Page 25

Briar

The back door of The Vault slams behind me, cutting off the bass that’s been vibrating through my bones for the past hour. Cold night air hits my face, sobering me up like a splash of ice water.

What the hell just happened in there?

My heart’s still racing from Flint’s hands on me, his mouth on mine, then that abrupt switch when Viktor showed up. I press my back against the brick wall, needing a second to gain my bearings.

The alley behind The Vault is pitch black except for one sad little light bulb above the door through which I just came. The damp air smells like garbage and stale beer. Glamorous.

I pull my cardigan tighter and push off from the wall. I need to get home before someone decides to check who slipped out the back.

My body still feels electric from Flint’s touch, nerves buzzing in places they definitely shouldn’t be. God, what is wrong with me? One day I’m sleeping with Damiano, the next I’m practically begging Flint to take me on an office desk. Maybe my illness has reached my brain.

My face burns at the memory of how easily I’d spread my legs for him. How good it felt when he touched me. How much I wanted more.

No. I can’t think about that right now. I need to focus on getting back to the estate without being seen.

I start walking, keeping close to the wall, each step taking me further into darkness. My Jeep is parked two blocks away, down an even darker alley off Harbor Street. Seemed like a great idea when I was trying to be sneaky. Now? Not so much.

The island is quiet at this hour. Most of the local businesses close by nine, leaving only The Vault and a few dive bars for nightlife. The fog has thickened since I arrived, turning streetlights into hazy orbs that barely cut through the mist.

Something scrapes behind me—a footstep, maybe, or a can rolling across pavement.

I freeze. Listen. Nothing.

Only my imagination. Too many horror movies as a teenager.

I keep walking, faster now. My breath comes a little shorter, a familiar tightness building in my chest. Great timing for my lungs to remind me they’re garbage .

The sound comes again. Definitely footsteps this time, then silence when I stop.

“Hello?” I call out. “Is someone there?”

No response. Just the distant crash of waves against the harbor wall and my own breathing.

I should run, but running isn’t really an option with my crappy lungs. Instead, I walk as quickly as I can, pulse hammering in my ears.

There it is again—the quiet shuffle of footsteps on pavement, closer now.

Oh god. What if it’s Viktor? What if he followed me from The Vault, figured out I had something to do with Liam?

A movement reflects in a darkened shop window. A shadow, taller than mine, keeping pace about twenty feet behind me.

I dig in my pocket for my phone. Dead. Of course it’s dead.

The alley where I parked is just ahead. I pick up speed despite the burn in my lungs, ignoring the way spots dance at the edges of my vision from lack of oxygen.

I turn the corner, plunging into darkness so complete I have to feel my way along the wall. The alley smells like rotting fish and seawater. My Jeep is parked at the far end, a barely visible shape in the gloom.

What was I thinking, parking here? This is literally how every bad horror movie starts.

Keys. Where are my keys? I pat my pockets frantically, eventually encountering the hard metal outline in my right pocket. I pull them out with shaking hands.

A scrape of boot on concrete echoes through the alley. He’s here. Whoever’s following me has turned the corner.

My trembling hands refuse to cooperate. The keys slip from my fingers, hitting the wet pavement with a metallic clatter that seems impossibly loud.

“Shit!” I whisper, dropping to my knees to feel around for them.

My fingers scrabble across rough concrete, finding nothing but puddles and cigarette butts. The footsteps are getting closer.

There! My hand closes around the keys just as a reflection catches my eye.

A face in my car window, not my own. A man’s face, features blurred by darkness and fog, but unmistakably watching me.

I open my mouth to scream, but my lungs seize up completely, cutting off the sound before it can escape. I stumble backward, keys clutched in my fist like a pathetic weapon.

“Briar.”

The voice is so familiar it takes a second to process through my panic.

“Damiano?”

He steps forward, becoming solid in the darkness. “What the hell are you doing out here alone? ”

Relief floods me, quickly replaced by anger. “What am I doing? What are you doing, skulking around in the dark, scaring me half to death? Were you following me?”

“Yes.”

No excuses, no explanations. Just that one word, delivered in the same tone he might use to comment on the weather.

“What the fuck, Damiano? You can’t just follow people!”

