Chapter 2 #3
But if I push too hard now, he’ll know exactly what I’m doing, and where’s the drama in that?
No, this deserves patience.
A little suspense.
A little rot.
So tonight, like the generous, emotionally stable older brother I am, I let him go.
The fight behind me ends in a wet, pathetic pile.
Very sad. Very anticlimactic. Honestly, I expected more from two grown men with that much chest-puffing and so little survival instinct.
The crowd agrees
They boo because neither idiot bleeds enough to make the bets feel worth it, then immediately starts turning on itself like a room full of drunk toddlers with criminal records.
Bets get argued. Rematches get demanded. Someone near the cage shoves someone else, a bottle breaks, and a girl screams.
High. Sharp. Pretty.
The sound cuts through the warehouse and wakes up all the wrong parts of me.
Fun, dark parts.
The parts that lean closer when someone else finally realizes the night has teeth.
Campus kids playing feral again.
Cute, in a deeply embarrassing way, I mean, animals at least know why they bite.
I lean against the wall, light another cigarette, and glance toward the crates. My little accident is still upright. Barely. One hand pressed to his stomach, face gone gray, eyes fixed on me like he’s finally pieced together the evening’s lesson.
The devil doesn’t always show up with horns.
Sometimes he smiles, forgives you, and waits until you’re stupid enough to relax.
I wink.
He looks like he might vomit.
Good for him.
Character growth.
My phone buzzes, and for one second, I almost hope it’s her.
That would be fucked.
Funny, though.
I check the screen.
Unknown number.
For a second, my mood lifts. Maybe the night is handing me something useful. Maybe Alice is stupid enough to be curious already. Maybe Jagger’s new little problem just got a lot more entertaining.
But it’s only some girl from last weekend asking if I’m coming to a party on Greek Row, followed by three eggplant emojis and a skull.
Christ.
I block her.
Boredom is a mercy, really.
Another roar goes up from the cage, but I’m already looking at the door Alice slipped through.
She left first, and Jagger followed not long after, which is adorable because if I know my brother, and tragically, I know that emotionally constipated little gremlin better than anyone—the creep is absolutely going after her.
Not in a normal way, obviously. Not in a calling-her-name, walking-beside-her, using-his-big-boy-words kind of way.
God forbid.
No, Jagger will keep his hood up, his hands in his pockets, and enough distance between them to convince himself this is something noble and tortured instead of what it actually is.
Following a girl in the rain because she made eye contact with him once and now his whole personality is under renovation.
Beautiful, truly.
I should’ve brought snacks.
I push away from the wall and head outside, cigarette between my teeth, already entertained before the cold even hits my face.
The night is wet and miserable, mist clinging to everything and smearing the streetlights into dirty yellow halos.
Behind me, the warehouse thumps through the brick like the building has a bad heart and an even worse therapist.
Jagger is half a block ahead, hood up, shoulders tense, moving toward old campus like he just suddenly developed a deep appreciation for wet sidewalks, gothic architecture, and poor choices with bangs.
Sure, little brother.
Very fucking casual.
Alice is farther down the path with her black bag at her hip, dark hair shifting over her shoulder when she glances back.
It’s quick. Barely there.
But enough that Jagger and I both see it.
She keeps walking, and he follows with just enough space to pretend he isn’t, which might be the funniest part. He thinks distance makes it less creepy. Like stalking becomes classy if you leave room for Jesus and a small orchestra between you and the girl ruining your life.
So fucking precious.
I trail behind them both, taking my time, because there’s no need to rush live theatre.
Alice cuts through old campus, past the chapel fence and the tiny cemetery the university calls historic because “creepy as fuck” probably tested poorly with parents during orientation. Of course she takes the haunted route.
Artsy little ghost.
Jagger follows until she disappears around the chapel, then stops at the edge of the path like his self-control deserves a medal, a parade, and maybe a little treat.
Good boy.
Almost house-trained.
I wait until he finally turns away before I move again. There’s no need to catch Alice tonight. Around here, there are only so many places a girl like her can disappear, and once hunters notice you, hiding gets a lot less effective.
Sweet little Alice.
Jagger’s newest mistake.
I take one last drag from my cigarette, drop it into a puddle, and watch the ember hiss out.
“She doesn’t matter yet,” I murmur.
The lie tastes good enough to keep.
Then I smile and head into the rain, because Jagger has a new favorite thing, and I’ve never been good at leaving his favorite things untouched.