Grant

Once they arrived at the brownstone, Grant lost all patience.

Blaire refused his assistance when she got out of the vehicle. He balled his fists in frustration, but allowed her to walk without him, thinking she wanted to preserve her dignity. She refused help from Tyler and Jake as well, so it wasn’t personal. But what Grant realized as he walked into their bedroom and saw Blaire packing a suitcase was that she was preparing to live without him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded as he stalked into the room.

“I’m leaving. I thought that was obvious,” she said as she limped into the closet to come back with an armful of clothes.

“Don’t be a martyr,” he growled, grabbing the items from her left arm and throwing them on the bed. “Look at yourself. You’re black and blue. You can’t even walk without a limp. Your wrist is sprained. Now is not the time to leave.”

“And just exactly when is the time to leave, Grant?” Blaire’s eyes flashed at him, defiance mixed with pain. “When someone else gets hurt? Killed?”

“Blaire, it’s not your fault. Mom’s accident. Liam dying,” Grant said with a sigh. “Orlov is dead, baby. We’re getting the evidence to the Justice Department. Pretty soon, you’ll be free and clear of the Bratva.”

Her lips trembled as she grabbed the clothes he discarded and continued to fold them into the suitcase.

“Don’t waste your time packing, Angel.”

“I need to get away from this place.”

“From me, you mean?” Grant felt a spike of his temper.

“I can’t take it,” she said. “When you shut me out when you’re angry, it drives me crazy. Those three days you didn’t bother to call or text me made me insecure. I didn’t like the person I had become. I stalked you online, for God’s sake,” she laughed without humor. “I think …” She shoved more clothes into the suitcase. “I think if we’d been okay—if you’d given me any indication we were okay—I could have accepted your actions in the ER. I wouldn’t have left with Andy and would’ve waited for Tyler instead.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God, is Andy okay?”

“He’s fine,” he grated.

“Okay …” Blaire whispered. “Okay,” she repeated. It was as if she had suddenly lost focus on what she was saying. She walked into the bathroom and swept all her toiletries into an open train case.

Grant strode in after her and put his hands on her shoulders but she jumped, so he dropped his hands at his sides. “Baby …”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m not strong enough to be with you, Grant. I’m too messed up here.” She tapped her head. “I went back there.”

His brows cinched together. “Back where?”

“In that dungeon.” Haunted eyes stared in the mirror. She reached out, tracing the lines of her reflection, but her eyes were unseeing. “He beat it out of me. Orlov.”

Grant’s body stiffened.

“When Andy was shot, I’d given up, but there was that spark …. some fight left in me. Orlov … he tried to beat it out of me, but it was Stefan who buried it. Seeing Liam brought back that fight, but it died with him, Grant. It’s gone.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t find it.”

How he wanted to take her into his arms but her whole body language right then screamed “hands off.”

“You’re grieving right now,” he told her. “The pain that monster inflicted on you, we’ll get through it. We’ll get that fight back in you, baby.”

She gave a shake of her head. “No, Grant. You can’t help me.” Her eyes met his in the mirror. “Because around you, I wish I never existed.”

Her words sent him reeling with physical pain as if a battering ram was driven into his chest. Her once enthralling hazel eyes stared back at him as lifeless as the dead. They weren’t even sad, there was just nothing in them. Blank.

She was back in that dungeon and he wondered with growing horror and panic if his presence was only making her retreat into those dark memories.

Still, he had to try and reach her. “Blaire,” he choked hoarsely. “Don’t do this. Please?”

She lowered her eyes and wiped a single tear from the side of her cheek.

“Come back to me, baby,” he tried again.

“It’s over, Grant,” she said. She smiled but it was full of pain. “It’s been over since you sent me away.”

Blaire wasn’t in the headspace to see reason, Grant realized then, but, if he let her leave, he wouldn’t have the chance to prove to her that what she was feeling was just a collective effect of what had happened to her. It was unfortunate Grant was the idiot who had started her into her downward spiral.

