Chapter 2 #3
“Fine. You want the actual math?” I leaned back, the calculations already forming in my head.
“Based on Dawn’s personality profile, her demonstrated tolerance for your bullshit, and her clear attachment to Annie, who would absolutely murder you if you hurt her friend, you’re looking at approximately a seventy-three percent chance of success. ”
His eyebrows shot up. “That high?”
“Don’t get cocky. The twenty-seven percent failure scenario includes a twelve percent chance she contacts authorities, an eight percent chance she attempts physical violence, and a seven percent chance she simply walks out and never speaks to you again.”
“Shit.” His eyes went unfocused, as if he was watching that very future unfold.
“But,” I said, trying to draw his mind back from the edge of despair.
“Here’s what tips the scales: Dawn’s exhibited remarkable adaptability to strange circumstances.
She lives with a Keeper and is subjected to Super bullshit everyday just by living in Chroma Bay and she hasn’t run screaming yet.
Plus, she clearly loves you, though why is fucking beyond my comprehension. ”
Menace’s face softened into something disgustingly hopeful. “So you think I should do it?”
“Christ, I’m not your relationship counselor. But statistically speaking? Yeah. Take the fucking leap.”
Menace shifted in his seat, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Almost forgot. I’m taking Dawn to her first Super match. Thought it might be a good way to gauge how she feels about the whole spectacle before I drop the ‘by the way, I’m one of them’ bomb.”
I grunted noncommittally, returning my attention to my work. The microtool hummed between my fingers as I fused another connection.
“Annie’s coming with us,” he added casually. Too casually.
My hand stilled. “And you’re telling me this because?”
“Just thought you’d want to know, considering you’ve memorized her entire work schedule.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “And I’m pretty sure ‘chaperoning her best friend’s date to a Super match’ isn’t in her official calendar.”
“I don’t memorize her—”
“Save it.” Menace cut me off with a dismissive wave. “I’ve watched you mutter her daily schedule under your breath like it’s your personal mantra. ‘Nine AM, meeting with so-and-so. Eleven-thirty, lunch at that deli she likes. Two PM, training session.’”
Heat crept up my neck. “That’s called strategic intelligence gathering.”
“That’s called stalking, you obsessive fuck.” He wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement now. “I can see through your bullshit.”
I followed Menace’s gaze to the secondary screen where Annie had just stepped into the elevator at the Tower.
She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes visible even through the grainy security feed.
Her hair was pulled back in that severe twist she favored for work, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face.
“Is that just ‘strategic intelligence gathering’?” Menace asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence.
“Fuck off,” I muttered. My eyes tracked Annie as she exited the elevator.
“You know what normal people call watching someone’s every move through security cameras?” Menace continued, clearly enjoying himself. “A fucking felony.”
“Good thing I’m not normal people.” I watched as Annie swiped her access card and entered her office. “And technically, it’s several felonies.”
Menace snorted. “You’re pathetic.”
“Says the man about to risk everything for a woman who might castrate him when she finds out he’s been lying to her for months.”
“At least I’m doing something about it.” He stood, stretching. “Unlike some genius who’d rather jerk off to security footage than actually talk to the woman he’s in love with.”
I gave another noncommittal noise, not trusting what would come out of my mouth if I tried to say anything in response.
Menace’s voice softened unexpectedly. “Look, I’m just giving you a heads-up so you can stalk her properly. The match is Thursday, at the Nexus, seven PM. She’ll be in my box with us.”
I swallowed, hating how transparent I apparently was. “Why would I care?”
“Because you’re pathetic. And because you’ll spend the next three days trying to figure out the optimal way to watch her, so I figured I’d save you some time.”
“I hate you,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it.
“I know.”
The door slid shut behind him, leaving me alone with the half-finished prototype and the uncomfortable knowledge that I would, indeed, be spending the next three days planning how to observe Annie at that match.
Pathetic didn’t begin to cover it.
I picked up the cuff prototype again, turning it over in my hands. I’d built it to protect Annie, yes—but also to bind her to me. To ensure that even in separation, a piece of me remained imprinted on her life.
The pain of losing her was a constant, physical presence—a hollow ache behind my ribs that no amount of work or planning could silence. But pain was information, and this particular agony told me everything I needed to know: she wasn’t something I could let go.
I would give her the illusion of choice. I would let her believe she was making her own decisions. But in the end, she would come back to me. Because while I might not deserve her, I needed her. And what I needed, I took.