Page 30 of Greed
But he wasn’t. His mind was already in the past, to when he’d woken from a black haze to finding dead bodies all around him. To the foreign scenery covered in red eviscerated body parts. And he didn’t even remember doing it. How could he be Lilo’s mate, let alone stand next to her with that kind of monster inside him?
Right on queue, at the thought of Lilo, metal objects around the room started to shake. The dumbbells. The weights. The machines. It was as though a zero-gravity earthquake had hit, or a freight train traveled nearby. Each metal item lifted a few inches from the ground. They trembled and shook.
“Griff?” Mary gasped, eyes darting around nervously.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Griffin bit his tongue and forced himself to calm. He imagined hot water streaming over his body. He imagined himself alone in the shower, at peace. The air in his lungs slowed its journey, and his heart rate steadied. The metal objects lowered to the ground and stilled, rattling becoming nothing but a memory.
Good. See? He could control himself fine when he pushed Lilo from his mind. He was in control, and he needed no help.
Mary gaped, looking around the room at the disarray of metal objects, now scattered haphazard across the room. “You’re lying to yourself if you believe that.”
Wooden man done. Cardio next.
Griffin stalked to the treadmill on the far side of the gymnasium. Before he got onto the conveyor, he shifted the skewiff machine back to its straightened position and then hit the program button for the most demanding workout.
The more he taxed himself, the easier it would be for him to process the events of the day. The new job. The fake Greed. Owing Lilo. Lilo. Why did he keep coming back to her? Her bubblegum scent had seared into his nostrils.
He started jogging but, before long, his track pants were drenched with sweat and sticking to him. He pretended he didn’t care, that he was in control, but the texture of the fabric had changed. Once smooth, it was now sticky and weighty. Stubbornly, he kept running until he couldn’t take it anymore, roared in frustration and stopped, stripping his pants until he sat on the gymnasium floor in his boxer shorts.
“Satisfied now?” Mary’s distant voice held no smugness, only patience.
And that made him more irritated. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced his outward countenance to calm. “Not even close.”
He tried to stand, but wavered and sat back down. Just a minute, that’s all he needed and he would be fine. He rested his elbows on his knees and winced at the pinch in his shoulder. After placing his head on his forearms, he slowly breathed through the gap and stared at the floor. It was a technique Mary had shown him when he was younger to help block external stimulation and focus on recovery.
“You met someone.” It was a statement, not a question.
Griffin’s only reply was that he didn’t need anyone.
Mary clicked her tongue. “You of all people need someone.”
“You of all people have no right to say that.” He regretted the words the instant they came out of his mouth. He’d been doing a lot of that lately.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you made us leave you to train with strangers.” Because he’d been away from her protection, and he’d been tortured. He’d killed. “What do you know about needing someone?”
What kind of mother sent her children away?
Mary’s quiet footsteps padded through the room until Griffin saw her bare feet in front of him. She crouched and waited. He inhaled a deep shuddering breath. When Griffin lifted his gaze, he found eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Griffin, I did the best I could to prepare you for what you have to face now. The future I foretold years ago is starting to arrive, and we’ve only seen the beginning. I couldn’t train seven gifted teenagers on my own. I had to get help.”
“Sometimes the help did a terrible job.”
“I’m sorry.” She tried to put her hand on his arm, but he cut her down with a glare.
He knew he was being irrational, pushing his problems onto her because she was an easy target. It was unfair, but he couldn’t stop. The alternative was looking at himself.
A man cleared his throat.
Griffin shifted his glare to the door where Flint stood, hands on hips. Flint was a tall man of about sixty who had kept fit and slim. He wore a flannelette shirt, buttons open to reveal a white T-shirt tainted with black grease. The baseball cap on his head was also stained and turned backward.
He probably shouldn’t wear light colors with his occupation.
“I think it’s about time you and I had ourselves a little chat, son. Step into my office.”
Flint sent his wife a look Griffin couldn’t decipher.
