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Christ, since when did I get my kicks from some psycho's murder fantasy?
"Let's get you inside," Gavin said, a protective edge to his words that could've been sweet if they didn't sound so much like a command.
"Right, because the big bad internet boogeyman is going to jump out of my blog and do me in." The sarcasm dripped from my tongue, a defense mechanism honed over years of dealing with betrayal and bullshit.
"Never know," he said with a shrug that was too casual. "Better safe than sorry."
Part of me wondered if safety was just another cage—one I'd been rattling against without even knowing it.
I stood there, the cool night breeze nothing compared to the storm raging inside me. The notification was like the devil's own invitation, and I was seriously considering RSVPing yes.
"Invite me in?" Gavin's voice was whiskey-smooth, as if he wasn't standing on the doorstep of a woman whose stalker had just threatened his life.
"Sure, come into my parlor," I said, the words laced with a dark humor that felt more appropriate for a funeral than a potential nightcap. "Said the spider to the fly."
He gave a short laugh, probably thinking I was being quirky, not borderline psychotic. God, I wished it was only quirkiness making my pulse race. But no, this was fear tangling with something darker, something reckless.
"Lead the way." He gestured toward the door, and I could feel the anticipation rolling off him.
"Chivalry's dead, but sure, let's play pretend," I muttered, fishing out my keys with shaking hands. I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the eyes of my secret admirer burning into me from the shadows. But all I saw were the twinkling lights of Chicago, indifferent to my personal drama.
The key slid into the lock, a metallic click echoing too loudly in the quiet night. The door swung open, and the familiar scent of my apartment rushed out to greet us—vanilla candles and oil paint, a comforting cocoon that now felt like a stage set for some twisted play.
"Nice place," Gavin commented, stepping inside with a confidence that made my stomach flip.
"Thanks, it's got great... acoustics for screaming into the void," I replied, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
"Is that what you do in your free time?" His eyebrow arched, and I could tell he was trying to figure me out. Good luck with that one, buddy.
"Only on Tuesdays." A sarcastic grin tugged at my lips, but it faltered as the weight of the situation settled on my shoulders like a lead cloak.
"Drink?" I offered, already moving toward the kitchen before he could answer. My hands needed something to do, something to hold onto that wasn't the fraying ends of my sanity.
"Sure," he called after me. "Whatever you're having."
"Poison, straight up." I poured two glasses of wine instead, my hands steadier than they had any right to be.
"Here's to bad decisions and worse consequences," I said, handing him a glass and clinking it against my own with a hollow sound.
"Cheers to that," he replied, and I caught the flash of something dangerous in his eyes. I led the way to the couch, every step an argument between running away and diving headfirst into whatever hell awaited me. I sank into the cushions, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the hard edge of desire cutting through me.
"Comfortable?" Gavin asked, sitting down close enough that heat radiated from his body.
"Ask me again when I'm not considering whether or not you'll survive the night," I shot back, my voice a mix of jest and genuine concern.
"Always love a woman with a sense of humor," he said, leaning in, his breath warm against my skin.
"Keep laughing," I warned, even as I found myself leaning in too, "it might just save your life."
Chapter 7
Nash
Perched like a damned gargoyle on the fire escape, I watched them with a sneer twisting my lips. There they were, Celeste and fucking Gavin, all cozy by her apartment door. My fingers gripped the cold metal railing until it nearly buckled under the strain, every muscle in my body coiled tight as the jealousy churned like acid in my gut.
Look at them. I angrily exhaled into the night, my breath a venomous cloud in the crisp Chicago air. The streetlights cast an eerie glow on their too-perfect scene, painting shadows that looked like prison bars across my vision. Celeste's laugh floated up to me, a sound that should've been sweet but now just clawed at my insides.
I was no hero, but damn it, there was a code—my code—that kept me from storming down there and tearing Gavin's throat out. He didn't deserve her touch, her smile, her anything. But then again, who the hell was I to judge what he deserved?
