Chapter 23 #2
Maybe if I'm quiet, he won't know I'm home. I haven't moved in hours, and it would've looked pitch black in here from the outside.
He knocks again, and I slowly back away from the door, trying to move silently. I don't give a fuck. He can stand there and knock all night. I'm not letting him in.
The door handle jiggles, and I freeze.
It's locked. He can't get in.
"Brigit," he yells through the door again. "I'm concerned for your safety."
My safety?
"We have reason to believe Mr. Fomori is targeting you next. Please open the door."
There's not a chance in the world he thinks I'm a target.
I groan quietly, holding my hand against my head to ease the ache forming.
"He's been spotted near here and we believe he may already be inside," he says, putting the final nail in the coffin. He's coming in whether I open the door or he breaks it in. "You have one minute to open this door or I'll be forced to enter to assure your safety."
One minute.
I can do a lot in 60 seconds.
Maybe I should be thankful for all the practice runs I've done in my head on how to get to my phone and gun at any given moment due to Cormac.
As quietly as I can, I grab my phone from the floor next to my purse, wincing from the sudden bright light.
Jesus Christ.
How many times has Cormac texted me?
Don't panic but there are pictures of us on the internet. Sky says he can get them down by the end of the day.
***
Don't be mad, Bunny. We look fantastic in them. Especially you in protective lawyer mode.
Oh shit.
Brig, I'm so sorry.
Stella just told me what happened. Kelly called someone who called someone who called her an hour ago.
Brigit?
Ten missed calls, too. From him, from another unknown number, a few texts supposedly from Stella. From mom, who I'm definitely not fucking dealing with now.
I don't have time for this.
Outside the door, the officer has given me a few updates on my rapidly dwindling time.
I have time to send one text.
I'll just have to gamble that the person I send it to will be the right one.
911
I turn on the camera to record video, then put it in my pocket. If nothing else, I'll get audio of him doing something sketchy.
Finally, the last thing I do is retrieve my little pistol from its new home, check that the safety is on, and slide it down the front of my skirt, like Cormac did the first day we met.
I have no way of knowing if that's the best place for it, but he's the one whose instincts I would trust on that.
Smoothing my shirt over it, the frigid metal rests against my stomach, goosebumps breaking out across my skin.
With only ten seconds left, I flick on the main light and open the door, rubbing my eyes to play up the exhaustion.
Hopefully, the smudged makeup and red, swollen eyes will help sell it.
On the other side of the entrance, he looks surprised that I opened the door at all, taking a step back.
"Miss Danaan," he says. "I've been knocking for ages. Are you alright?"
Holding back the eyeroll I want to give him, I nod, holding the door partially closed as a makeshift barrier between him and my home.
"I was asleep. Sorry. What do you want?"
Holding up his phone, he shows me screenshots of the article, giving me a smug grin that says just how much he enjoys that he's caught me in my lie.
"Wrong place. Wrong time," I yawn. "Is that all?"
Placing one hand on my open door, he pushes it slightly, and I hold it back, keeping it from opening any further.
"Like I said," he grits. "I have reasonable belief that he's going to be making you his next victim. And soon. You'll need to let me in to secure the premises."
He's lying, and we both know it.
"I'm not worried," I tell him. "I upgraded my security system. No one is getting in here without me knowing about it."
Raising a brow, he presses again, aiming to squeeze past me into my apartment. Even though I'm taller, he's stronger, and I'm wearing fucking tights that slide across the floor as the door squeaks open just enough for him to slip inside.
The moment the door closes behind him, he drops the act, "You told me you had no idea where he was."
I shrug, "I didn't. Still don't."
Barking out a laugh, he looks around the apartment casually, his eyes landing on the recycling full of the boxes from my new system. "But you've seen him since he got out."
There's no point in denying that now.
"I'm a regular at Mingle. We crossed paths. Didn't know he owned it," I explain, keeping my distance from him.
He breathes out through his nose, "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now. Your face is plastered next to his publically enough to create suspicion."
"Suspicion?"
Taking a step towards me, he shrugs, "Yeah. Unfortunately, we really need Cormac back behind bars since he’s been so resistant to being put in the ground.”
I move back, fighting to keep my breathing calm through the undercurrent of the threat I can feel, "I don't see what that has to do with me."
Gaining on me with his slow steps, he tilts his head. "I really didn't want it to come to this, Miss Danaan. I hoped you would help me find him and I could take care of the problem without unnecessary bloodshed."
My chest caves in, my breathing coming in fast, frantic pants. The only thing keeping me from panicking completely is the cold steel cradled between my skirt and my rapidly heating skin.
"Look," I try one last time, hoping maybe I can keep him from attacking me. With all the theoretical practice I've had with violent guests, I still haven't actually pointed a gun at anyone. "I-I don't know where he is. I don't even know where he lives. But I can reach him."
He raises a brow in disbelief, "You'd turn on him, just like that?"
Hell no.
But every minute I keep him talking is a minute hopefully closer to Cormac making a grand appearance.
Unfortunately, this isn't a movie, and every second he doesn't appear leaves me more and more alone with this manic stranger.
"I promise you don't need to be scared," he assures me. "You'll just go to sleep. Totally painless. It'll be over fast."
Without waiting for another response, he lashes out, trying to grab me. Barely darting out of his grip, my instinct to run finally kicks in, sending me sprinting across the floor, forgetting in my haste about the fucking tights.
Making a turn around my furniture, I slip and nearly fall. The few seconds it takes me to catch myself are enough for him to reach me, slamming me into the wall.
My head ricochets off the siding painfully.
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe.
Fear takes over every thought in my head, making me act on impulse alone, begging and pleading pathetically, tears pooling, turning my vision hazy.
His hand wrapped around my throat keeps me immobilized, the pressure cutting off any hope I have of screaming or continuing to beg.
With shaking hands, I reach for the pistol, realizing it's now or never. Cormac isn't coming to save me. I'm going to have to do it myself.
He's just distracted enough with the syringe, using his teeth to take the lid off before spitting it to the side.
I quietly unclick the safety, praying to the universe that this will work and apologizing for having to do it.
With quivering lips and a horrified ache in my chest, I press it against his stomach and pull the trigger.
The sound registers for both of us before anything else.
I can see the shock in his face from the loud explosion, then watch it morph into one of exquisite pain and fear.
“What the fuck?” he mutters, stumbling away from me and putting a hand over the hole I just created in his body.
The syringe clatters to the floor only seconds before he does.
But I can't fucking move. Can't take my eyes or my aim off of him. Even through my hazy vision, I can see the red oozing out around him.
I’m not even sure how long I’m standing there over him, listening to his pained groans grow quiet until, distantly, I can hear someone calling my name.
But all I see is the man whom I sent a bullet through, cradling his stomach on the ground, eyes closed.
"Bunny," someone says. "Brigit, honey, look at me."
Tearing my bleary eyes from the scene unfolding on the ground, I look up and see Cormac standing just inside my patio, holding his arms up like I might shoot him next.
"Did I kill him?" I ask with a sob lodged in my throat.
Cormac looks down, relaxed now that I can finally register that he's there. "Him?"
I nod.
"Ummm. What? No, he's fine," he insists, his voice strangely high and falsely calm. "Look."
His booted foot collides with the man on the ground in a lazy, casual kick.
The cop quietly groans, but doesn't move.
"See? Fine," he walks closer. "Give me the gun, baby."
As soon as he's within arm's length, he gently pulls it from my trembling fingers.
"Look at me," he coaxes, his voice soothing and tender, making me obey without hesitation.
With his eyes locked on mine, he fires off two more shots.
"Now he's dead."