Page 9 of Trading In A Broken Heart

“You know what your fucking problem is?”

He stared at me, trembling. “You thought being desperate made you dangerous.” I tilted my head slightly. “It doesn’t.” Then I flashed him a smile. “People like me?” I squeezed his jaw tighter. “We’re dangerous because we enjoy this shit.”

Removing my blade from my back pocket, I sliced his neck from ear to ear and then wiped the blood on his shoulder. His body made a thud sound when it hit the floor.

* * *

A month later

I should’ve left Vegas in Vegas. That was my problem. I fucking didn’t.

Most women blurred together after a while—pretty faces, fake laughs, fake bodies, temporary distractions.

Solei stayed stuck in my head like a bullet lodged too close to the heart. I noticed her the second the jet rolled into that hangar. Pink yoga outfit. Resting bitch face. Danger in her eyes.

When I made it back to my suite, I watched her through surveillance for almost two hours. In that short time, I learned her favorite drink. What irritated her about men. What made her relax.

It was weeks later, and I was sitting inside Blackveil’s command room, watching live security footage from her apartment complex while Ghost leaned against the wall smoking.

“You know this shit insane, right?” Ghost asked.

I ignored him.

Monitor three showed Solei stepping out of the elevator, wearing gray shorts and an oversized T-shirt.

My jaw slightly flexed.

She looked exhausted. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun while she carried grocery bags against her hip and struggled to unlock her door. I noticed everything about her. The way she sighed before entering her apartment. The fact that she always kicked her shoes off near the couch. How she slept with the television on. How she checked the locks twice before bed.

She was paranoid.

Ghost walked closer to the monitors. “You hacked the whole damn apartment complex system and her personal security?”

“Mind ya fucking business.”

His hands tossed up into the air, and he backed away from me.

I leaned back in my chair while Solei disappeared inside her apartment. Seconds later, the kitchen light came on. Then the living room.

Every night, she followed the same routine. Every chance I got, I watched. Obsession was a dangerous thing because, eventually, it stopped feeling wrong. It started feeling deserved.

I knew her schedule better than she did. Tuesday and Friday, grocery store around six thirty. Sundays, she visited her parents.

Wednesday nights, she ordered takeout and fell asleep on the couch halfway through movies. Saturdays, she hooked up with her best friend, Imani.

I knew when she was sad by the way she moved. I knew when she was angry by how hard she slammed cabinets. I knew when men flirted with her too fucking long. That part irritated me the most.

I watched one of the maintenance workers smile at her through the apartment hallway camera two days ago.

Tonight, his employee file sat on my desk with terminated stamped across the front.

Ghost looked over my shoulder. “You’re spiraling.”

“Fuck on. I’m observing.”

“You’re psychotic. That’s what yo’ ass is,” Ghost muttered underneath his breath.

Maybe.