Dripping water onto the floor in only a fresh bra and underwear, Brigit stands on the far side of her living room. Her hair falls smooth, the lines from her brush separating the wet waves.
She pauses upon seeing me still here.
And I freeze, my head turned to see her over my shoulder, and I can seeso muchof her for the first time that I've been able to really appreciate it. Now that she's not shaking, not covered in blood, every inch of her skin on display has the world around me turning hazy; theonlything in it that's crystal clear isher.
She's still clearly freshly traumatized. But she's got a little towel in one hand to dry her hair. Her sweet face is already coated in her skin stuff, like it's just another typical night.
She's so beautiful. So pristine and organized, even in the face of having to step over a puddle of crimson peeking out from under one of the couches.
Her moment of being frightened into my arms has long since passed. Now she's back to pretending there isn't a mountain of confessions between us that almost went unsaid.
"I didn't think you'd still be here," she comments quietly, taking another step towards me, tilting and lowering her head like she's approaching a wild animal. "I told you I didn't need you."
"Yeah, well, I've gotten used to ignoring the protests you make that you don't mean," I fold my arms across my chest, leaning against the island behind me. "Pack a bag. We're leaving."
Chapter 26
Stop Looking At It
BRIGIT
"Uhhh," I toss my towel onto the couch that's been inexplicably moved over the puddle I'm trying my hardest not to look at. "No."
He raises a brow, "No?"
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
It feels utterly ridiculous to be having this conversation with him. while we're like 90% undressed, but he saw me 100% naked in the shower and didn't make it a thing, so I'm not going to either.
Though right about now, I'm wondering if maybe I should.
The way he's looking at me is all animal, similar to that day he was cornered by the press, but far scarier.
This isn't a frightened mouse in a corner, aiming to lash out.
The man before me is pure predator, a cold, wicked smile tugging at his mouth, the amber in his eyes all but suffocated by the black. Even the slight tilt of his head to the side feels like a fucking fox as his gaze licks hungrily across my skin.
"Brigit," he says my name, his mouth forming the syllables of myname in a slow drip, like he wants to taste every fucking letter as he says them. "If you want to play this game, honey, we can. I can coerce you, if that's what you want. I'm sure I could find something dangerous around here to keep you from misbehaving. And, if it comes down to it, I’llhappilythrow you over my shoulder and carry you out of here."
My heartbeat pounds against my chest, threatening to burst out.
Sitting at my barstool in nothing but his underwear, all his tattoos are on display for the first time. The few I've seen glimpses of across his abs and chest, the one I've looked at a thousand times on his neck.
And against my will, my gaze falls further, painfully trying to ignore the dark line of hair sitting just above his— my mouth goes dry as I skip overthat, down to a giant octopus-like monster in full color, right on his muscular thigh.
There's a horrible, painful buzzing in my fingers and toes, an energy that needs to be released that, unfortunately, echoes painfully between my thighs the longer I look at him.
Adrenaline, maybe? All the fear and fight I didn't need to use still feels trapped beneath the surface.
As much as I hate to admit it, Cormac can make the fear, the overwhelming terror, into something palatable.Enjoyable even.He makes being afraid a safe space to let myself go. He's the only reliable truth I know, even when he's unrecognizable.
And I fucking hate it.
A serial killer shouldn't be the only constant in my life.
A serial killer that hasinsertedhimself into it time and time again.
Tears well in my eyes, but I can't bear to let them fall.
