Page 82 of Like Grim Death: Part One
My chest is hot and tight, my hands clenched into fists at the mention of her name. Ophelia. Fucking.Ophelia. I’ve accepted Julie. He doesn’t speak to her often, only sends money to help with Finn, because children are his weakness. But Ophelia…Fuck that.
My hand is moving before I can even think straight. I’m pulling up the hem of my tank and grabbing the knife from my thigh strap, flicking open the switchblade and holding it up as I stare at Nikita. His eyes go to the knife, then back to me, that same look of rage on his face, like how dare a fucking woman speak out of turn, then draw a knife on him?
Lucifer clearly hasn’t told him shit about me.
“Get out of my house.”
Nikita’s eyes darken when I speak. They no longer look like gold. They’re oil, slick and heavy as he stares at me like he wishes he could strangle me. “I could teach her a few lessons, Lucifer, just say the word.”
“Get. Out. Of myfuckinghouse.” Lucifer is silent behind me as I speak those words, but I feel his presence at my back. He’s almost close enough we’re touching, but not quite.
“You left a scar on my little sister, you fucking cunt.” With those words, Nikita drops the baggie, then he grabs the knife on the sharp side, yanking it from my hand and dropping it to the floor. He’s reaching for me when Lucifer pushes me to the side and I stumble, watching as he backs Nikita up against the door, the other man’s head hitting the solid wood with a thud.
Lucifer’s pale fingers are around Nikita’s throat, covering the ink of his tattoos, and his other hand comes to the waistband of his own pants, pulling out a gun.
He brings it up slowly, twisting Nikita’s head to the side and pressing the barrel of the gun to the back of his skull, at an angle. His back is tense, his shoulders too, and I step forward, swiping up the knife, standing at his back.
“Don’t ever come into my house and disrespect my wife again, do you understand?”
Nikita’s breathing hard, his eyes averted, his jaw tense, and Lucifer’s fingers dig into his flesh, but he says nothing.
“Don’t ever come at her like you’re going to hurt her. Or fuckingtouchher.” He shoves Nikita’s head against the door again, and I glance up the stairs, worried Rain will wake up. Paranoid he’ll somehow sense his father for who he is.
But in this moment… I don’t think I’d mind.
This is a real villain. We don’t do heroes here, Rainy.
“You said I could stop by when I asked. I came as a favor, because there’s clearly a lot you’re not caught up on.” Nikita’s words are shockingly clear. Cold, even. “I’ve never traveled with RC before, but now I am, and you need to understandI’ve stepped the fuck up.You know we’ll be seeing each other again soon. You might want to watch how you treat me, Malikov.” He must look at me with the pause, although I can’t see him because of Lucifer’s back. But he says, “And you wanna get your bitch straight. If she talks to me like that again, I’ll fucking slit her throat and you know the 6 would sanction it.”
Lucifer flicks something on the gun, then drops it. It clatters loudly to the floor but doesn’t go off and before I can make sense of what he’s doing, he turns toward me and swipes the blade from my hand. His eyes meet mine for one single second, and it’s in that second I feel it.
Our bond.
It’s sharp like the blade on this knife. It’s messy, bloody, dark. But it’s there, and it’s real, and when he turns from me and drives the steel into some part of Nikita, who groans inhumanly, slumping against the door, I know I never want it to break.
We’re going to work this out.
We’re going to fucking fix it.
I’d kill for him, and obviously… well, he already has stacked up a graveyard full of bodies for me. Looks like he might need to add a mausoleum soon.
I take a deep breath, watching as Luce leans in close to Nikita, whom he’s having to hold up so he doesn’t slump against the door.
“You said it yourself. Thirteen times, fucker, but the thing about me is I really like even numbers. This will do.”
The sound coming from Nikita seems animalistic as Lucifer makes a twisting motion with his arm, and I have a vivid flashback of Lucifer driving a knife into Jeremiah’s gut.
“Now get the fuck out of my house, and don’t bleed on my goddamn floors on your way out.” He reaches around Nikita, no knife in his hand, and flicks open the locks on the door, shuffling him to the side. Cool, fall air blows in, darkness on the street as rain pounds down in an onslaught. Lucifer pushes him out onto the porch. “If you’re still in my driveway in sixty seconds, I’m going to run over your fucking skull.” My husband steps back, and as Nikita hunches over and sways toward the stairs between the columns of our porch, Lucifer slams the door closed and flips the lock, turning to stare at me, his expression indifferent.
“You like even numbers?” The question leaves me a little breathless after I ask. I sway on my feet.
He shakes his head once, his blue eyes gleaming. “No,” is all he says. I didn’t think so. “Just sounded good, huh?”
I nod once, fighting back a smile. It did sound good. “He has my knife.” I say the words quietly, and for a moment, neither of us speak again.
Then Lucifer lifts a dark brow, the corners of his mouth rising too, his hands by his sides, the gun on the floor between us alongside the coke. Neither of us look at the weapons, and that’s what they both are, in their own way. “My apologies. I’ll buy you a new one.” His chest is rising and falling fast, but otherwise, he looks completely put together. Like a criminal, a fuckinghotcriminal, but put together nonetheless.
“I have others.” My words are raspy.
