Chapter Seventeen #3
I looked at her, going still when our gazes clashed. There, in my chest, was the awakening that I couldn't afford. Shutting it down instantly, I cleared my throat.
“So we're all agreed on the plan? Arrive at a certain time, serve drinks to thirsty women.” I winked at Ant, who wiggled his hips suggestively.
“Then wait for my cue, which will be a wave in the air.
I'll be standing in the hallway, watching everything.
Once he's got her in the room, we'll move to the hall and go in when Alia shouts our safe word.”
“When you've got him incapacitated between you,” Alia picked up where I left off, “you can take your masks off, swapping them with your friends at the top of the stairs before leaving as you escort everyone out of the building.”
“Sounds like a solid plan,” Fly said, “I almost wish I was able to help, despite the topless bit.”
“You'd love it.” Ant rubbed his nipples through his T-shirt. “All the women copping a feel.”
Fly grinned and glanced down at his leg. “Do you think they'd give me a bed bath? I’ve got terrible chaffing right near my balls.”
“Fuck off!” I moaned, looking at Alia who was biting her finger and looking at the floor.
Holding up a hand for attention, I scowled at them as the laughter died down. “This is serious. If anyone fucks up, I'll fuck you up. I promised Alia revenge on her stalker-ex and once it's done, we go back to our lives.”
The others stared at me, every single one. I could read the query in their eyes, and I didn't fucking like it. How dare they question me with just a look?
“Just one question,” Ant piped up. “What happens if he manages to hurt Alia or any of us?”
Lowering my head, I closed my eyes slowly. Alia would hate my answer, but she wouldn't have a choice. I would not be in control of myself, if by some chance, she got hurt.
I looked up from under the hoods of my eyes and answered honestly, staring straight at the woman who I'd do anything to protect.
“We kill him.”
*
Stepping through my front door, I paused and studied the mess on the kitchen counter. My apartment was the exact replica of Fly's, except nowhere near as neat and tidy.
When Alia had insisted on getting a taxi home, I'd allowed her to go.
We all needed to prepare, mentally and physically.
I trusted that Alia would know what to do at the bookstore to make her plan work.
I also had to speak to my contacts. We'd worked with them on luring our enemies before.
They were hard men, who would do anything for money and principal.
They were the closest to friends we could trust but they were still dispensable.
Going to the fridge, I opened the door and took out a beer. There might not have been much food but there was plenty of alcohol. Not that I drank often, it impaired my driving skills too much. However, when I was wound tight, I did one of two things… drink or fuck.
I opened the lid of the trash and pushed everything that was on the counter off the side, straight into the can. It wasn't always a mess, it just depended on my mood, which varied from day to day.
Alia's face came into my mind, prompting me to make my way to the little hall and into my bedroom. The curtains were closed, the dim red light on. It was dark and dingy, just like my personality. Ever since I'd lost my brother, I'd locked myself away, hiding from the world.
“Alia,” I breathed, going over to the far wall and studying the photo prints that filled it. “You're fucking with my head.”
Fly had picked up on my obsession. He'd been right about the photos. They spanned a few weeks after I’d bumped into Alia, taken from outside the shop or when she'd run up the road to get supplies. I'd even gone to her parents to see how often she visited.
“If only you knew that I was just like Brandon.” Sighing, I sat on the chair in front of my desk and took a swig of beer.
Cringing angrily, I threw the bottle across the room, cursing when the beer splattered over the pictures of Alia.
I’d originally created the wall as a way for me to analyze the best way to exact my revenge for killing my brother.
The more I'd met with her, the more I'd needed to look at her face, to fuck her…
to masturbate to the photos. Every. Single. Day. Fuck, Fly had been right.
And I was wrong. I was not like Brandon, not anymore. Once her body had imprinted on me, I'd stopped turning up to take pictures. I had no desire to be that guy. I had to protect her instead.
“How do I get you out of my system, Sunshine?” I muttered, picking up the beer bottle from the floor and downing the liquid that was still left inside. “Fucking you hasn't worked.”
Reaching out, I stroked her face on one of the pictures. She had inserted herself into my psyche all those years ago, and as much as I thought I hated her, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
But it was time to let her go. Because the only other option wasn't an option.
If I stayed obsessed with her, I'd want her with me, at all times. And that would only lead to her death.