Artemis pauses, spoon still in the air, a frown cutting through her fun. She rushes to open one of her drawers, but she waits, carefully watching outside with a changed demeanor as if she's ready to protect. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
I can’t answer. My lips part, but no sound comes out. I stare at the window, every nerve screaming someone’s there.Where the hell are you, piece of shit?
But when I blink, it’s only branches swaying under the streetlight. I can feel it in my blood, in my bones, in every nerve ending that screams. Rage boils up inside me, threatening to spill over.
How dare he? How fucking dare he invade me when I’m surrounded by friends. I feel exposed, violated, watched. And I know—I just know—it’s him. His presence has become toxic in my mind, seeping into my every thought. I need to confront him, to look into those cold blue eyes and tell him to get the hell out of my life.
I force a shaky laugh and shake my head, waving it off. “Nothing. I thought I saw something. Never mind.”
The girls exchange a look,
“Damn girl, you scared the shit out of me!” Artemis breathes hard, holding her chest and smiles faintly at Mimi, falling back into their chatter.
But the weight lingers in my chest, heavy, undeniable.
We aren’t alone.
My eyes open, another day in paradise. I am thankful, don’t get me wrong, but I am teetering on the fine line of understanding the depth between life and death a little too heavily these days, and even sleep doesn’t help. The ghost of his eyes on me still drags against my skin. Even brushing my teeth feels like he’s there, lurking in the mirror.
By noon I’d already lied to myself after leaving Artemis’s house with a warm croissant in hand her mom had made me hold on to like I was a starved animal.
The lies were along the lines of being restless, wanting to see the puppy, and needing to be close to anything belonging to Joe.
But my pulse knows better. My pulse knows I want to see Liam’s face when he realizes I am not afraid enough to stay away.
I swallow the croissant, and as I pass my gate, I pause, contemplating between good and bad choices, but I know it was him last night. I feel it in my bones. I can’t take this cat-and-mouse game anymore. I’ll just walk up, peek through the gate, maybe whistle for the dog if it’s out and have a few words with him to stop tormenting me. Then turn back and watch my life go back to its unconscionable fairy tale.
When I reach his house, my feet keep going, and my heart breaks knowing Joe isn’t inside. With the gates ajar and no puppy visible, I enter the pathway and whistle lightly.
The sound of low, male voices drifts from the garage, making my heart stutter. Liam’s here and he’s not alone.
I should have left then, turned around and walked away. But my body disobeys, inching closer. I can’t help my curiosity, the thrill pushing me towards instead of backward.
This is how people get killed in movies. I’m that girl who dies in the first three minutes.
The closer I get, the heavier the air seems to press down on me. I edge closer to the garage door, cracked open just enough for me to peek inside.
The first thing I see is Damien. Everyone knows who Damien is; his reputation precedes him. If anything, Liam is a boxer with an edge of bad mood, but Damien has murder on his hands written all over them. Tall, broad-shouldered but leaner, every inch of skin inked with tattoos that climb from his knuckles up his forearms, crawling up his throat and disappearing beneath his collar. His presence fills the garage like suffocating, inescapable smoke. Dark hair falls into darker, haunting eyes; handsome, yes — so much so it’s absurd — but it’s a beauty threading with undeniable violence.
Beside him, Liam is a storm in flesh, flipping through what seems to be a folder of papers. I squint my eyes and see photographs clipped together. He’s standing with his back facing me, and I can’t make out what is in front of him besides Damien looking down with his arms crossed, flicking his tongue over his teeth.
I step dangerously closer, keeping my body out of sight, and tilting my head just enough to see through the slim opening of the door. When, in my now periphery, in the middle of the room, strapped to a chair with duct tape across his chest and wrists, sits a man. Mid-fifties, maybe. Sweat soaks through his shirt, head jerking every time Damien circles behind him like a shark.
I shouldn’t be here.
“I told you already, I don’t—” the man starts, voice cracking.
The sound cuts off when Liam finally looks up from the folder in his hands.
“You’ll talk,” Liam says in a voice I’d never heard from him before, so measured, trained to ignite control. He flicks one photograph onto the man’s lap.
“It’s only a matter of when. And when it comes, you’ll wish you were already dead.”
My stomach turns to ice.
I should run and never look back. Every instinct screams it, but my legs lock, my breath snagging sharp and shallow. They're not boys. No longer are they men. They’re in a league of their own, proving their reputation to be true. I almost stumble, making the door quietly creak on itself.
Liam’s head turns, and my soul leaves my body when his eyes find mine through the crack in the doorway, pinning me in place. One hand still resting casually on the folder, but beneath it in his other, a gun gleams. He gives me the darkest, most animal stare he’s ever laid on me and grits out the words,
