was me getting back out there on the floor, so fuck him. Even if he hadn’t fired me just now, I would’ve quit. I can’t work at a place where no one gives a damn about me.”

“Good,” I nodded, pleased. This was going better than expected. “You’re too good for that place, anyway. What do you know about office stuff?”

“Office stuff?”

“Clientele lists, billing, schedules for staff meetings, keeping track of purchases from distributors, payroll, inventory. That kind of thing.”

“Um… every summer during my high school years, I was an intern for a family friend at a business he owned—mechanical parts for small engines like vacuums and sewing machines. My dad can fix literally anything, including machinery like that, so they were good buddies. Why?”

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