Now
My feet only get two steps into my charge before the bell rings out and the referee steps into my path. I skid to a stop as the ref’s hands meet my shoulders. He gives me a weak smile, but my attention is diverted. Murmurs spread through the arena as the announcer steps into the cage. I step back, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The announcer approaches Diesel, and they speak for a brief moment before the announcer turns on his mic to address the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen. There’s been a change in our schedule for tonight’s events. Diesel will return to the cage in another fight this evening. We have a new challenger coming to the stage. Standing at six feet five inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-five pounds…” More murmurs fill the arena. “Please welcome to the stage, Draaaaaagooooooonnn.”
I snort a laugh at the stupid name. The spotlight swings over to the arena entrance I entered from earlier, and the sight before me pulls the rug out from under my feet. I sway a little and reach out, grasping the chain-link wall of the cage. No. Why would they do this? No. I blink, hoping the vision would will away. It doesn’t change as the loud, ominous strains of the song “Conform” by Siege boom out over the loudspeakers. The floors and the links of chain beneath my fingers vibrate with each pluck of the grinding bass.
Nic doesn’t just walk but swaggers beside my new opponent, wearing the same tailored suit he was in earlier. Loud chatter sweeps the room because everyone here knows who he is, but they also know he doesn’t come to the fights. When they get to the edge of the platform, my opponent hops up with a lethal grace and turns to give Nic a hand. His muscles ripple under the spotlights, giving movement to the massive dragon tattoo on his back, only covered from the waist down by black cotton gym shorts. My heart rate increases as I meet Nic’s eyes.
Nic smirks. Asshole. He leans in close so only I can hear. “It’s a shame this wasn’t my idea. That look on your face is priceless.”
I straighten from the cage wall, and he backs away, holding his hands out in front of him to ward me off. The anger flows just under my skin, making my heart slow like it’s pumping thickened lava through my veins. The slow thud of each beat echoes in my ears, shushing out the din of the crowd. The announcer hands Nic the mic.
“Boy, do we have a special treat for you,” he says, playing up the accent that we grew up with but have long since lost, for the most part.
You can almost hear the collective sigh from the females in the room. I suppose this is how people close to Matthew McConaughey feel when he speaks to a group of fans. It’s amusing, but not enough to distract me from my frustration. I realize with a start that I missed whatever he said, lost in my thoughts, as Nic turns to wink at me before exiting the cage and taking a seat in the front row.
I catch the ref’s hands moving out of the corner of my eye as he explains the rules to my new opponent.
I can see it now. Well, I suppose the truth was that I could always see it. It was in the curves of his muscular shoulders. The way his arms were always slightly bent as if to help bear the weight. His feet always apart. I hesitate to drag my gaze up, but when they meet the turquoise eyes behind the mask, I suck in a breath. That same look I see in my eyes every morning that I look into a mirror is there, a dark hollow void hidden in their depths. A kindred spirit. My heart thunders like a stampede caught in my chest. That’s the scariest thing about him—he’s my match.
My mind whirls as I try to grasp for a solution. Because I know right then, he’s everything I ever wanted. Someone who wouldn’t offer to bear the weight of my burdens, but walk beside me in companionship. And I know. With my track record, I’ll fuck it up. All I see before me is a choice, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like I’m being ripped down the middle. Run.
“Phoenix, you good to go?” the ref asks.
I nod. He backs away, slicing his hand through the air. The bell rings.
“You really do look like a firebird right now. The way the lights pick up those red tones in your hair. You’re beautiful,” Dex says, moving toward me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I grind out from clenched teeth. Run.
“This.” He lifts one leg and stomps his foot on the cage floor, deliberately. My eyes are narrowed to slits as I focus on him. “You asked me to make it clear what I don’t like, and this is it. I’m not going to stop you. You want to fight, fight me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, but it comes out as more of a growl. Run.
He tips his head back to laugh, and red colors my vision. Fight. I strike. Sweeping my leg out and under him, I throw my shoulder into his chest. I realize my mistake almost as soon as I make it. I don’t know one thing about how Dex fights. I’ve never seen him come even close to aggression in our time together, and I forget to read him before I make my move. Big mistake. His big arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me down with him. I’m so stunned by his quick reflexes that I’m pinned underneath him faster than I can blink.
Shocked, I don’t even fight back. I gasp for the breath that was knocked out of me. I don’t even know what I want. I’ve been running since the day I met him, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to fight him anymore. Because this fight is all in my head and my heart—that shriveled-up black thing that somehow still beats in my chest.
“Did you mean it?” he asks.
My eyes find him, and he’s looking through me again. I don’t like it. No one is supposed to be in here but me. Fight.
I growl, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That my past, who I am, it doesn’t bother you,” he explains.
