If life has taught me anything, it’s patience. The wait for the perfect moment. Her video is confirmation of what I’ve already planned. “Don’t worry, my love. Tonight has never been about Blake. His time hasn’t come yet. I have a different prey to catch for you.”
Tomorrow, she’ll wake up to a gift wrapped in crimson and steel, a reminder that I am always watching, always listening, always taking care of what is mine.
CHAPTER 22
Birdie
Jacksonville. My city of firsts.
First crush. First kiss. First secret. First broken bone. First heartache. First nightmare. First sin. First blood.
Jacksonville, my city of pain.
The hotel room walls press in around me like a confession booth, all beige monotony and recycled air. Outside, the St. Johns River cuts through downtown like a scar, reflecting the neon signs of dive bars and late-night diners. I swore I’d never return to this place, but here I am, trapped forty stories above it all, watching my past spread out below like evidence at a crime scene.
The keycard beeps in the hallway. Tristan’s footsteps. I know that deliberate, measured gait anywhere. Four weeks—feels like four years, even more—of having him shadow my every move has taught me to read his moods in the rhythm of his walk. Tonight, each step carries the weight of barely controlled fury.
I don’t turn from the window when he enters. In the glass, the extra foot and a half he has on me towers over my reflection. His expensive suit can’t quite hide the gun holstered on his left side or his massive muscles. He looks exquisite even when his jaw is set in that particular way that means I’m about to get the lecture of my life.
The door clicks shut behind him, followed by the sound of the deadbolt sliding home. “What the fuck, Birdie?”
I trace a finger along the condensation on the window, drawing a small heart before wiping it away. “Go on. Get it all out. I deserve it. I promise I’ll just stand there and take it like a good girl.”
“You have the audacity for snark after what you’ve done? I don’t think you understand the gravity of—”
“Believe me, I understand.”
“Really? Because from where I stand, you’re playing Russian roulette with your own life, and I’m the one who has to watch.”
How can I make him understand when every threatening letter, every photograph slipped, every shadow that has been following me is a dark love song written in a language only I can understand? How can I show him Butterfly Man isn’t a threat to my life, not yet? I turn to face him with a shrug. “I had to.”
“No, you didn’t. That’s the whole point of having me here. So you don’t have to do anything. So you can be safe.”
I’ll never be safe if Blake or Shane use my secrets against me. In mynightmare, what I really needed to be safe was clear. Both Blake and Shane must die before they get a chance to utter a single word about me. And Butterfly Man is the only one who can do it.
“Did you get the list of the people who worked at the school, locate Blake or find his app?”
His jaw clenches, and then he scoffs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you right now. I’m working on it. My whole team is working on it. You could have just given me a few hours before you—”
“I have no doubt you’ll come through.” I stare back at the window. “Until then, Butterfly Man will be in Miami, waiting for me, away from this city, away from Blake.”
“So this was your plan all along? Just to get your stalker out of the city until we find Blake?”
Part of it. “Just like you ask me to put my faith in you and trust you, Tristan,” my gaze wanders to Jacksonville’s skyline as it glitters like broken glass, beautiful and sharp enough to cut, just like everything else in this city that has shaped me, “you’re going to have to do the same with me.”
CHAPTER 23
Tristan
I regret giving Birdie her phone back. Of course, she would post that video. She’s so desperate she’d do anything to reach her stalker, and I’m starting to believe it’s not just to solve the Abel situation. Shewantsto meet him, the masked man she fucks in her head, in her dreams.
A chime comes from her pocket. The look on her face when she sees the name on the screen tells me who is calling. She swallows, and her finger, trembling, hovers to make a bigger mess than the one she’s already made.
I snatch the phone out of her hand. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Give me that back. It’s Blake,” she rasps.
“I know. How your face pales, your eye twitches and then your nostrils flare every time you see his name gives you away.” Switching her phone off and pocketing it, I stare her down. “But you’re not answering until we figure out a way to deal with him. You told the whole world he’s a drug addict. He must be pissed. What if he blows the whistle and goes through with his threats?”
