Chapter 27
Pretty Handsy
CORMAC
Try as I might, I can't ignore the sniffles continuing to reach me from Brigit's side of the car.
She put on a brave face when she had to, and I distracted her as long as I could. But now, in the silence of the car, all the things we’ve been pushing down have bubbled to the surface.
When Sky returned, he mentioned that a few local neighborhood-watch-type apps had reported hearing gunshots from this complex, but nothing concrete had come of it.
In a city this big, it's not hard for people to convince themselves that gunshots were the backfiring of a car.
All they had to do was play the part for a few seconds, and the suspicion faded. Even Brigit's neighbors were clueless, thankfully.
It almost seems too easy, but I know it's not.
We have a dead body and no idea why he felt the need to attack Brigit and try to frame me.
The garage attached to my townhome opens as we get closer, and I pull my car in, killing the engine. Closing the massive door behind us leaves Brigit and me alone in the barely there light of the car's interior.
She sighs, "Is this your place?"
With a nod, I unbuckle her seatbelt for her, grabbing her duffle from the back and tossing it over my shoulder.
She slides out of the car and stands frozen, watching me over the hood until I take her hand in mine and physically get her moving again. Opening the door, I ease her inside, immediately locking it behind us.
As the house comes to life, Brigit takes it in, silently walking through my home, looking around with cautious curiosity.
"Skyler said you don't have any kind of security here," she finally says, worry pulling at her already stressed features.
Shaking my head, I set her bag on a recliner, "That's been remedied."
A sad smile pulls at her lips, "He insisted?"
I nod, "He did." And he did. As soon as the place was livable again, Skyler demanded a full camera setup and backup locks. Though I'm not even convinced I was actually attacked here. While the place was a fucking disaster, what it wasn't was covered in my blood or anyone else's.
If I had to bet money on it, someone attacked me elsewhere and dropped me off on my front steps. At that point, the cops would have had enough reason to pick me up and let themselves into my house if they already suspected me of something nefarious.
"Come on, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping," I tell her. "Then you can explore to your hearts content."
She shakily nods, following closely behind me up the stairs.
Almost every wall is bare, no art or warmth to bring her comfort.
Her place and mine couldn't be more different.
While hers was just as organized, she at least had things to organize.
All I have is a hidden office full of blackmail and a handful of virtually unused pieces of furniture.
I gesture to our left, "This is my room," before continuing on to the second room up here, directly above the garage, with a window looking out onto the street. "And this can be yours."
I had the good sense to buy enough furnishings for both rooms when I was fixing this place back up. However, I did so with the intention of having it ready for the inevitable drunken nights when Skyler needs a place to crash.
So it's completely black and soulless; a floating bed frame with sheets and a blanket haphazardly put on, a single bedside drawer, and no dresser to be found.
But it's safe. It's clean. And it's close enough to me that if she needs anything, I can be by her side in less than 20 seconds.
"When can I have my phone back?" she asks, running her fingers along the bedding.
From my place back at the doorway, not invading her space any further, I sigh. "I'm not sure. Sky said he needs to do some major scrubbing of everything so it could be an hour or it could be a few days. Probably your computer, too."
Her eyes close and her lips wobble, and I want so badly to comfort her, to hold her so she knows she can fall apart. It's so clear that she needs to. "I had missed texts and calls from my mom and everyone I used to work with."
My need to give her everything she asks for aches with the knowledge that there's nothing I can do to ease her mind right now.
"I'm sure they'll all know you need a day or two to isolate before you face them," I suggest. "And if they don't understand and respect that, they'll just have to learn."
"And what about Stella?"
"What about her?" I ask, confused.
Settling onto the bed, she buries her face in her hands, wiping the nonexistent tears she wants to shed. "She texted me. I didn't even know she had my number."
"I'm sure she got it from her girlfriend's friend that knows you," I suggest, leaning against the doorframe with my arms folded across my chest. "Or Skyler."
A small chuckle slips from her lips, "That would make sense. And I'd bet the unknown number that texted me just before her was him."
