by Amy Love
“Safe f-from my father?” she asked when he moved toward her, raising a hand to stop him. She’d painted her nails recently—baby blue, like the sweater she’d been knitting the last time he was at her dorm apartment. He nodded, hands itching to run over her arms and drag her close, but he knew to keep his space. Still shaking, Beth swallowed hard, her eyes still watering, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “He would never hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Beth, but he may not be the guy you think he is, and—”
“Stop!”
“And I don’t want him to hurt you because—”
“Shut up, Gryff!” They both fell silent at her outburst, Gryff’s temper set off somewhat—though it wasn’t her fault she was emotional like this. None of this could be easy. She was allowed to be as distraught as she needed to be to process it. But suddenly she was taking off his sweater and shoving it back into his hands—and he didn’t want her to go, but she was. Stomping toward the door, Beth grabbed her discarded wet shirt and tugged it back on, hiding her beautiful body from him after just a brief glimpse.
“We can still talk this through, Beth,” he insisted, and this time it was Gryff following her too closely. The only difference was that he could physically stop her if he wanted, though the small voice of reason told him that it would be a dick move. “Don’t go.”
“I have to,” she snarled, yanking her coat on a little more forcefully than necessary. Her hair was starting to dry, the soft blonde strands springing up to form angelic waves around her face. Gryff wanted to run his hands over them, bury his nose in them and inhale deeply.
“You don’t—”
“My father is a good man,” Beth snapped, glaring at him with one hand on the doorknob, her bag thrown across her shoulder. “Flawed, like everyone else, but deep down he’s good. I’ve found evidence to prove his innocence, but it’s clear to me you just aren’t interested.”
“No, it’s just that—”
“And I don’t know what else to say at this point,” she carried on, her voice rising to a volume he’d never heard before, a clearness that rang so true it hurt him. “It seems like you’re just trying to put a wedge between us, or something, and I don’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
“Beth…” His voice cracked, breaking at the implication, as his throat seemed to tighten with emotion. The tears were still rolling down her cheeks.
“I can’t do this anymore with you,” she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his, looking more collected than he might have expected in this particular moment. “I’m done.”
Before he could force her name out again, so desperate to call out to her, she was out the door and gone. Gryff stared at it for a long while, his gaze fixed on the dark wood and the round metal knob, until he finally blinked and pressed his back to the wall. As he slid to the floor, he suddenly realized his eyes were watering too, and with Beth gone, he saw no reason to wipe away the lone tear he let fall.
Everything was fucked.
Everything.
Chapter 32
“In order to keep you fucks safe out on the road, we’ve got a few extra security measures in place for the next couple of deals. So you all better pay attention, because I’m not repeating myself, nor will anyone explain the plans again once this meeting is adjourned.”
There were a few groans and grunts through the crowded room, and Gryff let out a long sigh before downing half of his beer. It was strange seeing the MC’s bar with all the lights on—it always was. Like going behind the scenes at an amusement park and seeing how all the special effects and rides worked. Most of the guys there, like Gryff, had probably been craving the familiar dim lighting as soon as they arrived. Toby, meanwhile, had been yammering on about the upcoming coke dealings for almost an hour now. Which was fair, given the circumstances of the last few deals, but good God was he ever bored. Beside him, Micky was texting his wife with a lecherous grin on his lips—sexting more likely. Unable to help himself, Gryff pulled out his own phone, only to frown when Beth’s name wasn’t on the main screen.
No texts. No calls. No nothing since she fled his apartment in tears a few nights ago. He hadn’t contacted her either, but not because he didn’t want to. Gryff had been silent because he respected her enough to shut up and back off. As much as he wanted to bust down her door and draw her into his arms, he didn’t because while he might have been an asshole to some degree, he wasn’t an outright bastard with no regards for her feelings.
But then again, if he wasn’t a bastard, he wouldn’t have dragged her into this mess in the first place. He had no one to blame for the downfall of their relationship but himself. Exhaling heavily, he unlocked his phone screen and poked around until he was in his contacts area. There she was. Her profile picture beamed up at him as his thumb hovered over her name, wishing he had the courage to just press down and see what would happen.
But he didn’t. Because, apparently, he was a bastard and a coward. When Micky chuckled softly beside him, their shared little round table covered in discarded peanut shells and beer stains from last night’s patrons, Gryff locked his phone swiftly and shoved it back in the pocket of his leather coat, hoping that if it was out of sight, Beth would be out of mind. It was pushing seven thirty on a Thursday night. In an hour, the doors would open to drunkards and dancers and coke fiends. All sorts wandered through the dingy establishment, most of the patrons knowing that it was a place for the Steel Phoenixes to conduct whatever business they saw fit. Still, the MC didn’t like airing their dirty laundry in front of customers, which meant Toby ought to be wrapping up sometime soon.
