Boss Daddy: Chapter 8

The sound of frantic pounding on the door caused my head to snap up, my gut twisting with a sick sense of dread. I turned to the security monitor on my desk, my eyes locking onto the grainy feed from the front door camera.

Erin. Banging and yelling.

Fear is written all over her face, her eyes wide, her fists slamming against the metal. The feed is only visual, so I can’t hear what she’s saying. I don’t need to.

Everything in me goes cold and sharp and I’m on my feet in an instant.

The hallway blurs as I sprint toward the front door, my heart hammering. I grip the handle, wrenching it open just in time to see the bastard from last week raise his hand and slap Erin hard across the face.

The sharp crack of the slap cuts through the night. All I see is red.

I don’t think. I just move.

A roar rips from my throat as I charge forward, the world narrowing to the son of a bitch in front of me. My shoulder slams into his torso, and we hit the ground hard. The impact is painful as hell, but the only thing on my mind is taking this asshole down and making sure Erin is safe. I roll over, meeting the eyes of the attacker, grabbing his shoulder and pinning him to the sidewalk.

I see his face—the sneer, the twisted satisfaction—and my fist flies.

One.

The crunch of bone beneath my knuckles barely registers. He groans, his head snapping to the side, but I don’t stop.

Two.

His nose shatters, blood spraying across his face. I don’t care. He hit her. He’ll pay.

Three.

My fist connects with his jaw, sending pain through my hand and straight up my arm. One more like that and I might kill him.

I hear Erin’s voice in the distance, but it’s muffled, lost in the fury roaring through me.

“Samuel!” she shouts, panicked.

Suddenly, arms wrap around my chest, hauling me back.

“Easy, man! You want to kill the guy?” It’s James.

I’m breathing hard, every muscle in my body straining to go back, to finish the job, but James holds on tight. The bastard rolls onto his side, groaning, blood dripping from his busted nose.

He tries to push himself up. Erin steps forward, her eyes blazing. Before I can process what’s happening, she swings her leg back and drives her boot into his gut. He folds with a choked sound, collapsing onto the concrete.

I chuckle at the sight, a bit of pride surging through me. The rage begins to slip away, and I start to calm down, though my chest still heaves with each breath.

I take her hand and pull her toward the club.

“James,” I growl over my shoulder, “get that motherfucker off my sidewalk.”

“You got it.”

Erin and I enter the club and shut the door. What James has in store for the prick, I can only guess. He was already dragging the asshole away by the back of his jacket, like a piece of trash that needs disposing of.

Erin’s eyes blaze with a fire that knocks me off guard. Even after what just happened, she stands her ground, chin high, fists clenched at her sides. That fierce defiance makes the lingering anger in me crack, and I let out another chuckle, the sound scraping my throat.

“That was a hell of a kick. You could’ve taken him yourself.”

Her grip tightens on my hand.

I turn to her, my jaw twitching when I get a good look at her face. A red mark blooms across her cheek, the skin already starting to swell. Seeing that makes the rage come back, hot and fast.

I want to kill the prick, take him apart limb-from-limb.

But I push the anger aside. James will handle that guy a hell of a lot smarter than I would have. Last thing I need is a body to dispose of.

Besides, Erin’s a bigger priority. She’s quiet and still. There are no tears in her eyes, but all the same, I can tell she’s shaken up.

I reach over and flick the bar lights on. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

I take her hand and guide her to a barstool, my hand lingering on the small of her back. She sinks onto the stool without argument. She remains quiet, her gaze fixed ahead.

I move behind the bar, quick and controlled. Ice rattles in the bucket as I grab a scoopful, evenly dumping it into two clean bar towels. I wrap each of them up tight, the cold seeping through the fabric, numbing my knuckles where the bruises are already darkening.

I walk back to her, pressing one ice pack gently to her cheek, the cold drawing a soft hiss from her lips.

“Easy,” I say. “You know the drill, ice for swelling.”

Her hand comes up and covers mine, her fingers resting lightly over my bruised knuckles. Her touch is doing things to me, even with the violence still lingering in the air.

