by M. A. Grant
“You weren’t supposed to kill her without me,” Zeke said.
“I’m sorry,” Delilah said. “I was afraid you’d change your mind about her–”
“Her?” Zeke scoffed, finally looking at Vivian. “As if she could hold my attention.” She knew he was playing a role, distracting Delilah only, but his words still cut.
Delilah loved them. A sharp trill left her and she twirled in the middle of the room, gun spinning with her, coming to rest on Vivian’s form. “I knew it.”
Zeke stepped toward her, holding up his hands when she jerked and trained the gun on him. “Can’t I touch you?” he pleaded. “You’ve been teasing me for months with your letters. How you acted with John at the restaurant. Right now. Let me touch you, Delilah. Please.”
Bile rose when the woman smiled at him and reached out for his hand, wrapping it around her waist and sliding it lower, holding it against the juncture of her thighs. Zeke didn’t flinch, didn’t break. Vivian couldn’t help it though. She hated when tears dropped to her shirt, staining the fabric with dark spots, while Delilah’s laughter filled her apartment.
“Let’s do it together,” Delilah urged, leaning back into Zeke as he wrapped another arm around her shoulders, draping a muscular forearm over her collarbone.
“Whatever you want,” he murmured, nuzzling against her neck.
“This is just like that dream I had,” Delilah said with a smile. “Do you remember the letter I sent about it?”
Delilah may not have noticed Zeke’s stillness, but Vivian did.
“How could I not remember it?” he covered.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Delilah said, lips curved in a sickening smile, eyes faraway. “Only a hero like you could save me.”
She looked up at Zeke, waiting for him to continue the dialogue. When he didn’t, her smile faded, lips trembling.
Only then did he smile back at her, a dark, terrifying twist of his lips. “Fuck you.”
He disarmed her too quickly for Vivian to follow the movements. And Delilah’s wordless scream of rage broke off when Zeke brought the pistol grip down against the side of her head. The woman dropped to the ground. Zeke crouched, checking her pulse. He unbuckled his belt, wrapped her arms with it, and ripped a nearby lamp from the wall, binding her ankles with the power cord. Only then did he rise and move to Vivian.
“You hit her,” Vivian whispered, eyes fixed to the limp form in the middle of her living room.
“Not a hero, love. Already warned you that.”
“The police–?” she asked as he ripped the duct tape from her ankles.
“On their way. John called ahead for me. Are you okay?”
She winced when her hands came free. Zeke rubbed them, making the tingles worse for a few painful breaths before they faded from her fingers. “My head hurts, but other than that I’m fine.”
He pressed her to his chest without warning, his arms banded around her back. Now the tears came, hot and thick, wetting the collar of his shirt where she buried her face against his skin. “Is–is John okay?” she managed through the gasps.
Zeke shook his head. “Of course you’d be more worried about him than yourself. He’s embarrassed and pissed and has a giant fecking bump on his head, but he’ll live.”
“Thank God.” The horrible thought that Delilah could have taken away one of the only men who understood Zeke’s demons didn’t completely leave, but at least now it was muted, overwhelmed with other concerns.
Like what to do about the sirens outside her apartment. “What will they do with her?” Vivian asked quietly as Zeke lifted her to her feet and unlocked the front door. She winced a little when the door opened and the shrill noises increased in volume, but his steady warmth at her side, supporting her, made it bearable.
“No idea. Hopefully get her some help.”
“You aren’t afraid she’ll come back for us?”
The harsh lines of his face softened and he brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. “No, darlin’, I’m not. Arson, kidnapping, battery, attempted murder...I don’t think Detective Mancini is lacking the evidence necessary to put her away.”
Officers spilled from the cars and rushed toward the open doorway. Zeke drew away from her long enough to set the pistol on the floor, several feet from him, and took her into his arms again. “We’ll be fine,” he promised.
“I know,” she agreed, even as police swarmed her apartment. She didn’t care how many questions they asked, how long it took them to remove Delilah from her apartment, how many interviews she was told she’d need to do. Zeke never let her go.
That was enough.
***
Six months later
“Nice place, Irish.”
Zeke didn’t bother to hide his grin when Preston stepped inside Ex Libris, ignoring the “opening soon” sign that warned off most customers. “Finally made it to Seattle, eh?”
“Tech conference. Figured I had a few minutes to burn between sessions.” Preston glanced around the inviting space, nodding sagely.
The shop was Zeke’s second pride and joy. The polished wood, wide book selection, and specialty items confirmed that. But his greatest treasure had heard the name and was hurrying over from behind the counter of what would soon be the bookstore’s coffee shop.
“You’re Preston?” Vivian asked, wiping her hands on a towel and smiling widely at the Texan.
“Yes, ma’am. You must be Vivian.”
She nodded as they shook hands. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Zeke’s told me so much about you.”
“I’m innocent, I swear. You’re opening up shop in here too?”
Vivian looked over her shoulder. “Just until the work on my shop next door is done. The insurance from the fire was enough to give me a fresh start here. I’ll miss my workers, but we found them jobs at other bakeries, so I know they’ll be fine.”
“Beautiful and kind.” Preston gave her a knowing look and then glanced up at Zeke, who’d moved to stand behind her protectively. “Makes sense now, Irish. Nicely done.”
“If you see anything you want, pull it, and I’ll ship it to you once we open,” Zeke told him.
His former boss took the hint and vanished back amongst the shelves. Vivian tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “He’s nice.”
“Guess so.”
He didn’t fight the urge to lean down and kiss her, tongue coaxing her lips to part, reveling in the soft mewl of contentment she made against his mouth.
“What was that for?” she asked, licking her lips and turning to face him.
“Because I love you. What do you say to making this an early night?”
Vivian pushed halfheartedly against his chest. “We already made it a late morning.”
“I know,” Zeke growled, capturing her hands in his. “So let’s not ruin a perfect day.”
She laughed until he pressed his hips against hers and let her feel his erection. “I guess we could head home early,” she admitted, voice breathy as she rocked against him. “I mean, we still haven’t finished breaking in the new bed.”
“Damn shame,” he said. “We should go now.”
“You’re insatiable,” she teased. “Is it really this easy to keep you happy?”
“Yes. As long as I have you.” Standing there in his bookstore, with the woman he loved in his arms, Zeke realized every word was true. His new mission statement. His promise to himself.
And for the first time in a long while, Ezekiel Harding finally gave a fuck.
Welcome to The Club
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About the Author
Marion Audrey Grant is fortunate to live in the rugged beauty of Alaska's Kenai Peninsula. She's believed in happy endings and true love since she was very y
oung. The realization that she had stories of her own to tell would lead her to graduate college with majors in Creative Writing and English.
Thanks to her husband’s unending support, she now works as a scribe to the intelligent women and wounded heroes who need their stories told.
To find out about upcoming releases, visit
www.marionaudreygrant.com