Page 90 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Idon’t leave Terrace until the lights go off. I pitch in on dishes, finish prep for tomorrow, and even mop the kitchen. It’s past midnight by the time I leave, but I’m not tired. I jog over to Brinley’s instead of driving, as fast as I can without getting sweaty and gross, enjoying the small burn in my muscles.

Using the key she gave me last year, I let myself in the building and walk upstairs. Thankfully, Brinley and Eden have finished their TV night. The living room is dark, no circus shows to be found.

The lights are off in Brinley’s room, too. I tiptoe inside and find her lying in bed. She’s wearing one of my old T-shirts, her legs tangled up in the sheets. I assume she’s asleep until she says, “Hi.”

“Hey, Brinley baby.” I kick off my shoes and unbutton my jeans. “What are you still doing up?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why? Did the clowns scare you, too?”

She groans. “Worse. An email from my landlord.”

“For the apartment?”

“No. The Copper Cup.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“He’s thinking about terminating my lease. He sent it days ago. The Peppermint news reached him, and apparently, he has ‘concerns about reputational alignment.’”

“Fuck.” I strip off my shirt and crawl into bed, pulling her tight against me. “I’m so sorry, Brinley.”

“Well, you know what they say. Karma’s a bitch, right? And I brought on some bad karma.”

“It’s messed up! It’s not like you committed a crime. You posted an apology. They’re blowing everything way out of proportion.”

“No, they’re not. If you read some of the messages people have sent me⁠—”

“You shouldn’t read those. Those people don’t know you.”

“I’m not. Eden’s helping me delete them.”

“Good.” I nuzzle my nose against her neck. “I wish I could protect you from this. If there’s anything I can do⁠—”

“This. Just be here and hold me. Everything else, I’ll think about tomorrow.”

Just like she asked, I hold Brinley until her breathing grows even. The whole time, I’m composing the email to my financial advisor in my head. I refused to let Brinley lose the Copper Cup. She built that place from nothing, and I know what it means for her.

She’s lost enough already. I can’t take away her pain, but this—this I can fix.

Once she’s asleep, I roll over and lower the brightness on my phone. It only takes a few minutes to send my advisor the Copper Cup’s address and ask him to find out who owns it and how much it’ll take to buy it. I tell him to come in at 5 percent over market cost, with the aim of not going over 20 percent. If the owner refuses, I’ll go higher—hell, I’ll double the cost if that’s what it takes. But I know better than to say that to someone about to negotiate for me.

After I press send, a new text arrives.

Ryan

Give Luke time. He’ll come around.

I let out a long breath. It’s not forgiveness or a promise, but it’s a thread. A hint that maybe I haven’t lost everyone.

32

BRINLEY

Iclutch the large, smooth piece of amethyst in my hands as I step into the elevator. The woman at the witchy new age store where I bought it told me that it represented peace and tranquility—the perfect offering for Maura. It feels cool and heavy, and holding it actually is calming.

It’s probably appropriate that I’m handing it to a woman who will end up smashing it with a hammer.