“I followed you from the estate. You shouldn’t be out here at all, especially not alone.” His words are tense, controlled. “Viktor has men watching the grounds, the house. They would’ve reported that you left. Now he knows you’re in town.”

“So you decided to stalk me? That’s your solution?”

“I decided to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.” He moves closer, and I can finally see his face clearly. He’s furious. “What were you thinking, going to The Vault while Viktor’s looking for his brother? While your face is fresh in everyone’s minds from your party?”

“I needed information about The Hunt.” Even to my own ears, the excuse sounds weak.

“From Flint.” It’s not a question.

Heat crawls up my neck. Does he know? Did he see us? No, he couldn’t have. He was outside, but something in his tone makes me think he suspects.

“Yes, from Flint. He works at The Vault.” I try to remain steady. “Who better to ask about it and if there is a way to keep the hunters off my land?”

“Be careful with him.” He softens slightly, and I catch something in his expression. Not jealousy exactly, but concern mixed with experience.

But why isn’t there jealousy? We haven’t even spoken about last night once? It’s almost as if I dreamed it. We fucked multiple times, we got interrupted and then… nothing. Nothing at all. Did we even have sex, or have I finally lost my mind and am having fevered dreams?

“Flint isn’t... he consumes people. Pulls them into his gravity until there’s nothing left,” he adds.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

He glances at me, then back at the road. “I am. He’s not a bad person, but there’s something dark in him. Something that needs and takes and doesn’t know how to stop.”

“You make him sound dangerous.”

“Not dangerous. Just...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Intense. Like a riptide. He doesn’t mean to pull you under, but that’s just how he’s built.”

“So your warning is what—stay away from Flint?”

“My warning is that you risked being seen by twenty different people who could connect you to Liam. For what? A conversation that could’ve happened somewhere safe.” He clenches his hands at his sides. “The Vault is the last place you should be right now.”

When he puts it that way, it does sound idiotic, but I’m not about to admit that.

“I was careful,” I insist.

“Careful.” His laugh is a short, hard sound. “Is that what you call parking in the darkest alley on the island and walking around alone at night?”

He’s right, but his condescending tone pisses me off. “I don’t need a babysitter, Damiano. Or a bodyguard. Or whatever it is you think you’re doing right now.”

“Apparently, you do.”

I turn away from him, jamming my key into the car door with more force than necessary. My hands are still shaking, partly from the fading adrenaline, partly from anger. Mostly from knowing he’s right.

The lock clicks, but before I can open the door, Damiano’s hand covers mine.

“Don’t,” he says, softer now. “You’re in no state to drive. You can barely breathe.”

He’s right about that, too. My chest is tight, each breath a conscious effort. The combination of fear, exertion, and damp night air has triggered my symptoms.

“I’m fine,” I lie, even as a wave of dizziness hits me.

“You’re not. I’m driving you back.”

I should argue, should tell him to go away, and that I can handle myself. But the thought of driving back alone, of facing those winding coastal roads with my vision blurring at the edges, isn’t appealing.

“Fine.” I hand him the keys.

He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide in without further argument. The small victory seems to soften his anger somewhat.

The Jeep feels like a safe bubble once he’s inside, too, and the dome light briefly illuminates his profile before he starts the engine and darkness returns. The heater kicks on, blowing cool air that will take forever to become warm.

Neither of us speaks as he navigates the narrow town streets. The silence stretches, filled with too many unspoken questions.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “So you were watching the house? Waiting for me to leave? That’s not creepy at all.”

He tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “I was checking in. After what happened with Viktor’s men searching the grounds, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And when you saw I wasn’t there?”

“I asked Mrs. Fletcher where you went. She said you went for a drive. At night. Alone.”

“So you just decided to come find me?”

“Yes.”

One word again. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I turn to look out the window, watching fog- draped trees slide by. “You can’t protect me from everything, Damiano.”

“I can try.” The simple admission hangs between us. After a moment, he adds, “Especially when you insist on taking stupid risks. I told you to stay home.”

And we’re back to anger. Great. I’m now flanked by two men who think they can tell me what to do.

“You don’t get to decide what risks I take,” I snap. “You’re not my keeper. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re not anything to me.”

The words come out harsher than I intended. His face remains expressionless, but a muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Last night would suggest otherwise.”