Whatever the reason, the fact remains: I’m dangerous.
Whether it’s due to Alex’s procedure or not is irrelevant. I’ve hurt people. I killed a man. If I didn’t force myself to leave Alex sleeping in his bed, when he rolled over and looked at me, when he kissed me again…
I would kill with him.
I would be lost with him.
Taking a fortifying breath, I stand before the entrance to the police station. I’ve passed this building every day on my way to the martial arts studio. I’ve stood outside and watched people enter and leave, waiting for the moment I was brave enough to take a step forward.
Last night, I knew I had to confess, and I knew it had to be today. Before Alex has the chance to frame Brewster, or makes the grave mistake of double-crossing Grayson.
I also knew walking out of his apartment with the murder weapon wasn’t going to be easy.
My only choice was to make Alex believe I was committed to his scheme, to him. I needed him to trust me, utterly, implicitly. And…I can’t continue lying to myself. It wasn’t all an act.
I’ve battled my confusing array of emotions for Alex too long, and I was so weak, wanting one night to lose myself to these overwhelming feelings and passion, to experience a connection with him and know it’s real—before I end us.
But that’s even more reason to be standing here now.
The greater danger lies not with me, but in the two of us together.
The morning air is hazy and dense, sticking to me like a thick film, the secret I’ve been carrying around a callused layer I need to shed. Once I walk through these doors, I’m not coming back out. I’ll be detained. Read my rights. Put in a holding cell. I’ve never been arrested before. I’ve always found ways to skirt authorities.
This will be a whole new experience.
Targeting Alex in this manner is drastic and self-sabotaging. But truthfully, it’s killing two birds with one large river stone. I’ll be reprimanded for my crime, and Alex will be stopped.
He said I’m a justice dealer, and justice will be served.
Confessing to Ericson’s murder is not even about the guilt—I had rules, limits. Even as a psychopath, I had a moral fucking compass.
I inhale a steadying breath laced with car exhaust and sidewalk garbage as I take a step forward, and my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Halted, I give in to the nagging compulsion to check my phone.
A text message from my mother: I’ve retained a lawyer for you. Call me.
My hackles raise, and a nauseous sensation hollows out my stomach. I move to the side of the building and call her.
She answers in a lighthearted tone as if she doesn’t see my name on her screen. “Vanessa Vaughn.”
I release an impatient breath. “What are you talking about?”
I can hear her audible exhale over the line. “Blakely, please. Lower your voice. It’s been taken care of. That’s all you need to know.” She pitches her voice an octave higher, like she’s simply making an appointment at a day spa. “I expect you for brunch today.”
An invitation for brunch from Vanessa is not a casual summons. “I don’t understand what’s happening, but I have to go.”
“I know where you are right now,” she says, her voice taking on a stern edge. “I’ve sent Patrick to fetch you. He should be arriving shortly. We’ll discuss this once you’re here.”
I glance up to see my mother’s driver pulling to the curb across the street.
“Shit.” I end the call and walk toward the crosswalk, but my gaze is drawn to a suited figure in the backseat of the car, and I immediately stop.
My whole body ices over. Time suspends as our eyes meet. That piercing gaze I stared into while feeling him inside me, that I’ve craved with both fear and longing. A clash of emotions war within me, my heart beating at a frenzy.
I step off the curb toward the car, never taking my eyes off Alex. Last night could’ve been another one of my dreams; I’m not even sure if it was real.
I’m drawn to him by the tethered cord between us. Terrified to look away, frightened to reach him, a swirling vortex of emotions drowning out the honks and shouts as vehicles brake and swerve.
Arms wrap my waist and I’m hauled out of the street.
“Let me go—” I elbow Patrick’s ribs, but he tightens his hold despite my struggle. My body remembers every bit of abuse I put it through as pain webs my muscles.
I’ve lost sight of Alex. Searching madly, I feel like a wild animal who just lost their prey.
“Miss Vaughn, it’s not safe,” Patrick says as he sets me on the sidewalk. Mouth thinning into a hard line, he grabs his side. “Are you okay?”
His question is weighted with more than one meaning of my current state.
“I’m fine,” I say, distracted as I lock gazes with Alex in the car. I shake my head, then look at my mother’s driver. “I’m sorry. For your ribs.”
He blinks, stricken by my apology. “It’s all right, Miss Vaughn.”
When I look over to find Alex, I’m torn between storming toward him and running in the opposite direction.
I don’t know how the hell he managed to orchestrate this—but I should never be surprised where Alex is concerned. And yet, every single time, he finds a new way to shock me.
Patrick opens the passenger-side door of the Audi. “Let’s get you home.”
His voice draws me out of my thoughts and I close my eyes briefly, making a decision. I pass the passenger door and open the backseat door, sliding in next to Alex.
He brushes his finger over the back of my hand. “I always have a contingency plan,” he says in a hushed tone.
I stare straight ahead. “You brought my mother into this,” I say, snatching the seatbelt and buckling in. “You don’t have a plan. You have a death wish.”
I glimpse his boyish smirk from my peripheral.
First, I’ll handle Vanessa. Then I’ll take care of the mad scientist.
I can only deal with so much crazy at one time.
“To the witch, Patrick,” I say.
Patrick’s grin is evident in the rear-view mirror as he puts the car in Drive. “Yes, ma’am.”
It’s an ambush.
As I enter the rooftop terrace of my parents’ three-story Park Avenue penthouse that overlooks an expansive view of the city, I see Rochelle lounged near the plunge pool. She’s having a mimosa with my mother. Both of them recline on white chaises, like it’s not a weekday morning.
“I have no idea what’s going on, but this just looks toxic.” I immediately start to leave, and it’s Rochelle who hops up to stop me.
“Sit your scrawny ass down and shut it,” she snaps, literally snapping her fingers and glaring through a giant pair of expensive sunglasses.
“How did you get pulled into this?” I quiz her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Was it some other Blakely Vaughn who called me at three a.m. looking for a ride to Manhattan?” She takes a dramatic sip of her mimosa, and the crystal flute tinks her glasses.
I deflate a little. I did call her for help after I escaped Alex, and she was there for me. “You’re under a covered pergola, Rochelle.” I glare at her obnoxious sunglasses.
“UV rays, honey. You’d do good to think about that.” She takes her seat again and lounges dramatically, downing a healthy sip of her drink. “You’re not going to be young forever.”