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“Pick up your shit; we’re leaving.” He let her go roughly. Violet did but took her time.
Despite his words, she stopped for a coat, new boots, and makeup. By the time they were heading for the exit, he was weighed down with bags, jaw clenched tight and eyes steely, and Violet couldn’t decide if she regretted riling him or thought he deserved it.
She was pondering it when a familiar face registered in her vision. Shock ran through her at seeing someone she knew, someone from outside.
“Jared!” she yelled, twisting sideways and away from Mikel, lest he grab her. Hope sprung forth in her chest. “Jared! Jared, hey!”
She crossed the car lane without looking, breathless with excitement at the sight of one of her dad’s security guys here. They locked eyes and relief washed through her, hope.
“Help, they’re keeping me here. I need—” A strong hand seized her arm, yanked her back, but her eyes stayed on the familiar man while he stood frozen for a long moment, something like shock on his face. Then, he stepped back, turned, and rushed away.
“No! Wait! Wait!” She struggled in Mikel’s grip before she was jerked back against him, held tight, a hand over her mouth while she screamed against it and kicked and clawed at him.
“Stop,” he insisted darkly in her ear.
All the hope inside her collapsed, tumbling in on itself until her desperate shouts were tears, spilling down her cheeks and onto his hand. Then, she was still. When she sagged back against him, he held her, and for the first time since she’d left Frankston, grief swallowed her.
It was like walking through a haze. A hand on her arm guided her back to the store and kept a grip while he picked up the bags. Mikel walked her to the truck, lifted her into the cab when she didn’t climb up, and didn’t pull away when she refused to let go of her hold on him and her tears soaked the shoulder of his jacket.
He pulled her hair back off her face. Violet listened to the rumble of his voice when he told her it would be all right and hated herself that she found comfort in it. “Easy, now,” he said, when she sucked in a stuttering breath and drew back, giving her a moment to collect herself while he loaded some of her bags at her feet and the rest into the back. With it done, his gaze came back to her, and shame saw Violet look away.
Fingers touched her cheek and large thumbs swiped under her eyes, taking her tears. He pulled her seatbelt across her, closed the door, and she searched the dark parking lot for any signs of Jared. Violet was unable to understand why he’d turned away. She didn’t know him, not really, but enough that she was sure he recognized her, that he could have helped her.
Maybe he’s stuck here too?
They rolled to a stop at a Starbucks drive-thru, and Violet’s mind had officially checked out of her body, too tired under the weight of werewolves and illicit woodland encounters and almost escapes to stick around. Mikel scratching the back of his neck and struggling to order, “A medium black coffee and a chicken sandwich,” tugged part of her back.
“Grande.” Her voice was scratchy and unintentionally fond. “You want a grande black coffee and the chicken and bacon panini.”
Despite a slight butchering of the panini, he managed, then turned back to her with a smile and expectant eyes before gesturing at the speaker box.
“Could I get a grande caramel frappe and the cranberry walnut salad with the dressing on the side.” She cleared her throat and managed a small smile at him. “Also, my name is Violet Page, I’m being held hostage—”
“She’s an outsider; she’s adjusting.” Mikel cut her off, while he pushed her back in her seat, a playfulness Violet had never heard dancing in his tone. “One chocolate cake on a stick thing, and that’ll be all, ma’am.”
Nothing was fixed, but the drive home went a little easier with a caramel frappe in her cup holder, the chocolate cake pop he’d plopped unceremoniously into her lap, and soft green eyes that were never far from her.
VIOLET PADDED BAREFOOTdown the hall later, her tears shed quietly into the pillows away from Mikel’s concerned eyes. She found him on the sofa, feet up, a cushion behind his head and glasses perched on his nose.
“You wear readers?” she asked.
His gaze flicked from the book to her, and the double take he did was visible. Herpajamaswere soft short shorts and a thin black tank. His eyes catalogued all the skin they failed to cover, twice, before he sat up and set the book, then his glasses down on the coffee table without answering. Mikel patted the sofa beside him. Itshouldn’thave sent a tendril of heat curling into her belly.
When she sat, he bent forward, taking hold of her lower leg to look at the ugly puffy scrape there that still hadn’t healed from her tussle with Jason in the forest. “Needs fixin,’” was all he said before he disappeared into the kitchen.
While he was gone, Violet picked up his book, careful not to lose his place when she turned it over in her hands—a catalogue of fixtures, fittings, and little metal bits that could be screwed into wood.
“Do you do anything other than work?” she asked when he reappeared and perched on the coffee table in front of her.
“Run around after you.” He was gentle when he set her foot on his leg.
“Ouch, what the—” Violet sucked in a breath at the sting of an alcohol wipe on the broken, scabby mess on her shin.
He had the gall to smirk at her, her ankle caught tight in his grasp. She bore the rest of his attention quietly, watching big hands that were surprisingly gentle put Neosporin and a Band-Aid over the wound that admittedly had started to look a little rough.
“You going to take care of it from now on?” He set the box of Band-Aids and the tube of ointment beside him on the table, fingers still wrapped loose and warm around her calf. Aside from being patronized by the question, something else struck Violet.
“Why do you act like you care about me?” Her words weren’t malicious, yet he didn’t answer. “If you really want to help, drive me to the town line, or better yet, back to Frankston.”
