Page 27 of Shattered By Grace

Well, fuck me. This man is scarier than Tristan and I didn’t think that was possible.

Something about him…his stillness, his closed-off expression, made it impossible to tell if he was being callous or if this was just who he was. The effortless control, the untouchable calm were unnervingly compelling.

But she didn’t have time for enigmas. Her pulse spiked with frustration. “Have you seen Taylor or not?” she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.

"Last I saw her, she was over there." Tyson’s voice was smooth, detached, his long fingers extending as he pointed. The motion was subtle, yet the muscles beneath his sleeve flexed with restrained strength. "It’s getting late. You should take your friend home." There was an edge to his tone, not quite a suggestion but more like a warning.

A chill traced Victoria’s spine. She followed his gaze and spotted Taylor at the far end of the bar, practically glued to some guy, grinding against him with her tongue down his throat. Her stomach twisted. "I need to call us a car," she muttered, pulling out her phone.

Before she could complete the request, Tyson’s hand moved with eerie precision, plucking the device from her grasp.

"Hey!" Victoria snapped, a mix of confusion and irritation flaring in her voice. "What the hell are you doing?"

Tyson didn’t answer. He simply lifted a hand, signaling to a man lingering in the shadows near the corner of the bar. The man moved toward them without hesitation, his steps silent, his presence unsettling. There was something practiced and calculated about him. Someone who could disappear as easily as he appeared.

Everything about the situation felt wrong.

Victoria’s instincts screamed at her to back away. "What’s going on, Tyson?" she asked, her voice low, laced with unease. Her heart pounded, torn between frustration and the nagging sense that something much bigger was happening beneath the surface.

Tyson remained impossibly composed, his expression unreadable. “Let me make this simple for you,” he said smoothly, his voice steady and deliberate. “You don’t want to behere when the night takes a turn.” His gaze flickered past her for the briefest second, scanning the room, before settling back on her with quiet intensity. “I’m getting you out of here. No arguments.”

His tone wasn’t forceful, yet it carried a weight that left no room for defiance. A suggestion that wasn’t really a suggestion at all. It was unsettling how easily he took control of the situation, how he acted as if he already knew the outcome.

Victoria crossed her arms, resisting the pull of his words. “And why exactly should I trust you?”

Tyson exhaled slowly, his eyes flickering with a shadow of emotion quickly masked. “Because I’m the only one here who gives a damn about what happens to you.”

“Where’s Tristan?”The words slipped out before Victoria could stop them, unbidden and reckless.

What the hell am I doing? I shouldn’t be asking about him. I shouldn’t even be in this conversation.

Yet, there she was. Standing in front of his brother, tangled in something she didn’t fully understand but felt deep in her bones.

Tyson watched her with an unreadable expression, his head tilting slightly as if he could see right through her, peeling back the layers she desperately wanted to keep hidden. The way he moved was mesmerizing. Fluid, controlled, like a predator who never needed to rush. Power coiled beneath his every motion, restrained yet ever-present, a silent reminder that nothing around him happened outside of his control.

For the second time that night, Victoria found herself frozen, caught in the gravitational pull of the Locke twinsne fire, the other ice.

A slow, knowing glint flickered in Tyson’s dark eyes. “My driver is taking your friend home,” he said, his voice smooth, deliberate, every syllable carrying an air of finality. “I’m taking you home personally.”

A sharp laugh burst from Victoria, laced with disbelief. “You’re joking, right?” She shook her head, trying to snap herself out of whatever strange hold he had over her.Tristan’s brother. Their father killed my father.She had no business being here, no business feeling anything but disgust.

Determined to leave on her own terms, she turned sharply, but before she could take a step, Tyson’s hand wrapped around her forearm.

The contact sent a jolt through her. Unexpected, steady, firm without force.

Victoria glanced down at his grip, then back up at him. It wasn’t rough. It didn’t have to be.

“Tyson.” Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be, her pulse betraying her calm façade.

His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. “You don’t want to be here when the night takes a turn,” he repeated calmly.

She should hate him. She should walk away. But deep down, she knew if she did, he’d follow.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of her wanted him to.

"You didn’t answer me. Where’s Tristan?"

Tyson rolled his shoulder, glancing down at her with a look so unreadable it made her skin prickle. “He’s busy.” Flat. Emotionless. A dead end.

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