Page 53 of Scornful

His jaw sports a bruise from my father's fist, and there's a cut on his lip, but otherwise he’s okay.

I try to make a joke, hoping he’ll find it funny. "I’m surprised you're able to walk."

A wry smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah, slipped out before he could get me—and I'm not kiddin’."

The other women exchange looks, somewhat amused with the situation, and I think even a little worried for him.

"We'll give you two some privacy," Fern says, already herding the others toward the door. "The furniture's all set up. Just need to dispose of the boxes."

"We'll handle it," Mom says, squeezing my shoulder as she passes. "Take your time."

In moments, they're gone, the door locking behind them with a click.

"How bad is it?" I ask once we're alone.

Geirolf moves closer, his presence filling the space between us. "Your dad's beyond pissed. Emil wants my head on a platter.Oskar gave a little bit of a shit, but nothing too much. But Runes is keeping everyone calm for now."

"For now."

"Yeah." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. Processing. Wondering if I made things worse by opening my big mouth."

"You were brave," he says. "Braver than me."

I study him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself carefully. "There's something else. What is it?"

"Someone's watching the spa," I tell him. "Blue sedan across the street. Been there a while."

His expression hardens immediately. "Show me."

I lead him to the window, pointing out the car.

Geirolf's body goes rigid beside me. "Stay here," he orders, already moving toward the door.

"Wait—" But he's gone, striding across the street like my life depends on it.

I watch, heart in my throat, as he approaches the sedan.

The driver—I can see now it's a man—tries to start the engine, but Geirolf's already at the door, yanking it open.

Words are exchanged. I can't hear them, but I can see Geirolf's body language, and it doesn’t look good.

The man raises his hands defensively, shaking his head rapidly.

After a few moments, the car speeds away. Geirolf watches it go, then heads back to the spa.

"Who was it?" I ask as soon as he's inside.

"Nobody. Some PI hired to watch you. Probably the Patriot's doing." His jaw clenches. "I got his license plate. We'll track him down. I’m gonna shoot a text off to the club and let them know what’s up, though."

Geirolf pulls out his phone and texts the club’s group chat.

I grumble, "Great. As if we don't have enough problems."

"Hey." He cups my face in his hands. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Not on my watch."

I lean into his touch, some of my tension melting away. "You look stressed."

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