And since Gryff wasn’t the one doing any coke runs in the near future, the meeting was basically just an hour and a half of his life he could never get back.
When Toby finally called the end of the meeting, the sea of leather jackets and studs dispersed, many headed for the bar, and some, like Gryff, headed for the door.
“You don’t want to stay for a drink?” Micky asked, as Gryff checked all his pockets quickly to make sure he had everything. “Feel like I owe you a round.”
“More like eight,” Gryff said with a chuckle, shooting his friend a small smile. “No. I’m done for the night.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Hey, Gryff…” Micky set a hand on his shoulder just as he was about to go, the gesture stopping him in his tracks. Gryff raised an eyebrow, thrown by the odd but kind expression on his old pal’s face. He almost asked if Micky was high, but thought better of it.
“What can I do for you, Mick?”
“I know the other night was probably tough on you,” his friend said, and neither of them had to specify which night was in question. Gryff knew. It was the night they told him to step up and stop being “swayed by pussy” or lose his hard-earned place in the MC. How the fuck could he ever forget?
Gryff waved him off with a shake of his head. “We really don’t have to talk about it.”
“I just want you to know it wasn’t personal.” His friend sought Gryff’s gaze, his thick eyebrows up. “You know that, right? We just want to find this guy and make him pay. If it’s the dean, we’re gonna act on it, no matter who you’re fucking.”
“Okay, okay,” Gryff muttered, stepping around Mick and shrugging. “We don’t have to talk about it. I know it wasn’t personal.”
Nor was the fucking thing an issue anymore, given that Beth had said she was done with him.
“Gryff?” Mick called out to him as he worked his way through the crowd of bikers, but Gryff pretended not to hear. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to continue, nor was he interested in hanging around to have a beer with anyone in the club tonight. Ever since his little meeting with the big boys, who all but handed his ass to him, he wasn’t really in the mood for socializing. If Micky brought up his somewhat antisocial attitude, it’d be easy to bullshit his way through an explanation if he needed to. Gryff had done it before.
Before he left, avoiding e
ye contact with any of the other guys who’d been at his disciplinary hearing, Gryff popped into the coat check room near the front door to retrieve his helmet.
“Not staying tonight, Gryff?” Doreen asked. She was Toby’s sister and had worked the coat check booth for the last ten years at least. While her hair was greying, her gorgeous smile and mischievous eyes could rival any college-aged beauty.
“Not in the mood, Doreen,” he replied, ignoring the urge to check his helmet over for bumps or scratches. Doreen knew better. She handed every helmet checked as if it was made of gold. She leaned forward, elbows on the divider between the coat check and bar territories, then let out a huff.
“You seem like you could use a good talk.” She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “Something on your mind?”
“Not in the mood for that either, I’m afraid.” Before turning for the door, Gryff threw her a playful wink, but she was already busy with a few other guys, who were looking to grab their checked helmets, too.
Once outside, Gryff popped his jacket up to keep the cold from biting at his exposed neck. A misting of rain had blanketed Blackwoods all day, and now that night had settled and the streetlights had come to life, it didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Glancing up, his eyes lingered on the bar’s signage, Phoenix Rises, the letter work crafted out of glowing red lights against a white backdrop. He owned some miniscule percentage of this place, but tonight he felt more disconnected from it than ever.
Beth had really done a number on him—and the only thing that gave him some peace of mind was that no one knew just how big a number it was except for him.
And maybe Beth. Did she know just how much her absence hurt him? How much his heart ached at the thought of never holding her again, never kissing her, never fucking her? Maybe. Maybe not. It wasn’t his place to hope she was pining after him, whatever the situation may be. That wouldn’t be fair of him.
Blinking fast, Gryff turned away and tried to put the bar and the bikers and everything else out of his mind. Driving while intoxicated wasn’t his thing, and getting on his bike with all those thoughts swirling around his brain was basically akin to being drunk. Helmet on, he straddled the bike and headed for home, mind blank right up until he locked his motorcycle and covered it for the night. In the light of the streetlight, he saw the flutter of falling rain, light and ineffectual, and for a moment he was lost in it. Only a moment though. Then he was swiping his hand through his hair and hurrying inside as a chill ran up his spine.
As soon as the door locked behind him, Gryff shed his wet outer layer, leaving the clothes in a pile on the floor in the front entryway, then headed for the kitchen to grab a beer. Just because he wasn’t in the mood to drink with any of the other Phoenixes didn’t mean he couldn’t use a boost of alcohol to help him forget. Bottle in hand, he leaned back against the counter, staring through the doorway into the living room—looking but not really seeing. With a shake of his head, Gryff downed the whole bottle in nearly one go, only coming up for air was it was absolutely necessary.
His place was quiet. It always was, but the smell of Beth’s perfume had long since faded, and now his apartment felt quieter and emptier than usual. He should have brought her here sooner. He should have opened up faster.
But hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?
Glaring at nothing in particular, Gryff stalked back to the front entrance and grabbed his pile of soaked clothes, jeans and leather jacket and all. It was then he caught a flash of something. Only it wasn’t the sight of it that caught his attention. No, the black blended with the bulk of his wardrobe. Instead, it was the smell. It smelled like her—sweet and flowery. The scarf Beth had knitted for him hung on the back of his door. He’d refused to wear it to a meeting with the MC, as if somehow the atmosphere would taint it. Unable to help himself, he reached for it and grazed his fingertips over the wooly garment, the wisps of black threads tickling his skin.
He ought to put it away so that her beautiful features wouldn’t dance across his mind every time he saw something that reminded him of her, but that wouldn’t do him any good. Beth appeared to him whether he saw something that reminded him of her or not.
And maybe there was a reason for that. Frowning, Gryff grabbed his wet clothing a little tighter, squishing rainwater out of the material and onto the floor, then turned and headed for his bedroom. The leather jacket he hung with care, while the rest was thrown into his empty laundry bin. Just as he was about to head back to the kitchen for another beer, his phone started to ring. With Beth on the brain, Gryff half-expected to see her name flash across the screen, but he swallowed his disappointment and pressed the mute button when he realized it was only Micky calling. Probably to make sure Gryff wasn’t teetering on the edge of the deep. Gryff had never needed to be disciplined. He was the guy the Steel Phoenixes could always count on. The threat of losing his place had definitely rattled him.
Rattled him into thinking straight. Beth fought so hard for her father’s innocence, and if a woman like that believed so wholeheartedly that he was innocent, maybe there was some merit to her claims. He hadn’t considered it before now, but maybe it was about time Gryff pulled some strings, called in all his most needed favors, to see if he had actually been wrong. While he wanted whoever had orchestrated the cold-blooded murder of his fellow Phoenixes to suffer and die a brutal death, he wouldn’t wish that fate on an innocent man.
He needed to be completely sure. The Phoenixes were fairly sure that his intel was good, that the dean was the one responsible for paying off the freelance hitmen, but the harder Beth fought against him, the more Gryff started to doubt the conclusions he’d come to.
Gryff hovered between the living room and the kitchen, between getting a beer and acting on his doubts. In that moment, he caught a whiff of Beth again, as if her spirit had somehow embedded itself in his apartment. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath—but the scent was gone before he could exhale.
One last time. He needed to look one last time into this situation with Dean Darryl Truman, if only to save a potentially innocent man from a horrific fate. Gryff wasn’t blinded by the need to avenge his fallen brothers anymore—not when it came to the dean, anyway. It wasn’t about blindly pointing a finger and watching a man burn anymore. It was about making the real puppet master fry—and Gryff couldn’t risk losing the real killer by taking down the most obvious fake one.
He just needed to be sure.
Turning away from the kitchen, he went for his office instead, then pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number. The man on the other line answered with a grunt, and Gryff took a deep breath.
“It’s Gryff,” he said softly, settling at his desk and opening his laptop. “I know you’ve already looked into this university funds thing, but… I need you to do just one thing more for me. You know you owe me…”
Chapter 33
“I think we’re going to call it a night…”
Beth’s gaze shot up from her laptop at the sound of Professor Holstein’s announcement. While she could have half-listened to the study session for another hour or so, it was very apparent that the table of first year students was ready to call it quits. Seconds later, books started to close, the rustle of backpacks sounded, and laptops were packed up. Everyone in the small study room looked almost as exhausted as she felt most days. First year, unfortunately, wasn’t an easy one, and it only went downhill from there.
“Be sure to bring in your first draft case studies for our next session,” Professor Holstein continued, as the students started to file out of the room. A few nodded and smiled, but it was clear the rest of them just wanted to get out, which always made her glare. She and Holstein organized these study sessions to help people. They weren’t mandatory. Sometimes they even had upper year students dropping in just to brush up on some information. Most nights Beth found them to be an extremely helpful reminder of lesson learned, and she hated seeing ungrateful little brats wasting them.
When they were alone moments later, Holstein turned from the huge circular table that took up the majority of the room, then began erasing the notes he’d scribbled on the whiteboard. Beth, meanwhile, began to slowly pack her things. Life had been going in a slow, drudging pace since she called things off with Gryff. Food didn’t taste as good. The sun didn’t seem as bright. Beth didn’t move as fast, her limbs weight down by the heavy feeling in her heart. But still she forced herself to do things: go to class, keep up with readings, and help Holstein with his voluntary study sessions. If anything, she wanted to just keep busy; it had only been a few days since she flew out of Gryff’s apartment in a storm of tears and rage, and rather than hiding in her apartment, shoveling down ice cream, and binging on mindless TV, Beth thought it more productive to keep busy.