Page 60 of Some Like 'Em Burly
“And not that you’ll be able to hold a key. Hey man, just wondering: are you right or left handed?”
Peter struggles harder, freaking out, but it was a trick question. I already know, because I watched him come in, the key glinting in his right hand.
“Whoopsie,” I say, breaking his wrist easily. Peter howls, angry tears spilling down his flushed cheeks, but when I hold his face close to mine, he stops thrashing. His panicked heartbeat is so loud in this room.
“You’re never coming near Jem again. Say it.”
He wheezes, the words getting trapped in his crushed throat. I smile, enjoying this way too much.
“Good. You’re going to leave this city and go far, far away. You’re going to start a new life in that faraway place, and you’re never coming back. Not even to visit.”
More gargling. I’d feel guilty if he weren’t such a prick.
“Because you know if I ever see you again—not in this apartment, you understand, or in the market hall, or near Jem, butanywhere—I will kill you and toss your lifeless body in the river. I am not a forgiving man. Tap my arm if you agree.”
Frenzied tapping. Then Peter visibly panics, his eyes flaring wide, because he’s not sure if that was a trick question.
It wasn’t. He got his second chance and he blew it. There won’t be a third.
Christ, I feel so alive right now. I’m grinning broadly as I carry Peter to the door, holding him away from the furniture as we go, and there’s a bounce in my step when I thrust him toward the stairs. He sprawls on the floor, howling with pain. There’s something so satisfying about tidying up loose ends.
“Sayonara,” I say, watching as Peter sprints down the steps so fast he slams into the stairwell wall. It jars his broken wrist, and he lets out a pained yelp, then cradles it to his chest before running down the next flight. “Fun chat,” I call, my voice echoing.
When I go back inside the apartment, I feel light as air. This is what I can do for Jem, this is how I can keep her safe, and I’m goddamn thrilled to do it for her. Part of me had worried that our twenty four hours would run out and Peter would still be out there, plotting and perving and making Jem feel unsafe. This has turned out better than I hoped.
But Jem isn’t smiling back at me when the door closes us in together. She’s hugging herself around the middle, and her face is ashen. She looks sick.
Was I too violent?
Did I freak her out? Break her trust in me?
“Is it—is it over?” Jem asks, and her voice shakes. My gut sinks.
Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s over.
Shit.
Jem
When dawn seeps through the curtains, I push up onto one elbow with a sigh. After hours spent lying awake, listening to Axel’s steady but alert breathing, I’m pretty sure neither of us slept a wink after Peter broke in last night.
Over and over, I keep replaying the whole thing in my mind. The gleam of that stolen key in the gloom; the shrill sound of pain Peter made when Axel broke his hand. The threats my bodyguard made, and in such a chatty way, like he was making conversation about the weather. He was so strong and confident, seeing off my stalker like he might bat away a fly.
And it worked. There’s no way Peter will come near me again. There’s not a single doubt in my mind: when that jerk clattered down those stairs last night, it was like a whole army was nipping at his heels. That’s what it felt like to me, too—having Axel on my side was like having a whole platoon.
My chest aches and I hang my head, fighting the urge to flop back down on the pillow and drag the blankets up over my head.
Because our time together is slipping away so fast. Then Axel will roar away on his bike and I’ll be alone again, rattling around in this tiny apartment in silence. Eating dinner with the memory of my bodyguard curled around me in that armchair; taking the bus to the market and working my stall all by myself. Using podcasts and audiobooks to feel like I have friends all around.
It’s fine.I’mfine.
I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m not gonna start being a weenie about it now.
But god… if I could see Axel sometimes… even if I could just text him or call…
When I swing my legs out of bed, I feel queasy, because this isn’t like that. Axel’s not myfriend, no matter how easily we get on, no matter how good it felt to have his hands roaming over my bare skin. He’s here because I paid him to be here, and that’s that.
Hoping for more is how you get your heart broken.
