Page 88 of Safe Word

‘It’s just the fucking wind…’ I muttered under my breath.

But as I reached the kitchen counter, I grabbed my purse and drew my gun.

Uncle’s lessons echoed in my head: Safety off. Aim first.

Barefoot, I placed each foot with care, toes meeting the floor with the whisper of my thigh-high nylons. I unlatched one window – the one near the fire escape – and leaned out.

The early-summer wind kissed my face, ruffling loose strands of hair. Below, the world was still – except for a small orange cat perched on the railing, the moonlight glistening on her fur.

‘Meow,’ she offered, tail flicking, before slipping between the iron bars.

The absurd normalcy of it broke me open. A shaky laugh tore out of me, two parts relief, eight parts hysteria.

‘Stop scaring crazy people, kit,’ I mumbled to her in mock-reprimand, shutting the window with exhaustion.

I exhaled as I turned the lock to secure it in place, lingering just long enough for feeling to return to my toes.

When would I ever be free of Travis?

Back in the bathroom, I fixed my scarf, smoothed stray hairs against my updo and fixed my makeup. The fear receded, but it didn’t disappear, just got buried under the armour of routine.

I had a convention to attend, and pretending to be fine was all I’d been good at lately.

Last year, the event had featured male hosts – shirtless, masked, and ridiculously built – wandering around as part of the ambiance. There was no doubt in my mind they would be back this year.

And then it hit me—

What if Ghost was one of them? If not, what if he was already there – waiting? Watching. Masked and blending into the surroundings.

My phone buzzed and I startled.

Glancing down, I saw the notification pop up from the Obsidian app. I took in a deep breath and opened the full message.

Ghost_666: Club Trionfo. Tonight. Wait for further instructions.

My jaw dropped open, my stomach flipped, but not from fear this time, yet the twisted thrill of recognition. That was the club where the book convention was taking place! He was there!

I felt my face straining from the stupid smile that crept over it.

Damn, I was really losing it – only last night he’d done bad things to me I shouldn’t have liked. Things I had to let sink in, to allow my mind space to heal. But here I was, ready to throw myself into the pit again.

Shit, what if Cain ran into us?

Picking nervously at my nails, I glanced at the walk-in wardrobe, where my wig and Venetian mask lay waiting.

Unease crawled under my skin.

He was deviating from the norm. It had always been private. Always Obsidian.

Was he taking this a step further?

I flipped the safety back onto the gun and put it in my purse, then shut it with more force than necessary. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the wardrobe.

The wig was new, still shiny and a bit too perfect, but it served its purpose. Which was why I couldn’t cram it into my purse. It would’ve been all dishevelled once I pulled it out.

So instead, I touched the flaps of my black, silky scarf. I could wrap it around my head so he wouldn’t see my hair. It wasn’t the most elaborate disguise, but it would have to do.

Sliding the mask and contact lenses into my purse, I bit back another intrusive thought that kept pushing and pushing: the memory of last night. It burned through me vividly. After his exquisite introduction to the night, I’d come undone in ways that I hadn’t known were possible. And my body suddenly thrummed in anticipation for what he had in store for me this time.