Page 9

EIGHT

FRYING PAN

NICOLETTE

B eing back in Springfield is hell on my nerves.

That was the best thing about living in Willowbrook the last couple of years. I had to leave my city because I knew that Kieran never would, but now that I’m back, I expect to see him everywhere.

It’s such a shame that that rendezvous with Royce in the closet is as far as we’re going to go. Not only was he a pleasant distraction to take my mind off my past for a while, but he’s a Sinner. I’d be lying if I didn’t hope that maybe one of them would take pity on me and protect me while I’m in town.

That’s part of why I went along with it when Officer Burns suggested I go for the job at the Playground. Even if I couldn’t catch the attention of one of the mafia men, just working at their establishment gave me some level of protection.

And I must have somehow convinced myself of that fact over these last three months because tonight, when I returned home from the end of my shift alone , I was actually shocked when I realized that my biggest fear has finally come true.

Kieran found me .

I think I was too quick to dismiss my gut feeling that I was being stalked. Or to assume that he didn’t change over the last three years. I mean, I did, didn’t I? I’m nothing like the Nicolette I was. Even my mom picked up on it, though that shouldn’t be surprising. It’s been a long time since she’s known the real me. First, because I moved out when I was nineteen; then, because I didn’t know me. I had no idea who Nicolette was when she wasn’t Kieran’s Nicolette, if that makes sense.

I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t. I’m not really thinking straight.

All because of a dragonfly figurine.

On my mother’s coffee table, I have my laptop open. Next to it, the tiny trinket I found waiting for me in my mother’s mailbox—and the reason why I have my laptop out.

It’s maybe three inches tall. Sculpted out of ceramic, painted with shades of purple and blue—the same as the full dragonfly tattoo that Kieran has on his back—there’s no denying what it is: a warning.

I almost dropped the damn thing earlier. I’d scooped that, along with Mom’s mail, from the mailbox, but it’s dark out. The white clouds that promise another obnoxious snowstorm is on its way are blocking out the moon, making it seem darker. I’d hurried inside, locking the door behind me, and that’s when I saw it.

Tucked between some credit card bill and a circular I’d never look at before tossing, it was a dragonfly.

Only one person in the world would put it there. Just like only one person would see it and not be like, “Huh. That’s weird. A dragonfly statue.”

My mom would… if she was here. She’s not. And, okay, I think I knew there was a better than good chance that Kieran might eventually drive by her old house— our old house—for shits and giggles, but even if I wanted to pretend this isn’t for me, I can’t .

The videos saved to my laptop prove it.

While I was being fingered by Royce, Kieran Alfieri—wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, black jeans, and that old, familiar smirk—appeared on one of my cameras. He knew it, too. There’s no sound on these, so I don’t know if he called me ‘darlin’ out loud or not, but the exaggerated mouth motions he made in front of the camera are obvious.

Hi, darlin’.

Fuck .

I was already locked up tight in the house when I checked the camera footage. A quick tour through the downstairs, then the upstairs to make sure he didn’t find my hideaway key—thank fucking god he didn’t—before I sat down on the couch, turning the cameras from past footage to live.

After he placed the dragonfly into the mailbox, he disappeared. I know that. He crossed through three other cameras, brazen as hell, then walked away as though he didn’t just shake up my whole life by revealing he knows I’m here. I didn’t see him outside when I came in, blissfully unaware he’d been by, so that’s good.

Right?

Maybe.

And I’m fooling myself if I believe that he won’t come back now that he guesses I’m here.

The illusion of safety is such a fragile thing. Barely an hour ago, I knew that Kieran would come after me if given a reason to. I just… I thought, if I didn’t , he would go on, living his life on the other side of town. Now that I have irrefutable proof that he at least assumes I’m hiding out in Springfield again, that illusion has shattered in a thousand different shards.

It’s like, now that I’ve seen him on my camera footage, I have to keep staring at the live feed to prove to myself he hasn’t come back.

Two hours. It’s a good thing I changed out of my work uniform—throwing on an oversized sweater and a pair of sweatpants before I left the Playground at ten—because, otherwise, I’d be sitting on the edge of my couch in the same short shorts I’d had on when I willingly allowed Royce to touch me.

I don’t regret it. In a way, I feel empowered by what happened in that closet. He might have been the one to initiate it, but I didn’t want to stop. Hell, if Ava hadn’t called him, I don’t know if I would have.

I was so jealous. When he dropped a quick kiss on my mouth, frowning only a little when I jerked my head and his kiss landed on the corner, all I could think about was how much I was attracted to him—and how much I wished I was the woman he’d drop everything to run to.

He never came back. To be fair, I didn’t really think he would. I’d hoped he would, though, and tried not to take it personally when ten o’clock came and there was no sign of Royce in sight.

Now? Maybe it was a good thing that I didn’t invite him home with me. I don’t even want to think about how Kieran would react to that …

It’s after midnight. I keep telling myself that I should just shut the laptop, try to get some sleep, and figure out what I’m going to do tomorrow. Nothing’s really changed. I promised Mom that I’d house-sit until she came back from Florida, so it’s not like I can up and love. How would I explain myself to her?