"He can be a little overbearing," I mumble, looking at the dark floor where wood meets carpet at the threshold.
"You're one to talk," she mutters. "Overbearing is better than stalking."
With a grin, I walk into the room and sit beside her on the bed, far enough away to let her breathe, close enough she could reach me if she needed to. "Make no mistake. He does just as much stalking as I do. He just does all of his from the comfort of a screen and I prefer to do mine in person."
Mostly.
She's already been through enough today. There's no reason to tell her right now that I also enjoy watching her from behind the safety of my phone screen.
"Are you tired?" I ask when she says nothing.
Shaking her head, she lies back onto the smooth sheets anyway. "I've slept most of the day, then went straight into fight or flight. I think I'm still a little wired."
I nod, my gaze drifting over her, soaking in the quiet comfort of her in my home, lying on a bed I made, in a house I own, safe in our little bubble of my own making.
"I think you'll probably crash soon," I tell her. "You've been through a lot of tiring things tonight."
That's an understatement, honestly.
The fight for her life, obviously. And then having to almost immediately play pretend with Sky, followed by her facing the demon under my skin that wants nothing more than to see how she looks with blood welling at her thighs and dripping between them.
I tried desperately to keep the darkest parts of my desire for her under control, but there's no denying she needed it.
She needed her fear and guilt to be stolen from her.
Guilt for killing someone.
Guilt for wanting me.
The terror she feels because she cares so deeply for me. She needed an escape from it for a little while. And I needed to see and hear her coming undone for me again.
Her completely soaking the kraken tattoo was unexpected.
I think even she was surprised at just how good it felt to unravel in my arms. Watching her writhe back and forth, taking what she needed from me left me in shambles, lost to her curves and the way every muscle worked together until she cried out, coming all over my leg.
Maybe her sitting on my thigh and licking herself off of it wasn't the healthiest distraction from the horrors she saw tonight, but it's the one she needed.
"I just..." she sighs. "I don't think I could sleep right now. Every time I close my eyes, I s—" a choked sob falls from her mouth.
Looking over my shoulder, I find her with the back of her arm covering her mouth, trying to keep the emotion locked in there.
She hasn't had any time to process, and now it's catching up with her.
"It's okay," I assure her, placing my hand on her knee in what I hope is a comforting gesture.
"You witnessed something terrible tonight.
You were almost—" I can't bring myself to say any of the possibilities that might have happened.
"It's going to be a while before you feel secure enough to relax. "
Her voice shakes, "How are you so... fine right now?"
A heavy breath slips out as I lie down beside her, my eyes on the cream ceiling. "I don't know. It's easy to say that it's because I'm glad he can't hurt you. It would be just as easy to say that it had to be done, and I hate that it happened that way.
"But the unfortunate truth, Brigit, is that... I don't care that I killed someone. I was so afraid of what it might feel like to do it. If I might feel powerful afterwards and want to chase that high. But I don't. He needed to die, and it happened. The only thing I feel is relief that you're okay."
She sniffs, and her hand finds mine on top of the bedding, winding her warm fingers through it until our palms press together.
"I hated pulling the trigger," she confesses. "He looked so scared."
I don't give a fuck that he was scared.
Telling her that wouldn't help anything, so instead, I turn to look at her, watching a tear drip from the corner of her eye down her temple before disappearing into her hair. "You looked terrified, and it didn't stop him. Don't give him more regard than he was willing to spare you."
Only seconds before I came through the sliding glass door, I heard the gunshot, the sound so jarring I nearly lost my balance. I would have broken that fucking door to let myself in if I needed to.
And when I got through and found her, every muscle in her body was rigid, all of her focus on the man on the ground, groaning in pain and gripping his stomach to staunch the blood flow.
But even with him incapacitated, she was riddled with terror, all the color drained from her face, tears pooling in her eyes, hands trembling as they gripped the pistol.
She couldn't even hear me saying her name the first few times, too focused on making sure the threat of that man didn't rear its head again.
When her eyes finally found lucidity, and she looked at me, there wasn't a doubt in my mind about what needed to be done.