But yet… It had been weeks now of shipments going missing, drops getting raided…
They’d messed up when they took something ofmine.
Briar might not belong to me, but I laid claim to her almost five years ago and I’ve yet to take it back. Whoever targeted her is still out there, and she won’t be safe until we burn the whole thing to the ground.
I strike the match and let it fly.
Watching the old Italian mansion go up in flames, its consigliere with it.
One down… however many more to go…
29
COME FOR ME
KOEN
Now
Needing to take the edge off after our little bonfire, I stop by Briar’s on my way home.
Careful to park my bike down the street, I keep both my hoodie and my neck gaiter pulled up over my nosejust in casebefore walking the rest of the way to her building.
The seasons have just about crossed over into winter so no one looks twice as I stalk down the street, my motorcycle gear giving me a pass for my covered face. Not that anybody would say anything about it inthisneighborhood. Hell, I could drag Briar into the alleyway in broad daylight and have my way with her and I doubt anyone would blink a goddamn eye.
The teenage drug dealers hanging out on the corner scatter when they see me coming. Likely recognizing my bike. Good instincts, if poor decision making skills.
It’s been nearly a week since I pulled Briar out of that warehouse.
I’ve watched her nearly every night. Only mafia business has kept me away from her, but as soon as it wraps up, I’m here. Inthe shadowed alcove at the end of this forgotten alley, or on the fire escape of the abandoned building next door—watching.
No one’s come for her.
I also can’t find a reason why she was targeted. I know from my guys that she spends most of her day at the Delacroix Conservatory uptown. Other than that she stays home, hangs out with her roommate, and she dances.
It’s becoming more and more obvious now that she doesn’t need my protection, but I can’t make myself stop.
She practices at that abandoned studio nearly every night. Sometimes after spending all day in the studio uptown. Setting out just after ten p.m., every night like clock-work.
I click my tongue.
She should vary what times she leaves, what days she goes. It’s too easy for someone to learn her schedule and it pisses me off how she’s putting herself at risk.
I follow her, making sure she gets to and from the studio safely.
I want to follow her up the rickety wooden stairs and watch her dance from inside, but I tell myself that’s getting too close. Because if I were to see her—reallysee her—or catch an inhale of her sweet scent, I might never leave.I might never let her go.
The building next to Briar’s is abandoned, and after the first few nights tucked deep into the shadows of the alleyway, I’ve begun climbing the old fire escape, giving me a better view into her room. I climb two floors higher, allowing me to see right into her bedroom. There’s less cover up here, but if she looks out her window, she’s more likely to look down than up.
I settle in, taking a seat and allowing my legs to hang off the edge as I lean over the iron bars, taking a long, deep, pull from my cigarette.
It’s not long until she appears, tossing her dance bag on the floor before disappearing back out into the hall for her eveningshower. Reappearing a short while later, she’s in an oversized sweater that just brushes the tops of her thighs, and thick socks that come up to her knees.
Oh.
Briar turns out the light and climbs into bed. Her room is illuminated in the red glow from the old neon sign above me, a few of the letters still working. She has no curtains. With the building abandoned next door, I’m sure she thinks she doesn’t need them. Doesn’t think about who might be watching.
But I do.I think about it every night.
