Griff’s gaze drifts toward the roller door and out onto the street, the way a man looks when he already knows what is out there because he has been standing in it.
Something pricks at the back of my neck. He was watching the workshop, waiting for Rainer to leave before he walked in.
His gaze slides back to me.
“So where’s the blonde?”
The workshop goes silent as every molecule of air rearranges itself. Griff’s smile turns sharp at the edges, the smile of a man who has just found what he came looking for.
“You know. That hot little thing you walked to her car the other day,” he says.
My body moves before the better version of me can intervene.
One second, he’s standing there with his Zippo and his smug mouth. The next, my hand is around his throat and I have him backed against the shelving unit, tools rattling on the wall behind him. My face is close enough to his that I can see the exact moment he realizes he has miscalculated.
“You’ve been watching this place,” I say.
He wheezes, one hand coming up to grab my wrist. He doesn’t look frightened. That’s the worst part. He looks satisfied.
I tighten my grip.
Not enough to cause real damage, but enough to make a point.
“Fucking answer me.”
“I think I touched a nerve,” he manages, his voice strained under the pressure.
I slam him back against the shelving unit again, hard enough that half the tools on the wall shift, and some of them fall onto the floor.
His throat works under my hand.
That old heat rises fast. Red and completely familiar. The part of me that prison sharpened rather than killed. The part thatknows exactly how much pressure it takes to push a man from defiant to desperate.
My heart hammers as I glare at him and then Rainer’s voice cuts through it, clear as anything, pulled up from years past in this same workshop.
You’re not some lost fucking kid anymore, Zane. You don’t have to keep fighting.
I drag in a breath through my nose and loosen my grip. Not because Griff deserves it, but because of Rainer and the trust he keeps extending to me, no matter how many times I have tested its edges.
I keep my hand at his throat because he opened his mouth about Skylar and he needs to clearly understand exactly what that costs him before he walks out of here.
“You want to come in here and run your mouth about Ricky, money, and whatever debt keeps you feeling important,” I say, my voice steady and entirely serious. “Fine. But if you mention her again, watch her again, or even breathe in her direction, whatever you think I owe won’t matter, because I will become the kind of problem even Ricky cannot cash out.”
Griff’s eyes water from lack of air, but the bastard still tries to smile.
I let go of him, not because he deserves mercy. I do it because of Rainer and every piece of trust that man has extended to me and I have no intention of burning it all down in my own hands.
He coughs, one hand going up to his throat, face flushed. His eyes are bright with spite and something that looks uncomfortably like victory. The look of a man who came here to find out one specific thing and has just found it out completely. I handed it to him without hesitation, like the same stupid prick I have always been.
He finds the Zippo on the floor, picks it up, and wipes it on his jeans. He flicks it open again. The flame catches and holds and he looks at me over it for a long moment.
His hand shakes. Only slightly. But I still see it.
He slips the Zippo back into his pocket and backs toward the roller door, taking his time with it as he does with everything, making sure I watch him leave on his terms.
Then he ducks beneath the door and disappears.
I stand in the middle of the workshop, my fists clenched, my chest heaving, every muscle in my body wound tight for a fight that has already walked away.
