After he leaves, I sit in my van for another twenty minutes, staring at my phone, at the Iron Talons page still open in my browser, at the photo of Miguel on my dashboard—the onefrom my nursing school graduation where he's smiling like he's proud, like all his sacrifices were worth it.
Soon sounds dangerous
Bad Decision:Everything about us is dangerous
That's what makes it good
God help me, it's true. The danger, the betrayal, the knowledge that this ends with bloodshed—it's all twisted up with the arousal, the need, the way his voice rewires my nervous system.
Bad Decision:Angel
Yeah?
Bad Decision:That audio. Your voice when you came. I'm keeping it forever
Creepy
Bad Decision:You love it
He's right. I do. I love this insane, dangerous, definitely-going-to-end-in-violence thing we're doing.
My phone buzzes again as I'm driving home.
Bad Decision:[Voice note attached]
Twenty-three seconds this time.
I wait until I'm home, until I'm safe in my bathroom with the door locked and Miguel's three blocks away, before I press play.
His voice fills my ears, telling me exactly what he wants to do to me, how he's been stroking himself to my audio, how he wants to watch me fall apart, and I'm on my knees on my bathroom floor, hand between my legs, coming to the voice of a man my brother would kill without hesitation.
I come twice before it ends, my body convulsing like I'm seizing, while the photo of Miguel and me at our parents' funeral stares at me from the hallway.
This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm fine.
I'm not fine. I'm systematically destroying everything my brother built to protect me, one orgasm at a time.
And I can't seem to stop.
Chapter eight
Digital Stalking
Zane
I found her Instagram. Private, but her profile picture showed everything.
Dark hair in a messy bun, exhausted brown eyes that still manage to look amused, crooked smile like she knows all your secrets. She's in scrubs, standing next to a beat-up van with medical crosses painted on the side, and fuck me, she's beautiful in that "I could save your life or ruin it" way.
She's also completely out of my league.
@NurseLenaHands. She literally told me her handle. Handed me the keys to stalking her like the tech-savvy creep I apparently am.
Lena. Her name is Lena.
It's 6 AM Thursday, and I'm in my garage, scrolling through her public tagged photos like a fucking teenager. There she is at some hospital fundraiser, looking uncomfortable in a dress. There she is with other nurses, middle finger up at the camera, laughing. There she is next to her van, "Mobile Mercy Unit" painted on the side in careful letters.
She's a nurse. Not a doctor. A nurse who runs a ghost clinic out of a van. Who treats people in Home Depot parking lots. Who came to my voice while sitting on what was probably a questionable stool.
