Page 38 of Rule the Night (Blackwell Butchers #1)

MAEVE

I was still thinking about Bram when I pulled into the lot outside the loft. I was glad he hadn’t seen me at Cassie’s Cuppa. I felt like I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to see: Bram unmasked, in more ways than one.

I parked, used the keypad to enter the code for the metal door, and stepped into the shadowed vestibule.

I was thinking about the chicken I’d put in the fridge, ready for roasting, that morning when I noticed a spark of light across the loft’s ground floor.

I stopped, peering into the distance, wondering if I’d imagined it.

But no, there it was again.

I hesitated, then walked past the spiral staircase leading to the second floor.

I’d never explored the ground floor, mostly because it had seemed empty. It had looked like nothing but a big expanse of concrete, and I’d assumed it was the factory floor of whatever had been made in the old building back in the day.

I hadn’t been totally off. Just past the stairs, the concrete stretched vast and barren, like a flat gray sea.

It was a grim, almost spooky space, and I suddenly understood why no one ever wanted to live in the ground floor of these old buildings.

Even with the big windows, there wasn’t enough light.

But at the far end of the space, sparks lit up the shadows, and dark shapes loomed in what little light seeped in from the setting sun.

My sneakers were quiet on the concrete floor, which was probably why the figure leaning over the hulking piece of metal didn’t hear me. That and the fact that he was working with some kind of tool, like a welder’s torch.

I froze, trying to make sense of what I was seeing: a large man in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hands and arms covered in gloves, face hidden by goggles, holding the torch to a hunk of misshapen metal as tall as he was.

Sparks flew from the torch like mini fireworks, disappearing in the air before hitting the concrete floor.

I walked closer and the torch turned off, the sparks dying.

I didn’t realize it was Poe until he took off his goggles.

“Hey,” he said.

His face was covered with a fine sheen of sweat. No wonder given the fact that he was wearing pants and long sleeves — at the same time — for a change.

“Hey?” I repeated. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“Working.” I tried to get my head around the answer. “And this work is…?”

“I don’t really know yet.” He stripped off his gloves, then lifted the hem of his sweatshirt to reveal his inked chest. I’d seen Poe without a shirt a lot over the past three weeks, but it was still hard not to stare.

Sweat dripped over his tan skin, his chains and the animal tooth around his neck glistening against his damp skin. His jeans rode low enough that my imagination went crazy following the V of his Adonis belt, even though I knew exactly what he was hiding.

Or maybe because of it.

I turned my attention to the piece of metal because that was easier than continuing to stare at the perfection of Poe’s body. “How can you not know?”

He sat on the edge of a metal worktable and swiped at his brow. “It hasn’t told me yet.”

I blinked. “The metal tells you?”

He nodded. “Whatever it’s meant to be is already in there.”

“So this is art,” I said.

He shifted, like he was uncomfortable with the conversation. “I wouldn’t presume to call it that, but some people think so, yeah.”

“Do you have any of your other pieces here?” I asked.

He shook his head. “They’re all at a gallery in the city.”

“A gallery?” I didn’t even try to hide my surprise. What was an artist — a real artist — doing on the Southside of Blackwell Falls, two hours from the city, wearing a mask and chasing women through underground tunnels every three months?

“Yeah.”

I circled the piece of metal, looking at it from every angle. “How did you get into this?”

“My gramps is a welder. He tried to train me and Whit— ”

“Whit?”

“My little brother.”

I nodded. That must have been the little brother Poe had told me about, the one who’d gotten mixed up in drugs.

“Anyway, my gramps tried to teach Whit and me how to weld. We both sucked at it, Whit because he didn’t have the discipline to show up for work and me because I didn’t have the discipline to do the job I was given instead of fucking around with what I thought I saw inside every piece of metal.”

I came to a stop near him and tried to see what was inside the metal. “Is that how it works? You see things inside?”

“It doesn’t start out as a vision of a finished product. It’s more like I know where it’s supposed to be twisted or bent. I know what I’m supposed to do next. And then the piece just kind of… I don’t know, reveals itself I guess.”

I looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

It seemed like a dumb question as soon as I asked it. We’d been around each other for weeks, but the truth was, I’d been avoiding him — or being alone with him at least — since our make-out session on the hood of June’s car.

He held my gaze. “Didn’t think you were interested.”

“I’m interested.”

He picked up my hand and drew me closer, between his legs, like he’d done in the mall parking lot.

My mind screamed danger, but my body was as pliant as the metal under the heat of his torch.

“I’m interested too,” he said, pulling me ever closer.

The heat of his dick pressed against my thighs and my hands flattened against his chest like they had a mind of their own.

He slid his hands into my hair, his eyes as blue as the sea off Aruba the time my parents had taken us for spring break.

I could feel what was coming, already knew I was powerless to stop it, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t clear-eyed about the whole thing.

“This is a bad idea,” I said.

“Very.”

We stayed like that for what felt like a long moment but was really only seconds, our gazes locked, and when our mouths finally crashed together, it wasn’t Poe who closed the distance.

It was me.