Especially since she thinks I should get back together with Kieran. Of course, that’s because I’ve kept every bad thing he’s ever done to me from her, but still. I can’t tell her the truth.

It’s not like he’ll hurt me, either; at least, not purposely. He uses violence for control, but he knows better than to come out swinging with me. Oh, no. To get me to do what he wants, he needs to be that manipulative bastard I fell for once upon a time. The warning—the gift —will only be the beginning, but he won’t, like, kidnap me or anything.

I hope.

No. I place my hand on the edge of the laptop. I need to shut it. I need to go to bed. I need to?—

Wait.

What the hell is that?

I was watching. I swear I was watching. I never saw a car coming down our quiet street except for two that belonged to my neighbors, and that was closer to eleven. And, yet, someone is crossing my yard.

Black hoodie, hood pulled up over their head. Black pants. Unlike how Kieran flaunted his face in front of the camera before, this person—man, I think, taking in their size and their walk, it’s a man —he’s careful to keep his hidden. From the wind? It hasn’t started to snow just yet, but the temperature’s dropped.

Or maybe, I think, watching as they cross my yard and move to stand in front of my front window, they don’t want to be caught on my camera.

I stop breathing.

The man is on the other side of my front window—and he’s not moving, either.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, panic welling up inside of me. “There’s nothing to see here. Go away.”

It’s true. Besides, I remembered to draw the black-out curtains earlier. I don’t always—and I better start—but unless he’s trying to pick in through the tiny sliver, between the curtain and the window, he needs to leave again.

He’s not .

Damn it!

Is it Kieran? It has to be. I can’t imagine who else could be out there, and honestly? I could give a shit. It’s after midnight, a man in black is peeking into my window, and I’m so wound up from finding the dragonfly that I fucking snap .

The only thing I can think about is protecting myself. In Willowbrook, I had a baseball bat that I slept with under my bed. I didn’t bring one to Springfield, though I’m sorely regretting that now.

Weapon. I need a weapon.

Kitchen!

My mom has a huge knife block on her kitchen counter. Grabbing the handle of the biggest one, trying to avoid how my hand is shaking, I look down at the thick blade.

“‘He ran into my knife’,” I whisper, half-hysterical, quoting ‘Cell Block Tango’ as I twist the butcher knife, catching the kitchen light on the large blade. “‘He ran into my knife ten times.’”

Could I kill Kieran? I couldn’t. No matter what he did to me, that was never an option. Leaving was the most rebellious I could be… but I’ve had a taste of freedom. I’m not so sure that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep it.

But murder?

No.

I shake my head, dropping the knife back into its place in the block.

Okay. Knife’s out.

What else?

I know! Dropping down, I fling open one of the lower cabinets, grabbing the first heavy frying pan I can find.

Perfect .

If it’s Kieran, I won’t need the pan to protect myself. I have neighbors and a camera, and he’s not stupid enough to do anything where he might be implicated. A few sharp barbs and he’ll back off, wounded, like my defiance physically hurts him.

Of course, once he gets me alone, I’ll pay for it—but I don’t plan on ever being alone with Kieran Alfieri again if I can help it.

But if it’s someone else… my mom’s house isn’t in the best part of Springfield. She got it after her second marriage imploded, and joked through my early teens that it was the only good thing that came out of her three-year stint as Mrs. O’Donnell.

Lucky her. She got a house.

When she married Dave Alfieri the next summer, I got Kieran.

Talk about running on adrenaline. Instead of turning off the lights, hiding upstairs, and pretending to be asleep, I’m creeping around the side of my mother’s house, holding a frying pan, trying to sneak up on the psycho peering into my front window.

Part of me hopes that I’m being fucking ridiculous. That it was some would-be robber who got curious and went on his merry way. Even if it’s Kieran fucking with me, I’m praying he’s gone, and that when I tiptoe around the corner, there won’t be any man in back standing near the house.

At this point, I’d be a-okay if I imagined everything I saw on the screen…

I didn’t. I know I didn’t, and my bigger fear right now is that it is some burglar and I’m sneaking around in my sweatpants, with a frying pan in my hand, against someone who might have a gun.

Good going, Nic. What a time to think about that…

It’s been a few minutes. I’m hoping that that was enough time that they’re gone—and that they’re not sneaking around the back while I’m going around the front—but when I peek around the corner, I see a shadowy black figure still standing there, almost like he’s frozen in place.

And, yeah… I panic.

I totally panic.

Before he can turn around, I rush across the grass, cold grass biting into my bare feet because dumbass Nicolette forgot to grab shows in her hysteria, and I swing .

Thwack .

“What the fuck!”

I don’t hit him again. I got the guy in his arm, hitting him flush with the back of the frying pan to get his attention. If I wanted to kill him, I would’ve gone for the head, but I didn’t—and, whoa, am I glad when I recognize that growl of a voice.

I’m so used to it sounding cultured and professional that the sudden—and completely rational—anger catches me off-guard before I can even swing again.

And then he spins on me at the same time as he lowers his hood. Even in the dark of night, he seems golden .

Royce .