Page 66 of Bleed

I freeze, then slowly turn around. “What?”

He shifts his weight, dropping his gaze. “I’m just saying…”

“Are you firing me?”

“Of course not,” he grumbles. “But with your reduced hours, I’ll probably need to look into bringing on someone else anyways, and–”

“So you are firing me!” I interrupt, throwing up my hands. “This is such bullshit. Dev wanders in whenever the hell he wants, and he’s never even gotten a slap on the wrist!”

Ronnie heaves a sigh, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake, Bex, I’m not firing you.”

“You just told me to take time off.”

He points toward the door. “Because you've got vamps showing up at my shop.”

“One vamp,” I snap.

“That's one too many.”

I snatch up my purse, cursing under my breath.

“Listen, kid,” Ronnie says apologetically. “I’m just trying to look out for you…”

“I don’t need you looking out for me,” I huff, slinging my purse strap over my shoulder.

His expression softens. “I know you think that, but everyone needs someone.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, and I turn away before he can see them, heading for the door.

I hate that Ronnie sounds worried.

I hate that he’s making sense.

And most of all, I hate that Vincent managed to taint the one place that still felt normal.

“Bex, come on!” Ronnie calls after me, but I don’t break stride. I just flip the lock and shove through the front door, letting it swing shut behind me hard enough to rattle the glass.

There’s a black SUV waiting at the end of the block, right where it dropped me off hours ago. One of Elliott’s security guys is behind the wheel, and he must spot me coming because the doors unlock before I even reach for the handle.

I yank the back door open and practically throw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me.

The driver glances up in the rearview mirror.

“Everything alright, miss?”

“No,” I huff, the answer slipping out before I can stop it.

He tilts his head ever so slightly, waiting.

I drag a hand over my face and let out a tired breath.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m fine. Just take me home, please.”

He doesn’t press– just nods once, shifts the SUV into drive, and pulls away from the curb.

I sag against the window, the cool glass soothing against my temple as the streetlights smear past outside. My pulse is finally starting to slow, but my stomach is still twisted into knots, anger and embarrassment warring with the waning adrenaline.

Vincent’s eerie smile is seared into my damn brain. I replay every word of our conversation, wondering if I should’ve handled it differently and whether name-dropping Elliott was enough, or if that only bought me a little more time.