His laugh grows louder, all his teeth showing as he waves me away, "Get outta here."
Taking the stairs two at a time, I let myself back into the main area of the bar, sneaking out the back door, hoping there aren't any reporters hiding in the alley that's become my new parking spot over the last few days.
Starting the car, I head toward Brigit's apartment, taking my time, driving casually, and parking a few streets down so I don't raise any suspicion. It's easy enough to blend in with the crowds of people walking to and from their jobs this time of day.
She won't be finished at work for another thirty minutes or so, maybe longer if she's right and her meeting goes past when it's supposed to.
Her little calendar even has buffer zones for when she knows things are going to take longer than they should. And she has lunchwith her mom again tomorrow. Scheduled aslunch with Janet and Seth.
She hasn't said as much—well, she doesn't really say much to me about her personal life anyway —but I get the feeling she doesn't have a great relationship with her mom.
The walk up to her apartment has my skin tingling with anticipation. The excitement, the very real possibility of getting caught, the chance that her cameras will see me even if her locks don't.
I think maybe a sick part of me hopes she catches me. I can see her balcony from here, and I wonder what she would do if she did. She's not home to stop me from coming inside. She'd just have to watch me through the cameras. Would she call the police? Would she rush home and yell at me? Fuck, I hope so.
It's been almost two weeks since I've really had my hands on her, and they're itching to run across her soft skin and make her sigh again. If she came in and caught me, screamed at me, fucking hell, I don't think I could stop myself from kissing her senseless.
There's no denying thatsomethinghas shifted in our dynamic.
When I was here last, while it may have still started with me letting myself in, she didn't even try to kick me out. No threats. No running for the phone. Not even a flinch towards her new hiding spot for her little pistol.
And helping her with the security stuff I'm about to turn off was nice. Being a part of her life that brought her peace instead of tormentfeltgood. Wrapping her in my arms, holding her close, smelling her sweet hair product and perfume was incredible. And when she surrendered and her arms lifted around my waist, the fucking sigh of relief she let out was euphoric.
The overwhelming pull I felt to comfort her when she was clearly panicking was unfamiliar and worrisome. Sheneededsomeone to be there for her, and I was lucky enough to be the person close enough to do it. But that kind of stability, that safe place to land, I don't know how to be that person for anyone; I don't know if Icanbe that.
Especially now, when half of my thoughts include depravedviolence and the other half revolve around Brigit. And more often than I'm comfortable with, they overlap. I find myself fucking fantasizing about running a blade down her soft, luscious ass and watching it bloom with a red, angry mark while I've got my fingers inside her again.
And maybe what made the bigger difference washerfeeling the need to protectme.
I don't think I've ever had anyone who stepped in to try to shield me from something. I'm sure Sky has, and I just can't remember it. But Brigit, placing herself between the reporters and me, putting herself in both their line of fireandmine, it's taken my obsession and transformed it into something else entirely. We've entered the dangerous territory of worship,adulation.
Her beauty had me captivated the moment I saw her for the first time, both times. But it's her strength, her calm, her steadiness, even in the face of madness, that's something to be deified, and she's the only goddess I ever want to serve.
I might be doing it in a way that's illegal and nefarious, but who am I to decide against fate what kind of servitude my goddess drives me to?
Scaling the wall, pulling myself up over it, I think of all the possibilities that could play out tonight. Maybe she'll catch me, and it'll give me an excuse to catchher, keep her from doing something foolish. Or she won't, and I'll be free to watch her all night as she goes on through her nightly routine.
Landing on her balcony, I glance at my phone, seeing the blind spot between her balcony and her bedroom window. I just have to climb over the banister and scale along the three-inch brick ledge across about four feet.
Fuck.
My feet wobble on the railing, my balance likely not what it was before I spent several months in the hospital. But I catch myself on the brick divots, scraping the fuck out of my hand.
With a calming breath, I tiptoe across the ledge, easing my bladefrom my pocket, fighting against the nerves making my hands shake. A fall from this heightprobablywouldn't kill me, but I’d rather not find out.
Finally, after what feels like ages, I flick the blade out, slide it between the frame and the window, right where the little latch is, and gently tug it up until I hear the telltale click.
With one arm still firmly on the wall, I used my other hand to open the window, then silently slide myself through it, landing in her bedroom right against the wall, facing the side of her bed.
Whileshedoesn't have a camera in here, I do. Tucked right between a plant and a fancy edition of some classic on top of her bookshelf. If the whole point was just to watch her, that would do the trick to ease this gnawing in my stomach.
But it's not. The point is to get as close to Brigit as possible, to be within her space, to see just how near I can get without getting spotted. It's about circling her, like fucking prey, until I can't take it any longer and have to pounce.
It occurs to me distantly that this istooeasy. I got in here with hardly any effort at all, like it was second nature, leaving me uneasily wondering if this was a regular occurrence that I've forgotten.
Too late to do anything about it now, if it was. Maybe I'm better off not knowing.
I glance at my phone. I've got maybe 20 minutes until Brigit walks through her front door.
