Fuck. She recognizes it.
Not just the mask, she recognizes me. Her brother. In the sea of costumed faces, my sister has picked me out with unnerving accuracy. The dimple in my chin maybe, or the set of my shoulders. We share enough features that even half a face is enough for her to know.
I freeze, waiting for her to out me. To point and yell and create a scene. To grab Lila and rush her away from the predator who’s been stalking her for months. But Mia does none of these things. Instead, she gives me the tiniest nod,so small it could be mistaken for a twitch, before turning her attention back to Lila and Valerie.
She won't be causing a scene, not right now anyway.
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by shame. I should be the one to tell Lila who I am without the mask. She deserves that much after what we’ve shared. But not yet. Not until I can guarantee her safety from Eli. Not until I can offer her more than just another complicated man in her life.
I turn and push my way through the crowd toward the exit. The cool October air hits me like a slap, clearing some of the fog from my head. The bouncer nods as I pass, and I make my way to where I’ve parked my bike, behind the club near the service entrance.
My motorcycle waits for me like a faithful companion, its matte black finish nearly invisible in the darkness. I swing my leg over the seat, feeling the familiar leather beneath me. The key slides into the ignition, and the engine roars to life, vibrating between my thighs in a way that reminds me painfully of Lila’s touch just minutes ago.
I zip up my jacket against the night chill and pull away from the curb, accelerating perhaps faster than I should. The wind tears at my clothes, and I realize I’m still wearing the mask. I reach up and pull it off, stuffing it into my jacket pocket. Without its protective barrier, the cold air stings my face, but I welcome the sensation. It helps clear my head, helps me focus on something other than the lingering scent of Lila on my skin.
The roads are nearly empty this late, and I open the throttle, letting the bike eat up the few miles between the club and my townhouse. The speedometer climbs, and for a few blissful moments, the only things that exist are theroad, the bike, and the night sky above. No Eli, no complicated emotions, no lies of omission, just pure, simple speed.
But even the rush of adrenaline can’t keep my thoughts from circling back to Lila. The way she looked at me in that VIP room, with desire and curiosity and a hint of defiance. The soft sounds she made as she came apart under my tongue. The feel of her hand wrapped around me, confident and demanding.
Jesus Christ, what am I doing?
I slow the bike as I approach the bridge that leads across a river to my condo. The water beneath glitters with reflected moonlight, beautiful and serene. So different from the chaos in my head right now.
By the time I pull into my garage, I’ve managed to regain some semblance of control. I park the bike in its designated spot, a small plastic cubicle that keeps it protected from the elements. The stairs up to my kitchen feel steeper than usual tonight, my legs still wobbly from what happened at the club.
Inside, the townhouse is quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator. I flip on a single light in the kitchen, not wanting to dispel the darkness completely. It feels fitting somehow, this half-light. A mirror of my half-truths.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, downing half of it in one go. My throat is dry, my head beginning to pound from the combination of alcohol, adrenaline, and the persistent bass from the club that seems to have taken up residence in my skull.
Upstairs in my bedroom, I strip off my clothes, placing the mask on my nightstand. I should shower, I smell like alcohol and sweat and Lila, but I can’t bring myself to washher away just yet. Instead, I pull on a pair of clean boxers and head back downstairs.
I settle onto my sofa, leaning my head back against the cushions and staring out at the bay through the wall of windows that makes up the eastern side of my living room. The water is black and still, reflecting the lights from the houses on the opposite shore. Somewhere over there, Lila will be going home tonight. To an empty house, thankfully, not to Eli. But empty nonetheless.
I close my eyes, remembering how it felt to have her in my arms. How right it seemed, even with all the wrong surrounding it. I’m not supposed to want her like this. I’m supposed to be helping her, not complicating her life further.
My phone rings, jarring me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen and feel my stomach drop. Mia.
I consider letting it go to voicemail, but that would only delay the inevitable. Better to face this now.
“Hello?” I answer, trying to sound casual, as if this is just a normal late-night call from my sister.
“What the actual fuck, Tony?” Mia’s voice comes through sharp and clear, anger evident in every syllable.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I can explain.”
“You’d better. Do you have any idea how scared shitless I’ve been for Lila these past few weeks? Hearing about some creep watching her house, breaking in, leaving books? And it’s been you the whole goddamn time?”
“Yes,” I admit, no point in denying it now. “It’s been me. I thought she knew after we ran into each other at Akira Sushi.”
“Jesus Christ, Tony. What the hell are you thinking? This isn’t some rescue mission in a foreign country. Thisis my best friend, if she thought it was mybrother, she wouldn't say a word! Her life is way too hard to be dealing with this right now.”
“I know,” I say, more sharply than I intended. “That’s the whole point. I know exactly who she is and what she’s going through.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Mia speaks again, her voice is quieter but no less intense. “How long? How long have you been stalking her?”
“I wasn’t stalking her,” I protest, though I know that’s exactly what it looks like. What it is, if I’m being honest with myself. “I was watching out for her. Making sure she was safe when that piece of shit husband of hers was gone.”
“Answer the question, Tony.”
