Or worse: testing me.
I stood up from my crouch on the roof, pulling my jacket tighter as I scanned the street for anything out of the ordinary. I clocked three cars I didn’t recognize: two were parked, one was idling, but nothing screamed threat.
My jaw twitched in irritation as I descended the fire escape like I’d done a dozen times, hitting the pavement light, fast, controlled.
Control is everything,but since last night, it was something slipping through my fingers.
I thought I knew her. I thought she was scared enough to obey, but maybe she’d gotten too comfortable. Maybe my moment of weakness was to blame.
I didn’tlikethis. I didn’t like not knowing. I didn’t like that she was becoming unpredictable.
That made her vulnerable. Out of habit, I played with the rifle cartridge in my pocket, the one I always kept on me just in case, the one that had my name on it.
The phone had a tracker on it, thank God. She didn’t know that, but it was a precaution I would not brush off, and I was glad. I ground my teeth and pulled the bike helmet down on my head. I coasted out into the street and then turned down the alley she’d taken. It said she was at the community recreation center, a few streets over from the coffee shop.
There was more traffic this morning, people trying to get to work and drop kids off at school. I zig-zagged in and out of traffic, more than once getting onto the sidewalk to skirt a small area of congestion. Then I was on the side street that led to the rec center and the community pool. The parking lot was almost totally empty, and when I parked, I checked the tracker again just to be sure she was still here. She was.
I approached the front door and noticed a flier on the door, peeling in the wind.
Community Painting - 9am - East Room. Beginners welcome.
I stared at it like it might explode. Painting? That’s where she went? I couldn’t breathe for a second. Not out of panic, but out of fury. Because she knew I wouldn’t expect that. Did she think I wouldn’t follow her this far, or that she could successfully lose me? No… she wasn’t hiding, she waswandering.While there were still men looking for her, while blood was still drying on sidewalks in her name, she was at a fucking painting class.
I wanted to drag her back to her apartment and ask if sheunderstoodwhat she was playing with. That she didn’t get to disappear, to do whatever she wanted, to turn this into some game where she showed skin in the dark and vanished by morning. This was life or death for her.
I went inside the empty building and stood with my fists clenched and my breathing shallow, trying to talk myself down. I checked the map on the wall and realized the building’s hallway was one big circle. I could stand here and wait for her to exit the front door… but there was always the possibility that she’d go out the back. If I headed left and she was going right, I’d miss her, and vice versa. This was so fucking annoying.
The bathroom door behind me swung open, and I turned to look just over my shoulder to see two men that I recognized. Hyena Face and Cokehead. What the fuck were they doing here? That was a hypothetical question because I knewexactlywhatthey were doing here. How did they know she was here? They didn’t recognize me as I stood here; I could tell. They had no reason to assume I would be here and no reason to be looking for me.
I took off down the hallway in the opposite direction, heart pounding in my chest. When I was out of sight of the two men, I started walking faster. I rounded the second corner and saw the room where the painting class took place. I checked the tracker again before putting it back in my pocket. I was right on top of her… I turned another corner, and there she was.
Eden was only steps away from the corner where she would run into Matteo’s men, standing near the entrance. I had to think fast, getting her attention without making any noise to alert them. In eighteen steps she would be passing a maintenance closet. I just hoped the door was unlocked. I sprinted after her, catching up to hersoeasily. She was so unaware of her surroundings, and it made me sick how dangerous her inattention was. Did she realize how easy she was to catch? How fragile she looked from behind, how vulnerable she was with her guard down? A part of me hated her for it: how soft she was, how much she still believed in the world.
I pressed my hand over her mouth as a squeal of surprise rose into her throat, suffocating the sound. I grappled for a hold on her but,fuck, was she fighting back. She was wild and desperate, and for a second, I almost lost hold of her. I wasn’t expecting her to fight like that. Good. Maybe she wasn’t completely helpless after all.
Darkness swallowed us as I pulled her into a maintenance room, the metal door booming shut like the lid of a tomb. The smell of bleach and mothballs was overwhelming in the small space. She shoved me hard enough that my back hit the wall, and I pushed her until her spine met the door, pinning her there.
My hand was still over her mouth, those soft lips against my calloused palms. I hated myself for noticing how plush they were. I put my other hand on her waist, both holding her still and bracing myself. Her entire body trembled under my touch, and I was acutely aware of how every inch of her was flush with every inch of me. She felt so delicate that it made me sick with fear. How was she ever going to make it out of this alive? I was touching her like I owned her, and she was just… letting me.
“Don’t… don’t make a sound,” I whispered in a low voice, not wanting her to hear the way my own voice shook.
She continued to quiver, but I felt her relax at the sound of my voice. Realizing who I was and… Christ. Sherelaxedwhen she realized it was me. She breathed, sighed over the tops of my fingers. It was worse than if she’d screamed.
I slowly removed my hand from her mouth, dragging it down the slope of her jaw, then along the curve of her throat. I needed to keep contact. If she moved, if she bolted… I couldn’t risk her making a sound. But touching her like that? It was too much. Her skin was warm and alive and completely unguarded.
“You’re shaking,” I remarked, feeling the consistent vibration under my palms: one still on her hip and the other on her wrist.
“So are you.”
She was even closer than I thought she was, I felt the breath of her words on my neck. I flinched. I fuckingflinchedwhen I felt the fingers of her free hand move between us, reaching up to brush back the hem of my hood, and then my jaw, where the scruff there caught on her skin. She touched my jaw: light, hesitant. Like I was that same fragile thing I saw in her. I wasn’t.
My body was all heat and restraint, a tightly wound wire waiting to snap. I didn’t stop her. I should have stopped her.
And then she leaned into me, and our breath mingled. I couldn’t move.
“What happens if I kiss you?” she asked, like she was seeking permission.
I felt heat pool under my skin, not just from want, but from guilt and fear. She didn’t know what she was doing; she didn’t know what I was. My breath caught in my throat, and I knew she could tell. I shook my head so that she could feel my response, a silent plea.
