“Colder. Meaner.”
His eyes narrow. “I am. Just not with you. For now. Your ass got me fucked up.”
I open my eyes, and he’s watching me with that same intensity as before. Like I’m a puzzle he’s half-solved, and he likes the uncertainty.
I can’t help myself. “Why?”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping to a hush. “Because I want to see what you become.”
It makes my skin prickle, not with fear but with anticipation.
He stands, finally, and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he looks over his shoulder. “Take your time. When you’re done, come find me.”
The door shuts with a soft click.
I let myself sink under the water, hold my breath until my lungs burn, then surface and gasp. I scrub at my skin, at the sticky slick between my legs, at the bite marks on my chest. I stare at the ceiling, feeling the world tilt and settle.
For a long time, I just float there, letting the water hold me up.
When I finally get out, I feel lighter.
I dry off, find a robe on the hook, and tie it tight around my waist. My body still aches, but it’s a good pain, a reminder.
Walking slow, I leave the bathroom. The hallway is empty, but I hear the low rumble of Briar’s voice from the living room.
I go towards him, because I have no other choice.
The robe is too big. It swallows me, hiding every bruise and bite mark, but nothing can hide the ache in my ass or the taste of him still lingering at the back of my tongue. I pad down the hallway, bare feet silent on polished stone.
In the living room, Briar stands with his back to me, phone clamped between shoulder and jaw, arms folded so tight his muscles bunch under the skin. He’s not talking, he’s spitting acid, each word a death sentence.
“…You assured me the transfer would be seamless. No, listen to me. I don’t care what the records say, I want it re-confirmed, now. Yes, I’ll take care of the rest. I always do, don’t I?”
A pause, as the voice on the other end tries to mollify him. His hand goes to the bridge of his nose, pinches. “Don’t get cute with me, motherfucker. If you want to keep your job, you’ll do it. Good. Shut the fuck up.” Another pause. “I said I’d fucking take care of it. Now fuck off and do your own fucking job.”
He cuts the call, doesn’t move for a full ten seconds. I stay rooted in the doorway, not sure if I should announce myself or vanish. Eventually, he turns, and his eyes are sharp enough to slice me in half. He registers the robe, the flush on my skin, and for a second there’s a flicker of something, but it’s gone before it settles.
“You didn’t have to get out so soon,” he says. “I would have come to you to make sure you didn’t drown.”
I shrug, arms crossed under the terry cloth, pretending to be smaller than I am. “Felt weird, being in there alone.”
He tilts his head, studies me. “You like being watched.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Better than being left alone with my thoughts. Right now, anyway.”
A ghost of a smile. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that.”
He moves to the wet bar, pours two fingers of something dark into a glass. He doesn’t offer me any. Instead, he drains it in one swallow, then pours another, this time slower, controlled.
He gestures to the couch. “Sit. Please.”
I do, perching on the edge of the single seater, hands fidgeting in my lap. He stays standing, one hip against the bar, rolling the glass between his palms.
“What’s going on?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. “Who was that?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies me like he’s deciding which knife to use. “Do you know what happens to people who dig too deep?” he says.
I swallow, throat tight. “Usually, they disappear.”
