Page 18 of Mess With Me

It’s Griffin Kelly.

CHAPTER5

Sasha

“What the h—”

“Excuse me,” Vincent shouts. Even over the alarm, his words drip with ice, and I remember I was about to run.

“We were in the middle of a date,” Vincent says, his voice hard. “I’m perfectly capable of escorting the lady outside.”

A chill scrapes over my skin. I open my mouth to yell at him when I feel Griffin’s arm, which he’s reached behind him, press against the length of my side, keeping me away.

“I’m afraid the date’s over, sir,” I hear over his mountainous body.

I shove Griffin’s hand aside, leaning out again. “You call that adate?”

Vincent’s eyes land on mine, and I immediately regret having exposed myself to him again. And his goon, who looms over his side, his expression shifting around like he’s assessing which way I’m going to go.

“God dammit,” I hear Griffin utter. He goes to push me behind him again, except just then, water explodes all around us.

I’m glad I can still see Vincent, because I get to see the look on his face as his five-figure suit is immediately drenched. While this man barely seems to notice, Vincent sneers like an ugly, half-drowned rat.

“Go!” Griffin shouts in my ear. Water splatters audibly against his hat, and the alarm is still shrieking, but I can hear the urgency in his voice.

I feel it when he practically shoves me toward the stairs.

“I’m going!” I grasp the banister to keep from tumbling down the stairs.

But Vincent’s voice cuts sharply across the cacophony. “We’re not finished, Sasha. You owe me the completion of this date.”

Something scrapes inside me, but I won’t let fear be the last thing he sees on me. I turn, my hand tight on the banister, and face the monster. “I don’t owe you anything!”

Then Griffin’s body shifts, blocking Vincent from view. Purposefully, I know.

Finally I do what I should have done the minute I saw that man.

I run.

Downstairs, I think I catch the scent of smoke, but I don’t see any. The restaurant’s already empty, half-finished plates flooded like little lakes; wineglasses diluted and plinking with the still-falling water. I run through the restaurant, squinting against the water. I’m completely soaked, my hair plastered to my face. I should be cold—the water’s freezing—but all I feel is the adrenaline pumping through my limbs. I burst outside into a massive crowd of onlookers and drenched diners.

It’s only then I realize what I’ve done. I’ve left Griffin with two likely dangerous men.

I recall the thick eyebrows protruding over the eyes of the big one, the way his huge hands looked like they’d make fists bigger than my head.

“Shit.” I turn, moving to go back inside.

But a hand wraps itself around my arm.

I whip around to see the server from upstairs. He’s harmless, I know. Shorter than me in my heels and slight. And his eyes are kind. Still, I yank my arm from his grip, rattled by the last man who tried to keep me from moving.

“Sorry,” he says, dropping his hand as if he hurt me. His expression is apologetic. But it’s laced with concern, too. “You can’t go back in there.”

“I have to. I left him.”

“No!” His voice is surprisingly firm. “You should leave. Please, miss, don’t see that man again.” He looks older out here, his hair thinly plastered to his scalp.

“I don’t mean him,” I say, understanding. “The fireman.”

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