I rise to follow her, throwing back a tense gaze over my shoulder at the darkest parts of the alley before following Lily out, closing my door behind me.
27
THIS FUCKING GIRL
KOEN
Now
Briar dances every night. After midnight, while the rest of the world sleeps, she’s up—working through whatever’s haunting her. At least, that’s what I think she’s doing in the old dance studio around the corner from her apartment.
I know because I’ve been watching her.
Every night so far this week.
Just a quick check-in, a drive-by that sometimes lasts for hours. I need to be sure Briar isn’t going to go to the cops about what went down in that warehouse. And her refusal to leave the city means she could still be a target. Despite digging, I haven’t uncovered any fresh leads on who might be running the trafficking organization within the city. At least, that’s what I tell myself— and Mac and Jace, who I’ve appointed to watch her when I can’t.
For the past few days, I’ve spent my nights on the rusty old fire escape across the alleyway from her window. Every spare second I have, I spend it watching Briar. Which often means showing up long after she should be asleep but, like me, she’sa night owl. And more often than not, I find her awake, either practicing in the studio, in her living room, or staring up at her bedroom ceiling, tossing and turning. Somehow surviving on the couple hours of sleep she banks each night.
She hasn’t gone to the cops, hasn’t gone much of anywhere according to Mac and Jace. Briar is either in her shithole of an apartment or at the dance studio down the street, often late at night. That is until about mid-week, when she started going to the Delacroix Conservatory downtown for most of the day.
I flip through the surveillance photos Jace sent me earlier. Briar must be a student there, attending classes. Teaching them too, by the looks of these photos. I stare at the one of her surrounded by mini ballerinas in fluffy pink tutus. They look to be about four or five at most, gazing up at her adoringly as she demonstrates the proper way in which to hold their arms.
It’s cute, but that’s not why I can’t stop staring at it.She’s smiling.
With a quick look around the nearly empty street, I slip into the alleyway unnoticed. Keeping to the shadows as I maneuver over to my favorite spot. Taking up a seat on the steps of the abandoned building next door, I lean up against the brick.
I’m right on time.
Lights flicker on from the second floor dance studio and, through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the old factory building, I make out Briar.
The light spills over into the alley, and instinctively I shift back further into the shadows, but she’s not looking outside.
She never does.
Unlike the past couple of nights, there’s a spring in her step. An obvious thrum of excitement in her body. I study her, realizing she’s got something in her hands. And by the looks of the pink ribbons, they’re ballet slippers.
Briar makes quick work of lacing them up and once she’s up, I realize they’re not just ballet slippers, they’re pointe shoes.
The nights usually start out intense. Her rigid, structured—sometimes angry—routines break down as the night wears on into haunted and heartbreaking movements. Stories she tells with her body.
Briar’s dancing is haunting.
And once she starts, there’s no taking your eyes off of her.
She’s mesmerizing, and she’s talented. Ever since the first night I stayed and watched her, I couldn’t help but come back night after night. Craving just one more hit.
She’s beautiful. She’s dangerous. She’smine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
Barefoot Briar doesn’t hold a candle to Briar en pointe. She dances with an elegance evenIknow can’t be taught, a refinement and artistry one can only be born with.
I don’t know anything about ballet, but I know I can’t look away.
Especially once I see the smile stretched across her beautiful face. The way it changes her, lighting her up from within. I’ve never seen her happier. Usually it’s rage or sadness she’s channeling but tonight, nothing but pure joy emanates from the tiny dancer.
Many nights, she runs her routines over and over again, each time perfect… mesmerizing. But she never seems satisfied; no matter how perfectly she executes it, it never quite seems to be good enough for her.
