Grimm Little Obsession

Chapter Two-Part 2 Roman

Roman emerged from the consultation room in a much better mood than when he'd entered, which was impressive considering he'd arrived in a perfectly good mood to begin with.

Mikhail, unfortunately, couldn't say the same.

The poor bastard had looked about ready to vomit by the time Roman stood to leave, although Roman suspected that had more to do with the consequences of his confession than the hospital's questionable lunch menu. He'd gotten what Kostya sent him for, plus a few interesting details that would need further investigation. All things considered, a productive afternoon.

Now, if he could just get out of this depressing f*****g building before somebody tried to offer him group therapy, he'd consider the visit a complete success.

“Mr. Morozov?”

Roman glanced toward the administrator waiting beside the door. The man was in his fifties, with thinning hair, a perpetually worried expression, and a posture that suggested he'd spent most of his adult life apologizing for things other people had done.

“Mr. Bolding,” Roman greeted cheerfully. “Lovely establishment you've got here. Very welcoming. Although I do think the decor could use some work. Have you considered adding a splash of color? Maybe a nice mural? Something that doesn't scream, ' Abandon all hope, ye who enter here '?”

Bolding gave a strained smile.

“We do our best to maintain a calming environment for our patients.”

“Of course you do.”

Roman fell into step beside him, adjusting his jacket cuffs as they made their way down the corridor. Somewhere behind one of the closed doors, a man was arguing loudly with someone who apparently wasn't there. Farther down the hall, an orderly pushed a rattling cart loaded with plastic trays, and the sharp smell of disinfectant grew stronger with every step.

Roman had visited prisons with more inviting atmospheres.

As they approached a set of double doors, a sudden crash echoed from somewhere to their left.

It was followed by a man's startled shout.

Then a woman's voice rose above the noise.

“YOU OWE ME A f*****g PUDDING, KEVIN!”

Roman slowed.

Bolding didn't.

“Please, Mr. Morozov, the exit is just—”

“My name's not Kevin!”

“I DON'T GIVE A s**t WHAT YOUR NAME IS!”

Roman stopped walking altogether.

Well.

That sounded promising.

He turned toward the commotion and noticed a wide entrance farther down the corridor that opened into what looked like a cafeteria. Several people had gathered near the doorway, their attention fixed on something happening inside.

“What's going on over there?” he asked.

“Just a minor disturbance,” Bolding replied quickly. “Our staff will handle it.”

The first thing Roman noticed was the crowd.

Patients sat twisted in their chairs, craning their necks to get a better view, while two orderlies hurried across the room toward an altercation near the center tables. A large Black man stood nearby, looking like someone who'd just realized he was going to have to explain a particularly stupid situation to an equally unimpressed authority figure.

The second thing Roman noticed was the woman.

Or, more accurately, the tiny, dark-haired creature currently attempting to pull another man's shirt over his head.

Roman blinked.

The man was considerably larger than she was, but that didn't seem to be doing him much good. She had a fistful of his shirt twisted in one hand and was using the other to yank the fabric upward while he stumbled backward, swearing and trying to untangle himself.

Roman felt a laugh building in his chest.

Jesus Christ.

She couldn't have been much taller than five feet, maybe a little more, with a slender frame and a wild mass of black hair swinging around her shoulders as she wrestled with the unfortunate bastard. A single pale blonde streak flashed near the front of her hair every time she moved.

She looked like a furious little raccoon fighting a garbage bag.

And she was apparently winning.

Roman moved closer, stopped beside the cafeteria entrance, and leaned one shoulder against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest, settling in with the comfortable expectation that whatever happened next would be worth watching.

“YOU OWE ME A f*****g PUDDING, KEVIN!”

“My name's not Kevin!”

“I DON'T GIVE A s**t WHAT YOUR NAME IS!”

Roman's grin widened.

Beside him, Bolding made a quiet noise of distress.

“Not again.”

One of the orderlies near the doorway shook his head as he watched his colleague struggle to separate the combatants.

