Page 6 of Forget-Me-Nots and Apricots

I shut my eyes against it, against him, against the slow-motion horror of being trapped.

For the first time, fear settles beneath my fury. He’s not even trying. That’s the worst part. The weight of him isn’t desperate, it’s frantic. It’s methodical. He’s calm, and that makes it so much worse.

A new voice cuts through the tension. "Let her go." The younger Alpha steps forward, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

The Alpha holding me exhales through his nose, a noise of pure irritation, but his grip slackens slightly. I suck in a precious lungful of air, ready to spit something cutting, but I hold back.

Something’s shifting. The tide is turning.

Mr. Graner takes another step inside, and I latch onto his presence like a lifeline. He looks frail, but the authority in his voice is unshaken. "Do as I say."

The Alpha growls, low and frustrated, but he finally releases me, pushing off as if I’m not worth the effort.

I scramble backward, gulping air, my palms stinging from where I caught myself against the cold floor. My whole body hums with the need to fight, but I don’t. Not yet.

The moment stretches, thick with unspoken tension. I drag my gaze up to my attacker. He’s watching me, something unreadable in his dark eyes, and I see it—the frustration of someone who isn’t used to being told no.

"Sorry about my colleague," says the other Alpha, the one with Mr. Graner. "You must have looked pretty suspicious for him to tackle you like that." I flash him a feral grin.

"Not many women with purple hair in this part of town," he continues, unruffled, almost amused. "Guess that’s enough to draw attention."

“I’m a detective. You met one of my subordinates.” He flashes me a shiny gold badge to back it up, and it takes all my self-control not to tell him where to shove it.

"Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to blend in?" My voice drips with venom. "Maybe wear beige and bow my head? Would that make you more comfortable?"

"You must be proud of your bravery," I say. "Three men to take on one woman. Very impressive." The Alpha who just released me looks like he'd pin me down again if he could get away with it, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to chew the inside of his own mouth. It’s a dance I know well, an Alpha’s calculus: strength and shame, strength and shame, strength and shame. I meet his glare with all the brazenness I can muster, knowing that my lack of fear is the one weapon they can't confiscate.

The detective is smooth, his face calm not showing any emotion, "We can’t be too careful. Lots of folks might have an interest in a place like this, given the circumstances," he says, and I wonder if he practices being patronizing in the mirror, maybe even likes what he sees there, likes it enough to slap a badge on it and call it the law.

"Could’ve been someone here to cause trouble," he continues. "Could’ve been worse than an overzealous partner."

I laugh, a brittle, hollow sound that cuts across the room like a warning shot. "He doesn’t look like the overzealous type," I say. "I’d guess he knew exactly what he was doing."

The Alpha shifts, and I can tell he’s pissed, just itching to show me what overzealous looks like, and if I wasn’t so furious, I’d call him out on it, draw it all the way into the open and dare him to make his move.

"You gonna tell us what you’re doing here?" the smaller Alpha says, his voice full of disdain. I’m riding the wild thrill of my insolence, a steely reminder of why I do this, of why I don’t take anyone’s shit. I imagine Mr. Graner, off to the side, too shocked or scared to intervene, too wise or too brittle or too old to meddle with Alphas when they’re about to pounce. I imagine all the ways this could go wrong, all the ways I could fold or break or die.

"I was doing my job," I snap, the crisp punctuation of it echoing through the room. "I guess someone else should start doing theirs. A law enforcement officer, maybe?" My voice is loud and reckless. The Alpha makes a sound like a bark, like an incredulous laugh, as if it’s inconceivable that I could have a job worth mentioning, as if it’s inconceivable that I could even exist. I arch an eyebrow, daring him to challenge me again.

"You sure about that?" the Alpha says, scorn in his voice like he thinks I’m and idiot, like he thinks I should be cowering and explaining myself instead of biting back.

"I’m a florist," I tell them. "What? You didn’t realize someone was doing all those pretty arrangements you’ve been pawing through?" My voice drips with derision. I know what I look like to them, someone who doesn’t belong. Bright purple hair does make people think I am bad news.

The Alpha who caught me says, "What were you doing back here, then?" like I owe him an answer. I can see the outlines of the power play they thought they had, can see how they’re scrambling now to draw new battle lines, and I have no intention of standing still long enough for them to find their footing. I think of my mother, of her gray practicality, of the way she still finds ways to question me even when she doesn’t call, of how little that all matters. The detective is trying to keep his calm, but I see it cracking at the edges, a glass veneer ready to shatter. He flashes the badge again, thinking it’s the final word, and says, "That doesn’t explain why you were back there, Ms. Florist. Seems you might have more to say." I look at the badge and pretend I can’t read it, can’t see the print at all, like all I see is a shiny piece of metal without enough authority to impress me.

"It’s a funeral home," I say, as if I’m explaining it to a small child. "There’s an entry for deliveries. Guess you missed that on the tour. Maybe you should head back to school. Learn about things like—oh, I don’t know—catching a real criminal.?" I can’t keep the grin from splitting my face, reckless and ragged, and it only widens when I see the impact of my words written on their expressions, the way they register like a blow to the gut.

"You think you’re funny," says the Alpha, voice low and rumbling with annoyance, the smallest hint of uncertainty betraying his feigned superiority. It fuels me, fills me with the joy of knowing I’ve got them off balance, that I’ve pulled them into my territory.

"I think I’m right," I tell him, with a levelness that’s even more infuriating than the sarcasm I usually serve up. They didn’t see this coming.

"I have a hard time believing you’re just a florist," The Alpha that tackled me says, and there’s a hollowness to his voice that wasn’t there before. "Your look, your behavior—there’s something not right about it." He leans back, almost casual, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not affected by the last five minutes.

"Oh, there’s plenty not right about it," I say, "especially the part where you don’t know your ass from a hole in the ground." My language is deliberate, calculated. The words leave my mouth like arrows, and I’m the archer with perfect aim. "I told you," I continue, "I was here doing my job. I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit your narrow worldview."

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, and I don’t let him off the hook. I don’t let him breathe. I fire off another round. "You might want to do some reading up on the law. You know, that thing you’re supposed to enforce?" The mockery is thick and scalding, and I relish the way it seeps into the cracks I’ve opened. "There are words for what you did. Harassment. Unlawful pursuit. Maybe look those up, too."

I can see him struggling to keep his balance. I want him to know how it feels to doubt everything, to know the ground can shift under your feet in an instant, to live in my world, even if only for a moment. "Still think I’m suspicious?" I say, making sure my disdain is as obvious.

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