Still, I told myself that nobody deserved to be manipulated and betrayed like that. Qwynn was determined to wrap him around her finger like a plaything. Qwynn didn’t care about Grim. And if Timothy was right, that mattered to Grim.
“Why are you telling me all this? This is super personal stuff. Aren’t you worried I’m going to spill to the wrong person or use this information?”
He didn’t respond for a long moment. Then he said, “I suppose there is safety in confiding to strangers.”
The only reason anyone confided to a stranger was because they didn’t believe the stranger would be around to remind the secret-teller of their sins.
Timothy didn’t tell me because I was some rando he’d never see again. He could tell me because these secrets would die with me. When all this was said and done, Grim still intended to twist my head off like a bottle cap.
My stomach clenched, even as I closed my eyes and set my hands under my head. I was cold again. Tempted to grab one of the fluffy throw blankets, I wanted to cocoon in it for warmth, but I refrained. I needed to be frosty for anything. It was the same reason I wouldn’t sleep in the guest bedroom. I needed to stay near the exit to be aware of anyone coming or going.
“You really care about him,” I said, trying to sound indifferent, but my voice came out scratchy.
“So do you,” Timothy said, before leaving me to sleep like the dead.
19
The soft chime of the elevator had me fighting to open my eyes. My instincts recognized it was the middle of the day and my body fought to remain in a deep, dreamless sleep. If Grim thought he could rouse me to play bait, he would have to carry me to where he kept the large box and stick he could set me under.
Images of Grim throwing me over his broad muscled shoulder triggered a warming sensation in the pit of my stomach. In my half-sleepy state, I fantasized he was about to whisk me off to his ginormous bed with the black silk sheets.
Before my thoughts got too X-rated, the smell of a stranger hit me. I bolted up on the couch and met the muzzle of a familiar gun.
“Miranda, was it?” I asked, peering past the barrel to the equally familiar face. “Pleasure to see you again. I’d offer you a drink, but you might shoot me.” I really wasn’t looking forward to getting shot.
Her dark kinky hair fell over one eye as she glared at me with precision focus. She’d come armed to the gills, wearing a chain with several crosses on it, a necklace of garlic around her neck, and a wooden stake was holstered at her side. She’d ditched the security uniform and instead wore a black, long-sleeved Under Armor shirt and army-issue fatigue pants, with her combat boots. Her dress was as tactical as her steely gaze. She was here on business.
“Wait, how’d you get in?” I glanced at the elevator. Security here was as tight as they come.
“All emergency responders know how to override an elevator.”
“You’re with the fire department?” I asked, skeptical. My eyes crossed, returning focus to the gun. Would a bullet to my skull kill me? I mean, Grim ripped off heads, and that did the trick. Maybe zombie rules applied with a head shot?
“No.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But I can get in and out of anywhere.”
“Security guard school?” I asked as casually as if I were inquiring about how old her kid was.
“Army,” she said, confirming my initial suspicion.
“Ah,” I said, keeping my hands up and tone light. “So did you come to kill me? Kind of rude to shoot someone who is just trying to get some shuteye.”
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill a bloodsucking vampire?” Despite her resolved expression, there was a real question in there.
“Because I saved your life? Because I kept your kid from being squashed by a couple of drunk assholes? Because I’m too pretty to die?” My answers tumbled out.So much for keeping cool.
There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but her trigger finger never relaxed. “Why does the owner of Sinopolis want you? Why is he keeping you up here? Are you some kind of bloodsucking pet to him?”
I made a face. That was the second time I’d heard that. “I’m no one’s pet.” The words came out gruffer than I intended. She pulled the hammer back on her gun.
I became cognizant of the blood pulsing through Miranda. It sang to me, begged me to open up a vein and drink. I was always ravenous right when I woke up. There was the familiar pinch of hunger in my stomach, and if I didn’t feed soon, some bad shit was likely to go down.
“Excuse my tone, I’m…hungry. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to grab myself a drink, so I don’t embarrass myself.” I tipped my fingers toward the kitchen.
“Not gonna happen,” she said, bringing up a cross with her other hand. The bottom was sharpened into a stake.
I used the opportunity to flinch from the cross. A smile of satisfaction formed on her lips. I grabbed the gun as quick as a lightning strike, disarming her. Terror took place of her surety, as Miranda realized the cross did nothing and I now had her gun pointed at her.
“Yeah, sorry, the cross is a bogus myth. I tried it out first chance I got. Same goes for the garlic, though I have to say I haven’t tried the wooden stake in the heart. Seemed too risky to test—”
