Deep down, the broken, beautiful creature that sheis must at least suspect that something’s not right. That I’m not who I told her I was. As she peers at me over the rim of her glass, I notice the exact moment she starts wondering what’s really going on here. Being from Springfield could be as big a coincidence as the two of us being assigned to the same chalet. But considering how I didn’t seem the least bit put out to find her here, or to realize that the cell service was ‘dead’… almost like I was prepared to accept the unusual circumstances… the Noelle before that holiday party might’ve looked past it.
But the Noelle who’s been hurt before? She’s careful, and I’m proud of my Starling.
I allow her her excuses. So she’s ready to turn in for the night?
“If you’re going to bed, I’d like to take a quick shower,” I tell her, doing my best to put her at ease. “I haven’t had the chance since I left Springfield last night. If you don’t mind?”
Her eyes find mine, a slight furrow to her brow. There are two bedrooms in the chalet, both upstairs, and a single full bath. I’ve used the john, but not the shower—until now.
Noelle’s cheeks flame as red as her hair, and I know that, whether she wants to or not, she’s imagining me naked in the stall. Good. This will go a lot better for the both of us if she’s even half as attracted to me as I am to her, and if I put the idea of my wet body into her headon purpose… well, everything I do is meticulously planned, isn’t it?
“Sure,” she says after a moment. “Yeah. That’s okay with me.”
I knew it would be.
Never losing my friendly smile, I nod once, easy as ever, and push my seat away from the table. With a small, casual wave, I stand, and as I walk toward the stairs, I don’t look behind me. No reason to. I can feel her gaze on my back like a heated brand, curious and wary.
A quick stop to grab a few things, then an easy stroll down the hall upstairs. Only after the bathroom door clicks shut behind me does my grin go from easy to determined.
I set my toiletry bag on the counter, then turn on the shower spray, my thoughts still downstairs with Noelle and the two glasses of champagne she’s had tonight.
So far, it’s been a Christmas miracle. Not only did Noelle’s kind heart lead to her allowing me to stay at the chalet, but instead of locking herself in her room all afternoon, she actually spent it with me. It’s like she already senses the connection between us, knowing like I have for the past year that we’re meant to be.
But if she hadn’t opened the door last night? If she hadn’t agreed I could stay?
I would’ve been here anyway. I would’ve found a way inside.
Still, it makes me hard, knowing that she invited me in on her own accord.
The way I see it, consent is complicated. People like to pretend it’s a clean line: yes or no. A door open or a door shut. In my world—in that of the Dragonflies, of organized crime, death for sale, and women who can be bought and claimed—consent is more like a door you coax open slowly until someone forgets it was ever closed.
The shower is running, though I haven’t climbed into the stall yet. Instead, I turn to the mirror.
The hot water steams the glass, but I can still see myself through the haze. The man staring back at me looks exactly like what I’ve worked hard to be. Presentable and professional. Just handsome enough while also being forgettable—unless I want to be remembered.
And, fuck me, I want to be all that Noelle Halliday knows.
I strip off my sweater and fold it neatly, placing it on the other side of the counter. It’s an old habit of mine: keep your things where you can find them. Keep control. Never leave a trace you don’t mean to.
The ivy leaves on my skin stare back at me in the mirror. Faded green inked into rough and weathered skin that’s seen too much and healed up anyway.
Thirteen green leaves on my right bicep and my shoulder. Thirteen kills that were in service to the Libellula Family before my retirement early last year.
I have plenty of green—and now I have five red leaves forming a flower on my back.
Five, because Starling wished without knowing there was a man listening who finds pleasure in killing those who deserve it. What might’ve been a private scream into the void last Christmas turned into a wish list that I followed to the letter.
One by one, the men of Evergreen & Co. fell, and they died because I did it all forher. To avenge Starling, and to prove myself worthy of her the only way that ‘Saint’ Patrick North knows how to.
I didn’t eliminate them all at once, even though I’d wanted to. That would’ve been sloppy, drawing too much attention and leaving too many questions asked. Besides, I have a fondness for the dramatic, something that Damien Libellula encouraged in me when he gave me the name of someone who betrayed the Dragonflies. I don’t just kill. I make a statement.
And I did exactly that to the bastards who hurt Starling.
Evan Pike was first.
Evan wasn’t the worst of them. That’s what made him both unbearable and a good choice for the first kill. He was the kind of man who can stand in a room while something terrible happens, then later convincehimself that his silence is just him being neutral. He just watched, that’s all. He didn’t really want to be involved.
Right. As if involvement is something you opt into after the fact, after you stood in a shadowy corner, jerking off as Noelle was brutalized between two other pricks…
