23. Chapter 23
Sasha
Leaving Addy’s apartment felt like willingly being pulled into a hurricane, with my chest pinned to the eye. She was the storm: the chaos and exhilaration I knew I would never escape, yet couldn’t stop pursuing.
She gripped my hand like she wasn’t entirely sure whether to hold on tighter or run away. Which, frankly, I considered both thrilling and adorable. I wasn’t opposed to some chasing but she’d never escape me.
Addy had packed with chaotic efficiency, and I watched her every move, my pulse ticking faster than it should have for a simple observation.
She was the kind of beautiful that pained you, the kind of human chaos threatening to dismantle your control.
And somehow, I felt like the anchor in her storm.
“Eyes off me, stalker. You’re making it hard not to like it,” she muttered, her cheeks staining pink.
“I’m allowed to stare.” My thumb brushed against hers where our hands were linked, deliberately, because I could.
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m appreciating.”
Appreciating was not merely staring, it was cataloging. Every flare of her nostrils, every impatient twitch of her jaw, every little microexpression she didn’t know I could already read — it was all mine.
“Appreciation, sure,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “That’s the kind of thing a criminal mastermind would say to justify stalking.”
“I prefer ‘obsession’,” I offered smoothly, and she almost tripped.
Almost, but I was there to catch her of course. Addy felt way too fucking good in my arms, just how I knew she would.
We reached the stairwell and the humid Florida night embraced us.
Her duffel was slung over my shoulder, and I tightened my grip on her hand ever so slightly.
It was the kind of small, deliberate pressure making it impossible for her to ignore me, impossible for me to ignore how her body seemed to hum in rhythm with mine.
“You don’t have to hold my hand like I’m going to bolt.”
My chest tightened abruptly, as if someone had twisted a knife in a spot I hadn’t realized was vulnerable.
Yeah, not taking any chances, Little Devil.
“You might trip again,” I countered.
“I’m not going to—”
Her foot caught a step.
Again, I caught her without thinking, my other arm coming around to steady her waist. My body pressed hers against the wall, just enough for her to feel me through her clothes.
She froze against me for a moment, her eyes wide and her chest rising and falling rapidly. I could see those fucking piercings of hers through the thin material of her shirt.
I swear I caught the spark of panic, and something else — dangerously close to ecstasy — flicker through her.
“I would’ve recovered,” she muttered indignantly, lying through her teeth.
“You were damn near horizontal, baby.”
My thumb deliberately brushed lightly along her forearm, and she shivered visibly.
“I was still in control.” She narrowed her eyes.
I had to bite back a grin because she looked so fucking cute, even as she tried to convince herself she was indignant.
The dark, open hallway, cloaked in shadows, stretched ahead. It was perfect for the situation at hand, but the thought of her walking down this dodgy hallway alone, for however long, nearly gave me a heart attack.
As we rounded a corner, some kind of instinct told me we weren’t alone, prompting me to shrink back into the shadows and hide from sight. I pulled Addy back with me, plastering her to my side, then chanced a quick glance around the corner to assess the situation.
An elderly woman stood further down the hallway like she’d always stood there.
Her narrow shoulders were wrapped in a faded house-dress hanging loosely from her frame.
A thin cardigan was buttoned all the way up despite the heat, and her gray hair was twisted into a bun so tight it looked permanent.
A small white dog trembled at the end of its leash, its body no larger than a loaf of bread, dark eyes sharp and restless, the kind of little yapper possessing a sixth sense for disturbances of any kind.
And it did notice me. Not visually — not yet — but something in the air shifted, and the dog’s tiny body stiffened before a sharp, piercing bark split the quiet hallway and ricocheted off tile and concrete.
The woman’s chin lifted slowly, peering around shrewdly.
Neither her age nor her size was threatening in the slightest, but the sharpness in her gaze made me pause. Her gaze lingered, taking in details and storing them away for later.
She was the kind of neighbor who would remember a face she’d never seen before. The kind who would replay a moment over and over in her head until it made sense.
I edged further into the shadows, pressing my back against the cool concrete and adjusting my position until the light from the lamps passed me by instead of catching the contours of my body. From here, she couldn’t see us. I made certain of it.