She leans into the ice, her eyes finally meeting mine. Her cheek presses against my hand, and for a moment, the world stills.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I nod, my throat tight. I lift the second ice pack and press it to my knuckles, the cold biting into my skin, dulling the ache. Her eyes flick to my hand, and she smirks.

“You really should take care of those fists. Punches likes those can do just as much damage to you as to the other guy.”

“I’ll survive.” I gaze at her. “What was going on out there, Erin?”

Her eyes flash, the defiance wavering for just a second before the walls come up again. “It’s nothing.”

I lean in. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let this go so easily. “Bullshit. What was that about?”

Her shoulders sag, the fight draining out of her. She lets out a shaky sigh, her eyes glancing down to the bar top before meeting mine again.

“He works for my old boss,” she says. “Misha.”

Misha. She’d said that name before.

“Misha what?”

“Misha Grinkov.”

The name lands like a punch to the gut. My fingers curl into fists, my knuckles aching all over again. I know that name. I know what kind of man Misha Grinkov is.

She swallows hard. “I quit because Misha tried to force me to strip, among other unsavory things.” She says it quickly, like ripping off a bandage.

A surge of protectiveness roars through me, and I feel the need to shield her, to fight for her, to destroy anyone who dares to lay a finger on her. My vision goes red again for a split second before I pull it back under control.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone. You understand me, Erin?”

Her lips tremble slightly, but she nods. And for the first time, I see a crack in her armor. The fear she’s been hiding. The strength it’s taken for her to keep going.

I have my own history with Misha, and unfortunately, I know him well. Years ago, I made the mistake of handling some of his investments. The numbers checked out and the returns were good—until I realized the money was dirty, laundered through his goddamn strip clubs and other sleazy operations. The second I figured it out, I severed ties. Misha Grinkov is pure poison.

“Misha’s bad news, Erin.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

I look at her, the red mark still blooming across her cheek, her hands gripping the edge of the bar so tightly her knuckles are white. Anger bubbles up, threatening to break the surface, but I force it down. Right now, she needs me to stay calm. My anger won’t do anyone any good.

“Is he after you?” I take a breath. “Erin, tell me honestly, did you steal from him, anything like that?”

“No!” The word shoots out of her mouth, indignation flashing in her eyes.

I’m good at catching liars. She’s not one of them.

“The guy out there said Misha wants to talk to me.” Her voice wavers, but she stays steady on the stool.

“Because you quit,” I say.

“People quit jobs all the time. What makes me so special?”

I exhale slowly, my fists clenching so hard my knuckles scream in protest. The answer to that question is Misha doesn’t tolerate defiance, especially not from a woman who can bruise his ego just by walking away.

Erin is the kind of woman who would cause his twisted possessiveness to bubble to the surface. She’s strong, stunning, and smart enough to escape his grasp. That alone would drive a man like Misha insane. In his world, you don’t have a woman like her and let her slip away.

“Does he know where you live?”

Her eyes drop to the floor. “Yeah. I had to give him all my info when I started working for him.”

“You’re coming to stay with me.” The words come out of my mouth without thinking about what I’m saying.

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m… what?”

“You heard me. You’re staying with me.”

Her eyes widen. “Samuel, I—”

I cut her off. “I’m not letting you go back to your apartment, not when he knows where you live.”

Her lips part, like she’s about to protest, but then she closes her mouth. The fight flickers in her eyes again, but it’s dulled by exhaustion, by the weight of everything she’s been carrying.

“Samuel, I can’t just stay with you. I barely know you. Besides, I’ve got my own place, and…” She trails off, as if knowing she doesn’t have any more points to argue.

“You got family in town?”

Her eyes flash, and in that moment, I’m guessing her parents are either gone or she’s not on good terms with them.

“It’s… complicated.”

“Family typically is,” I reply. “Erin, I want to make things not complicated. Stay with me. I’ve got plenty of space, and you can stay for as long as you need to, until this is all taken care of.”

She glances to the side. I can tell her defenses are falling, but she’s still unsure.

I step closer, my voice softening just a fraction. “I can keep you safe, Erin. Let me do that.”

She exhales a shaky breath then nods. “Okay.”

Something beyond relief floods me.

A promise I didn’t know I needed to make.

And one I sure as hell intend to keep.