Page 50 of Bite Back
ASHER
The address the florist gave leads us to a deserted street on the fringes of Brooklyn.
Bundles of dirty cardboard and bulging trash bags pile on the damp-splotched sidewalk in front of the building.
A faint odor emanates from them now that the sun has come out for the day.
A hefty rat skitters across the walkway, dragging a piece of half-eaten cheese pizza. Adorable.
The building itself looks industrial, an old warehouse converted into apartments. Iron beams and painted bricks give it an artistic feel.
I swing the bike to a halt in front of the largest heap of bags.
The pile’s a good four or five feet high and will hide the bike from the view of any windows looking out on the street.
Normally, I would lock up my bike after I park.
Not today. Today, it’s the getaway ride and I’m prepared for a speedy exit, wheels already pointed in the direction I’d want to flee.
Delilah hops off, jumping over the large puddle on the pavement. Her nose, more sensitive than mine, scrunches up. I slide off the seat as well, stretching my limbs and cracking my aching neck, and turn to face her.
“Hey,” her voice wavers. Those light blue eyes meet mine, and in them, I find everything she won’t say. How much this means to her. How much she wants this over and done.
She breaks eye contact before I do, lowering her head. My gaze follows hers. Kaleidoscopic spills of oil swirl in the shallow puddle, glimmering like a rainbow. For a moment, I stare, entranced at their slow movement. A reminder that storms can produce an accidental beauty.
I wish I had the perfect pep talk to offer. But some things are only okay when they’re over. Still, even if my words won’t be enough, I have to try. For Delilah, I’ll always try. I clear my throat roughly. I inject a steadiness in my voice.
“Remember who you are. And remember that he can’t take that from you. He tried to, but he can’t.” I mean it, every word. And more, the words I haven’t said yet, the ones it’s not time for yet. I’m proud of you. I’m in awe of you. I’m in love with you.
She nods distractedly, still lost in her thoughts.
She skates a shaking hand through her damp hair, combing out the tangles, and bites her lip, tongue darting out and tracing her still dull canine.
But then she squares her shoulders. Her eyes glint as fixes them upwards, and she sets her mouth into a firm line.
“Are you ready?” I secure my still drying hair up in a bun at the back of my neck.
I need it out of my face. I check the pockets of my pants and the holsters across my chest, all loaded to the brim with stakes.
Delilah’s got three stakes belted to her.
Less than what I carry, but what we found was most effective for preserving her mobility.
My fingers trace over the rough ash wood.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin. Because I’m ready.
Ready to end this and get her the closure she needs.
Seeing her like this now answers every question I’ve been asking.
For this woman, I’ll cross every line and break every rule.
She takes a deep breath. Her response comes out firm and steely as she stalks towards the door. “Ready or not. Here I come.”