Page 46 of Hellebore

I wait.

The other car slows, cautious now. Headlights sweep past my hiding spot. He hesitates, then continues forward, searching.

Perfect.

I start the engine again, quiet, deadly, and pull out behind him. He doesn’t notice until my lights suddenly flood his rearview mirror. I accelerate and slam into his bumper with a satisfying crunch of metal. The car swerves. I hit him again, harder, forcing him toward the steep embankment.

He loses control.

The car careens off the road, crashing through brush and small trees before slamming violently into a thick trunk with a sickening scream of metal and glass.

I don’t stop to check if he’s alive.

I simply smile into the rearview mirror, turn around, and continue into the night.

Whoever the fuck that was… they chose the wrong man to follow.

I lie in the hotel bed, eyes fixed on the feed as Briar begins to stir.

It’s almost nine in the morning. Next time I’ll have to reduce the dose. I never expected her to eat the entire fucking cake.

“Oh God…” she moans softly, stretching as a cat. Then she freezes. Her hand slides under the blanket and she lifts it, staring down at her naked body. I zoom in closer, watching the exact moment realization hits her, no underwear, no dress, skin still flushed from last night.

She looks around the bedroom wildly. “Hello?”

I can’t help the slow, satisfied smile that spreads across my face.

My phone vibrates as I open the line again so she can reply.

“Good morning.”

She jumps violently at the buzz. Grabs the phone. Looks around the room again as if I might be hiding in the shadows.

“How did you know I was awake?”

I type back, savoring every second.

“Cameras.”

Her mouth falls open. “What?” she yells, bolting upright. Realizing she’s completely naked, she yanks the purple blanket around herself.

“My love, I saw you naked and coming on my tongue last night. There’s no need to cover yourself.”

“Oh my God.” She covers her face with both hands, voice cracking. “I need to be admitted into the psych ward. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

She laughs, a broken, hysterical sound, then starts frantically searching the room, blanket clutched to her chest.

“Please tell me there aren’t mics in my bedroom!” She screams, waving her free hand around as if she can swat them out of the air.

I laugh darkly, leaning back against the headboard.

“There aren’t mics in your bedroom.”

She sags with relief for half a second.

“They’re all over your apartment.”