But Addy was fidgeting in my grasp, flushed and confused, and the fucking dog barked again, shrill and insistent.
Goddamn it. The last thing I needed was a fucking witness.
Old people were usually exceptionally good at spotting patterns, and patterns meant she would know when something didn’t belong.
If she saw Addy glance toward the shadows, if she noticed tension in her posture, if she later tried to describe what she had felt in that moment — suspicion would form. Suspicion would lead to questions, and questions would lead to inconvenience.
Before I consciously allowed it to, my mind began calculating. The staircase behind her was narrow. The railing was unstable. A misstep at her age would not require much force. The city witnessed quiet deaths every day and rarely paid them any attention.
It would be clean and efficient.
Necessary.
I shifted my weight forward slightly, calculating the distance between us, planning the timing, angle and aftermath, as I always did when faced with uncertainty.
Addy froze, her body going from pliant to rigid.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but I noticed the moment her body registered the shift in me — the change in air pressure occurring when I made a decision.
She didn’t look at me, but it was almost as if she didn’t need to, as if she could feel it.
The dog barked again, more sharply this time, baring its teeth towards the shadows.
Addy let out a small, irritated exhale.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, but the words weren’t tinged with fear.
She leaned casually into my touch, her tits brushing my chest for half a heartbeat, and in that contact her hand slid down my torso and pressed flat against my abdomen.
It was a quiet, deliberate pressure — a plea and a command all wrapped in one.
Don’t.
Then she pushed off the wall, stepped forward and seamlessly placed herself between the old woman and me.
She blocked the line of sight without ever acknowledging what she was doing.
Her voice brightened instantly, as if the hallway were nothing more than a social gathering rather than the edge of something irreversible.
“Good evening, Mrs. Mendoza,” she chirped, her voice warm and animated. Stepping toward the woman, she crouched down to pet the little rat. “Oh my God, is that a sweater? Benito, you’re making the rest of us look underdressed.”
I swear the fucking dog actually looked smug.
The old woman blinked, her attention snapping entirely to Addy. She adjusted the tiny knitted vest on the animal with mild indignation as she began to respond in a voice carrying a sense of familiarity.
Addy laughed lightly and turned her body, forming a barrier so natural it almost looked accidental. She continued talking, filling the space so completely there was no room left for suspicion.
And I stayed where I was, watching her, my muscles tense and ready to spring into action.
My little devil had stepped between me and a decision I would not have hesitated to make in order to keep her by my side.
My jaw tightened as I watched her perform, using her softness as armor. I could still feel the warmth of her palm against my abdomen. Without words or questions, she had understood exactly what I had been prepared to do.
Addy was chaos personified: reckless, bright, and far too unguarded for this world. She had just protected a stranger from me as easily as breathing.
I remained in the shadows — but only for her.
“What are you doing out here this late?” the old woman asked in a flat voice, edged with suspicion, her words carrying more scrutiny than most interrogations. “Heading somewhere … important?”
“Oh — uh … just running some errands,” Addy stammered, gesturing vaguely around. “Yup. Big errand night. You know how it is. Groceries and, uh, dog treats. I might’ve, um … lost track of a few things.”
The little rat barked again, this time more sharply, the sound ricocheting off the tiles and concrete. Addy flinched almost imperceptibly, her shoulders tightening, her spine going rigid. But she didn’t bolt or even more foolish, call for help.
She stayed and even put on a show.
Improvising, like I’d suspected she was capable of.
The old woman’s skepticism was obvious. “Shopping at this hour? Where are your bags?”
I could feel the tension crawling over Addy’s skin from where I stood in the shadows. Her mind was racing though, — I could practically hear it working — assembling chaos into coherence.
“No, not the bag kind of groceries,” she rushed to explain, shaking her head a little too fast. “Just small things. Like … gloves. It’s getting cold in the mornings when I walk the dogs. You know. Very brisk. Extremely seasonal. Just, uh … stuff.”
Stuff.
The word hung there, flimsy and fragile.
“Stuff,” Mrs. Mendoza echoed, clearly unconvinced, her eyes narrowing in quiet calculation.
I shifted my weight slightly in the shadows, not enough to be seen, but enough that, should the suspicion harden into something more solid, I would act.