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Once the door clicks shut behind me, I exhale, releasing some of my pent-up nerves. Creeping toward the door on this side, I peer through it, my view limited to the small teachers’ parking lot. Doubt gnaws at me. Am I really going to go through with this?
Yes. I am.
I feel like a curious cat about to use up one of her nine lives. With determination, I push the door open and slip outside. Nightfall arrives quickly in the north, and despite only a quarter of an hour having passed since my conversation with Desmond, the streetlights flicker to life as the sun dips below the horizon.
Shadows dance along a row of trees on the far side of the parking lot. Not a soul seems to be around. After checking both directions, I cautiously creep along the brick building toward its rear. A flight of steps leads down to the sidewalk below the retaining wall. The anticipation and tension in the air are tangible as I stand on the brink of a decision that could forever alter my perceptions of the world around me.
First, I cautiously peer over the edge of the building, my gaze landing on the empty playground. A lone trick-or-treat bag dangles from the monkey bars, flapping gently in the light breeze.
A grunt from below reaches my ears, causing my stomach to twist into a knot. I dart across the parking lot toward the steps leading down. An odd sense of vulnerability washes over me, despite the fact that I’m in the confines of a school—a place where I shouldn’t feel exposed.
Shaking off the unease, I peer down the concrete steps. They twist once, concealing the view of the sidewalk. Crouching down, I cautiously descend, silencing the inner doubts that threaten to talk me out of this. I remind myself that I’m already locked out of the school, and once that door closes, there’s no turning back.
“Just look,” I tell myself, attempting to reassure my racing heart that there’s likely nothing problematic happening. However, I’m not entirely convinced by my thoughts as I pause at the turn in the steps. Faint murmurs reach my ears, so I slow my pace, straining to catch snippets of conversation.
Determined to get a closer look, I take the last steps down. My palms scrape against the brick wall as I cautiously peer around the corner of the building, my eyes fixed on the sidewalk and the street beyond.
Across the street, homes are scattered along the wide road, accompanied by trees and open fields, but none of this captures my attention as intensely as what’s transpiring before me.
Desmond stands in the center of the street, his fancy coat discarded. Clad in a black button-down shirt, he leisurely rolls up his sleeves, revealing intricate black tattoos. He seems to be engaged in conversation with a man kneeling on the ground, blood on his lips.
My eyes widen as I take in the figure standing behind Desmond—Lyric in his enigmatic attire. Wearing the cowl, dark glasses, scarf, and all-black outfit, he exudes the presence of the killer he’s rumored to be. Surrounding them are armed men and black cars, two of them parked on that side of the street.
What strikes me even more are the houses in plain view. Not a single window reveals a curious onlooker, and no one seems as nosy as I am. There’s a surreal sense of silence, as though the world beyond this scene has paused.
Desmond punches the man, and blood sprays onto the pavement. The man on his knees laughs, spitting out a tooth. My heart pounds in my chest, and I instinctively press back against the wall, the icy tendrils of fear gripping me. My breath quickens, and panic takes over as I struggle to process the gravity of the situation unraveling before my eyes.
That’s when I see the two black cars parked on this side of the street, and a man is staring right at me. His gaze is cold as he takes me in. Pushing off the car, he steps toward me, and I recognize him. He was at the dinner that night. Unlike the paralysis I felt earlier, I don’t freeze, fawn, or fight. I run.
My knee slams against the steps as I scramble upward, blood roaring in my ears. I take the steps two at a time, cursing under my breath as footsteps echo behind me. I’m no athlete, and panic fuels my desperation. Arms envelop me from behind, and a hand covers my mouth. This one is cruel, unlike Lyric’s grip, which feels strangely protective. His laughter confirms that as I fight back, kicking at his legs and trying to break free, but the man is stronger, holding me as if I were a child.
He tsks softly and whirls me around, carrying me down the steps. My captor remains quiet as he rounds the corner and carries me toward the street. Desmond glances up from the scene, his raised eyebrow displaying a mix of disappointment and bemusement. It’s as though he expected my defiance, despite his warning.
“I told you to stay, Charlotte,” he chides before shifting his focus back to the man on the street. My eyes remain fixed on Desmond, even as he reaches behind and takes a gun from Lyric. In a nonchalant action, Desmond checks the chamber. He attaches a silencer, his gaze locked on the man trying to retreat. Without hesitation, he shoots the man point-blank in the head. For the second time in a week, I witness a murder, and the shocking part is that no one around us appears surprised.
Handing the gun back to Lyric, Desmond looks at me again as he removes his leather gloves. “Now, what am I going to do with you?” His gaze drills into me, cold and calculating. The man who spoke to me earlier has transformed into a dangerous criminal. I should have heeded my advice, which I gave Tatum, and kept my distance from Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous.
Fifteen
Anticipation hums within my veins,an uncontrollable vibration that courses through me. I can’t contain it, can’t push it down, even as fear leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Desmond commands my attention. The flex of his muscles, the pull of his shirt, his predatory stride—it’s all I see.
Then there’s Lyric, a specter from my dreams, both awake and asleep, trapped between nightmare and fantasy.
They both focus solely on me.
Desire ignites inside me, licking at my thighs, my belly, and trailing up my neck as they pause before me. Desmond’s gaze dips to the hands that hold me captive. When his eyes meet mine, desire ripples beneath the surface, a dam on the verge of breaking, but then his gaze shifts to the man behind me, and everything changes. The man who just ended a life emerges, his presence changing the atmosphere.
“I suggest you let her go.” Desmond’s voice is like ice, deadly and possessive. It shouldn’t send a thrill through me or make my heart race, but it does. “If you want to stay alive, you won’t lay a finger on her again.”
The man releases me abruptly, stepping away and muttering, “Sorry, boss.”
Desmond doesn’t acknowledge him, his focus returning to me. His dark, possessive eyes send a surge of both fear and excitement through me. The electric tension that’s always present between us crackles, heightened by Lyric’s presence. His steampunk glasses hide him, but I can’t tell if it’s to conceal his identity or to shield him from the blood.
“Walk with me, Charlotte.” Desmond’s command holds no room for refusal. He turns briefly, addressing the group of men surrounding us. “Clean this up. Patrol cars at every entrance and exit of Lenora. No one gets in.” His gaze lands on me. “And no one gets out.”
My body shivers, but as he approaches and his palm lands on the small of my back, the fear I felt moments ago dissipates. I’m not scared anymore. All I feel is an unrelenting curiosity, a gnawing need.