“You’re not leaving,” he declared. “If I have to keep you locked in this room, so be it.”

“Then you’re no better than Orlov,” she whispered, eyes blinking in disbelief.

He inwardly flinched at being compared to that son of a bitch, but hope flared seeing a reaction other than indifference.

“Yes, you’ve made that clear,” he jeered. “I’m one of the people who’ve started you on this self-pitying journey.”

This time her face blanched. “Self-pitying? LIAM IS DEAD!”

“Yes, so hate me for it.” Grant threw over his shoulder as he exited the bathroom without looking back. He felt Blaire chase after him. When he got to the door, she yanked his arm.

“You’re a heartless bastard!” she screamed at him.

“So hate me!” he roared. “Hate me,” he repeated, pounding a fist on his chest. “But you’re not fucking leaving, Blaire. You’re going to live with me, you’re going to endure my very existence—”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she cut him off.

“I’m not fucking you until you beg me,” Grant shot back. “You’re going to New York with me on Tuesday. We’ll spend the next few weeks there. We’re not living apart. Not for a single day, and you will accept that I am it for you.”

“I want my own bedroom.”

Grant’s chest rose and fell with difficulty. This woman tested every bit of his patience. She always had. His jaw worked convulsively as he stared at her. It was going to be torture not to have her in his arms while they slept, but it was probably a good thing, given her injuries. The temptation to be inside her was always strong. “Done.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and Grant inwardly smiled. She wasn’t expecting him to agree so quickly.

“Anything else?” he inquired with a quirk of his brow and was pleased to see that old fire in her eyes.

She shook her head and spun away from him.

He watched her retreat to the bathroom and heard her put stuff back on the counter.

The pressure weighing heavy on his chest lifted as he left the bedroom, but the work of winning Blaire back had only just began. He saw Tyler and Jake hanging around the kitchen, peeking down the hallway as he emerged from her bedroom.

“Tyler, keep an eye on Blaire. Do not let her leave the house for any reason.”

“Mr. Thorne?” His bodyguard’s brows drew together in confusion.

“She has it in her head to leave.”

“Are you saying I should physically restrain her if she wants to leave?”

“Yes, but if you harm a single hair on her head, I’m going to kill you.” He looked at Jake who was trying to control a grin. “You won’t think this is so funny after I talk to you. Let’s go to my office.”

When they reached his office, he motioned for Jake to close the door.

His security lead had a wary look on his face. “Are there problems, Mr. Thorne?”

“Who did you task to bring back Liam’s body?” Grant asked.

Jake told him that one of Liam’s crew took responsibility and promised to let them know when the feds would release his remains. Since the shootout at the storage facility was under investigation, Grant had no control over the evidence collected, but he was going to do his damnedest to make sure Blaire’s friend got the burial he deserved. He saved his woman when he couldn’t. Grant owed him everything.

“I have another request, Jake,” Grant said. “I want you to put a tracker on Blaire.”

“On her purse? Her phone already has one.”

“No. On her person.”

Jake grunted a laugh and shook his head. “Does she know?”

“She wants to leave me. You think I’d tell her?

“Mr. Thorne, with all due respect, that violates too many privacy laws.”

“Fuck privacy,” Grant growled. “I’m not going through that shit again of not knowing whether she’s alive or dead. I could take it when she left me voluntarily, but to have her taken from me, Jake? That fucking killed. The image of her beaten up and broken with a gun pointed at her head is forever seared into my brain. I’m obsessed with her safety. So either you do what I tell you or I’ll find someone who will. Would you trust someone else with this job?”

Jake glared at him. “I don’t like you forcing my hand, Mr. Thorne, but in the interest of Ms. Callahan’s safety, I’ll do it.”

“Good.”

Jake pivoted to head out the door and Grant could tell from his head of security’s rigid back that he was pissed at him. When Jake’s hand was on the doorknob, he called his attention. “Donovan.”

His man paused and turned his head slightly.

“Thanks for taking care of Orlov.”

Jake nodded. “My pleasure, Mr. Thorne.”