“It's Hayes again,” he muttered to another staff member. “Girl's supposed to be getting out in a week, and she's pulling this s**t?”

“Wilson's gonna lose his mind,” the second orderly replied.

Hayes.

Roman filed the name away without quite knowing why.

He looked back at the woman, who was now being pulled away from her unfortunate opponent by an increasingly exasperated orderly.

“Stanley, that man committed a crime against humanity, and you're standing here protecting him like he's some kind of endangered species!”

“It's a pudding cup, Hayes!”

“IT WAS MY PUDDING CUP!”

Roman stared.

A pudding cup.

All of this was over a f*****g pudding cup.

He tried to contain his amusement. He really did. But the sheer outrage in her voice, combined with the spectacle he'd just witnessed, proved too much.

A deep laugh escaped him.

The woman went still, her attention snapping toward the sound of his laughter, and when those hauntingly blue eyes finally found his across the cafeteria, Roman felt an unexpected thrill shoot straight through him.

Well, f**k me.

He'd seen beautiful women before. Had them draped across his lap, whispering filthy promises into his ear, batting their lashes while pretending they weren't interested in the money, the danger, or the reputation that came with his name. Beauty was hardly a novelty in his world, and neither was madness. Hell, he'd spent most of his adult life surrounded by men whose idea of conflict resolution involved a shovel and a conveniently isolated patch of woodland.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

There was something almost disturbing about the contrast between her delicate features and the sheer, unrestrained fury burning in those extraordinary eyes. Her black hair hung in wild disarray around her face, the single pale streak catching the overhead lights, and her cheeks were flushed from the struggle. She looked positively possessed, like some beautiful little demon had crawled out of the depths of hell, discovered that the world had run out of chocolate pudding, and decided everyone was going to suffer for it.

Roman found himself grinning.

Not because she was making a spectacle of herself, though that was undeniably entertaining, but because something wonderfully familiar about the madness staring back at him. He knew that particular hunger for chaos, the wicked little spark that came alive when common sense packed its bags and abandoned the premises. He'd spent years cultivating enough self-control to keep his own more destructive impulses on a leash, though he'd never been especially enthusiastic about the arrangement.

And here stood this tiny, magnificent disaster, apparently living her life without a single f*****g leash in sight.

Her eyes narrowed further, fixing on him with an intensity that would have been genuinely threatening if he hadn't outweighed her by a good hundred pounds.

The sensible thing would have been to look away, maybe offer an apologetic smile, and let the orderlies handle their unruly patient.

Roman had never been particularly fond of sensible things.

Instead, he held her gaze, letting his grin widen into something deliberately provocative. He wanted to see what she'd do with that anger, to know whether the wicked promise in those icy eyes was all theatrical outrage or whether she was as spectacularly unpredictable as she looked.

He got his answer rather quickly.

Without warning, she twisted free of the orderly's loosened grip and sprinted straight toward him, her expression set with such fierce determination that Roman barely had time to appreciate the absurdity before she launched herself off the floor.

His instincts took over, arms reaching out to catch her beneath the thighs as her legs wrapped securely around his waist and her arms slid around his neck. The impact barely moved him, but the sheer audacity of it sent another jolt of delighted disbelief through his chest.

Oh, you beautiful little lunatic.

Roman had been threatened, attacked, and propositioned in more creative ways than most men could imagine, but he'd never encountered a woman who apparently considered throwing herself bodily at a complete stranger an acceptable opening move in an argument.

And the truly concerning part?

He was having the time of his f*****g life.

She settled against him as though she belonged there, utterly unconcerned by the fact that he was a stranger who could have let her fall flat on her face. Up close, those pale eyes were even more arresting; the dark lashes framing them made their icy color almost unnatural, and Roman found himself studying her with a fascination he made no effort to conceal.

She blinked up at him, her expression shifting into wide-eyed innocence that might have been convincing if he hadn't just watched her try to dismantle another human being over dessert.

“The f**k are you laughing at, Tinsel?”