Page 97 of His Trick

For all.

To fucking.

See.

Habit, ritual, routine.

We were all slaves to one of them. We all had things that comforted us in our day-to-day lives. I made a space in my routine to learn Carmen Vita’s comforts.

I learned the rhythm of her nights, how she moved when she was bored, if she was nice to customer service workers, how she tucked loose hair behind her ear when she laughed at a joke she didn’t get, or didn’t think was actually funny.

I watched without a real plan at first, as if seeing her would turn my hunger into something less jagged. I wanted to let her live about her miserable life. I wanted to let her continue to be beaten down by her older brother, Tyler. Let her live without my interference.

But then the images of that night flashed as sure as the feed on the camera. She was moaning, her blood seeping down her legs like a beautiful, soft stream.

Like his.

Seeing her smile with the same mask Shiloh had used so many times hurt more than I expected. That small curl of his lips, like a secret had been given away. That was the point. She had it now, this woman had remnants of Shiloh’s come inside her. She could be carrying Shiloh’s child none the wiser.

She was the first person ever to make Shiloh break. And for that, she had to be ruined, shattered to a point where there was no return.

Shiloh had to see what he did, understand that he couldn’t have one foot in the dark while dancing in his fucking light.

I wanted to burn away every piece of the broken veil he hid behind. Replace his peace with the knowledge that I’d been there, too, that he hadn’t taken anything that couldn’t be reclaimed on my terms. That he hadn’t broken me.

The stalking wasn’t fancy by any means. At the week’s end, I was fucking bored. This mundane, abused woman spent more time tending to her own inflicted wounds and her clients than she did anything else.

Tyler was a constant in her fucking life. And seeing that dick bag, even from a distance, made the hair on my neck stand at attention. Maybe this would be a mercy for sweet Carmen. She didn’t want to live only to exist for Tyler’s demands.

This hunt needed to be about patience and attention to detail. I learned her route home and the bus stop she preferred when Tyler wouldn’t let her borrow his car. They were dirt poor despite the flashy style of housing.

Their parents lived off their children’s blood and sweat.

Tyler had to stoop to being a fucking gym coach. All of this was worth knowing. I made a mental note to pay him a fuckingvisit when this was all done. Men weren’t particularly interesting to add to my roster, but Tyler Veering didn’t deserve to breathe oxygen either.

Carmen was headed for the shortcut through the municipal lot, where the light was out, and the CCTV never caught anything. I didn’t know why she’d chosen it, but the night had finally turned interesting.

I had learned to follow at a distance, where I was a shadow instead of a man. On the fourth night, I let myself cross a line.

I sat at her bar and let the smoke curl around me like an invitation. I ordered what she had recommended without tasting it. She watched me watch her with a neat curiosity and zero caution since I began breaking down her walls.

“Why do you suddenly love this place?” she said suddenly, dropping a cup on the counter that rattled like a small bell.

“Something to love started coming here,” I replied.

I let my voice be softer than I felt for her, knowing it was exactly what she needed. She had ignored all the catcall-type men, and I didn’t bother taking an angle of flattery. Being a steady presence was all I needed. It got her to look me in the eye, measure me, and try to decide whether I was worth the risk to her fragility.

We talked daily.

She yapped about our shitty town and her shittier brother.

She hid the dark bruises on her skin well, as if I knew every story they held. She told me about wanting to get out of Normal and start her business somewhere far away.

I asked the right questions. No pressures, no promises, and because the best way to pull someone toward you is to be the one who listens, I kept my words short.

People will step into the shape you make for them if you’re careful and precise.

Finally, after six nights, she was laughing at something I said and leaned across the bar, careless and warm, her cheeks flushed and her glass a bit emptier than usual.