Page 94 of Playing Hard to Hate
Damian blinked rapidly, his gaze darting around the room like the walls were closing in. I watched him in the mirror, the way he seemed to be losing his mind under the pressure. Sweat dripped down his temple. His pupils were blown wide, not just with rage, but fear.
Griffin took a slow step forward, voice steady. “Listen to me. Killing her won’t fix this. It won’t get you the money, and it sure as hell won’t save you.”
“They’ll go after my mom, my sister.” His voice broke, a cry breaking from his lips.
“Don’t take it out on Tate. You’ve known her almost your entire life.” Griffin pressed, and I fought the sob that was fighting to break from my chest.
We had once been friends in school.
Friends.
And now here we are.
“What’s the money for, Damian?” Griffin kept him talking as he inched closer to us.
“I…I…” Damian hesitated. “Drugs, fucking drugs.” His hold on me was almost completely slack at the moment.
“All they want is fifty grand?” Griffin asked again, his eyes on Damian’s arms and the knife that he was slowly dropping away from my neck. One arm limply held me against his sweaty chest.
“That’s what they said,” Damian confirmed, but from the look Griffin and I shared, it’s never just fifty grand.
Where were the fucking police? Surely Griffin had called them when he saw the door?
“I’m sorry, Damian.”
One second, Damian’s grip was crushing me, the knife still too close to my skin. The next, Iwas yanked away so fast my feet barely caught up.
Griffin.
A sharp gasp left my lips as his body shielded mine, and then,crack.
Griffin’s fist slammed into Damian’s jaw with a sickening force, sending him flying onto his back. A strangled noise tore from Damian’s throat as he scrambled to get up, his eyes wild with rage and desperation.
He lunged.
Griffin met him head-on.Fists, elbows, raw fury. They hit the floor with a thud, the vanity table shaking with the impact. My heart pounded against my ribs as they wrestled for control, Damian swinging blindly, Griffin dodging on pure instinct.
Damian threw a punch. Griffin caught it. Twisted. Slammed his knuckles into Damian’s face again.
Damian’s body went slack.
I barely registered the fact that he wasn’t moving before I grabbed Griffin’s hands, my fingers shaking as I tried to inspect them.
“Oh my god.” My voice was thin, frantic. “Your hands, your career, Griffin. What did you do?”
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t even look at me.
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the door, his grip firm but careful. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“But—”
“Tate.” His voice left no room for argument. “Baby, I need you out of here.”
I looked back once. Just once. Damian’s unconscious body sprawled out on the floor. The knife glinted a few feet away.
Then Griffin tugged me forward, and I followed. Because right now, nothing mattered more than getting out of that apartment.
