A can of soda.
He waits, like he’s hoping I’ll react. Perhaps he expects gratitude. A smile and a thanks. I suppose all whores deserve a payment.
When I do nothing but stare expressionlessly at it, he puffs out this hard, annoyed breath, and then pulls something else from his pocket. “You’re welcome.” He tosses it onto the bed right beside my shoulder. It’s a small box, white and purple, with text on the front.
Plan B.
“I told you you’d be mine someday,” he says, walking backward, “little bird.”
And then he’s gone, climbing out of the window in one lithe move.
But I’m left staring unblinkingly in his wake, finally putting the voice to the unsettling blue eyes. Pretty Nick, my handler for the Kings.
I stay like that for some stretch.
Time.
It’s never meant less to me than it does right now.
My body sleeps, but my mind never does. I stare at the window—the flutter of the curtain—and let my flesh drink its fill of rest. I lock my thoughts into safe things. The way those books smelled before. The texture of the pages beneath my fingers. The weight and shape of them. Carding through their thickness. I think of the sky, and how long it’s been since I’ve seen it. The stars. The moon. The sunrise.
I think of birds and the flutter of wings, and then I cry.
I’m not proud of it.
In fact, I spend the whole time resenting the shit out of each tear that tracks its way to the mattress. I can hear my father’s voice in my mind, telling me that it’s weak. Lucias don’t cry—we strike with venom and the points of our fangs. That’s probably what burns me most. The blows were bad and the sex was worse, but the fact that it’s driven me to tears?
That’s what makes me want to kill Nick.
The sun has long ago come up by the time I twitch my fingers, allowing my muscles and bones to slowly awaken, coming back to life. I know my body isn’t ready to face it. The ache between my legs. The sting in my cheek. The pang in my ankle. It’s just that I need to know.
Hobbling to the bathroom is a series of challenges involving excessive wincing and the avoidance of the blood and semen that’s dried on my thighs. But the moment I do, I turn my back to the mirror, finally seeing the message Maniac had inked into my skin.
A bear.
Not just any bear.
Everyone in Forsyth has seen the Brass Bruin, in one form or another. This wasn’t some mere attack in the dead of night. The Maniac, the Lurker, Nick…
They’ve declared war.
With any luck, I’ll soon be in the position to give them one.
Acknowledgments
Dear Readers,
I’m putting mine in here first because Sam went crazy and wrote a novel （typical） of thank you’s and stole half my thunder. SO ANYWAY, thank you all for being part of this journey and allowing Sam and I to drag all of our crazy story ideas out of the attic and put them on paper. We’ve been dreaming up this kind of hot mess for TEN YEARS （fine, Jesus, twelve. God, we’re old.） The stars finally aligned in the dumpster fire of an unprecedented pandemic and well, the rest is history.
Thank you bunches,
Angel
（Sam’s word vomit starts here…）
The other day, I told Anne （who runs the DD&T fb group） that I'm just someone who's trying to find out how to get a few dicks into a girl in the weirdest, most pathological way possible. That's it. That's what I strive for my brand to be. At the end of the day, if I did that justice, then I'm happy.
My epic, cheesy gratitude goes out to Anne V for being so welcoming. The whole DD&T group, tbh. Y'all keep planting seeds in my brain and I'll keep watering them! I literally live and breathe for your rec request posts.
Crystal P, Crystal P…what would I do without you. Well, I wouldn't know what the fuck a gerund is, for one. I wouldn't have a three day argument with my husband about whether or not a bucket can have a lid （YES IT CAN, FIGHT ME）。 I wouldn't know whether or not my sex scene is confusing, because this was my first RH and jeeeesus, there are a lot of arms and hands. If I crushed it, then it's only because you helped. And if I didn't crush it, it's only because I read your advice and ignored it. Thank you for everything!
Lisa （and Dawson）， you have been ride-or-die since Preston, and you are my HEART. I can never wait for Angel to send me your comments. You're so inspiring and kind, and such a great part of this whole writing experience. Without it, this shit would be so bleak omg.
To the readers in AA, thank you for letting me go rogue a lot and encouraging it. To Anna, thank you for accepting the random 3am requests I throw your way. Nikki…gurl, I swear I write at least half of this in anticipation of your reviews. Same goes for you, Nadia! I don't always read reviews, because this is a delicate ecosystem here, but yours? I'm fucking THERE.