The crowd starts booing. We’ve been motionless too long. He’s not even holding me. That’s all it takes for my mind to flip. I become aware of his body pressing me into the mat with his weight. That’s all it takes for that lust to come roaring to the surface. The warmth of his flesh seeps into me. His woodsy smell invades my senses. He’s watching me so intensely that he sees the change. The left corner of his mouth twitches. I wonder if he knows that he always leads a smile with the left. Why do I even know that? I bite my lip, and my brows draw together. His left dimple flickers as the twitch becomes a smirk.
He leans on one elbow, running the other hand down my side, hooking it behind my thigh and pulling it to wrap around his hip. A trail of fire is what it feels like. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath. The crowd rumbles in approval, and it slams me back into reality.
“No,” I grind out as I use the imbalance of his position and the advantage he just gave me to take back control of the situation.
I’m on top of him now, and as I look down to him, he’s grinning. “Liar,” he accuses.
Darkness crowds my vision. Challenge. No. No one can see me here. No one can join me here. Pain. It radiates from the core of me. I want to hurt him. I want to scare him away. He can’t be here. The dark is for me alone. This is my penance—my just desserts.
My fist snaps through the air toward him. He’s faster. He grabs my wrist, stopping me just inches away from his cheek. That left corner of his mouth twitches again. Asshole. I roll off him, away, breaking his hold on my wrist. I rise to my feet at the same time he does. My body remains crouched, on alert, as I circle him, looking for my opening. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. He stands, back straight, tracking me as I circle him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.
He shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I was here before we ever met. I’m not scared to go there with you.”
I tilt my head.
His head shakes again. “I don’t mean this cage, Maddie. You know what I’m talking about, just as I know what you’re talking about.”
The dark. Fuck you. I move in and strike, landing my fist in his gut before he spins me around, holding me. My back presses to his chest. My arms are trapped beneath his bulky arms. His breath puffs out next to my ear.
“Holy shit, you have some fire in that arm,” he wheezes out, his voice drawing closer to me. His tongue trails the side of my neck to the space just below my ear. I shudder in his hold. “I don’t understand all of this, but fuck if I’m not curious.” His forearm, covered in the small tattoos, moves until his hand cups my breast. “All I know is that I want you. But it’s more than that. I want to own you. Possess you. I want this to be mine.” He trails his thumb over my nipple, and my body jerks in his hold. A tiny moan escapes me. “I’ve never met someone filled with so much darkness that still managed to shine so bright. Like a moth to a flame, Firebird. I’m yours.”
I turn my head to look at him, to respond in some way, but his lips are on mine before I can blink. All thoughts flee from my mind. My lips part on a sigh, and his tongue strokes against mine. The fight leaves me. I go limp in his arms. His hold loosens, and I turn into his embrace. He leans into me just enough to lift me, and then I’m wrapped around him as I pull his bottom lip into my teeth. My back slams into the cage. The cool metal links press into me. The crowd is louder now, but it’s not boos or cheers; it’s a cacophony of moans and screams. Pleasure. A thrill runs through me.
Dex breaks away, wedging his thigh underneath me to support my weight. I search his face for something as he grabs my wrists and pushes my arms up against the cage.
“Hold,” he grunts.
All I see in his eyes is hunger. The ravenous look of a starving man, staring at the last piece of food. My fingers lace into the chain links. His eyes return to mine. His hands move to the collar of my tank top, the straps digging into my shoulders as he pulls. The tearing fabric echoes in my ears as I suck in a breath. As the shirt tatters fall to my sides, his fingers find the zipper at the front of my sports bra. He yanks and I’m exposed, in more ways than the obvious. His hands grasp my ribs, his fingers pressing into my skin.
“You’re not stopping me,” he growls.
“No, I’m not,” I respond, as my eyes roll back in my head and my back arches.
His mouth is on me again, biting and sucking his way from my neck to my breasts. I moan. Opening my eyes, I find Nic in the front row, watching. Despite the woman writhing on his lap, sucking his neck, his focus on me never wavers. A small smirk plays at the corner of his lips. His eyes hold his triumph in plain view. He nods.
Touch her, I mouth to him.
Nic pushes her legs open, his hand exposing her core to me. He pushes his fingers into her, and her head drops back on his shoulder. I squirm and pull Dex in tighter with my legs. His mouth detaches from my nipple with an audible pop, and he looks at me and tracks my gaze behind him. His hand wraps around my ponytail, and he yanks my head back, swallowing my cry with his kiss.
“Mine,” he gasps.
“Yes, yours.” I hum with pleasure as I release the cage wall to grip his shoulders. My nails dig into his skin. A rumble of pleasure reverberates in his chest. I smile at that.
“Why do I feel like the fly that just landed on a spider’s web,” he pants, pulling back to search my face.
“Perhaps because you are.” I shrug.
“I’m a selfish man, Maddie.” His grip tightens in my hair. “I don’t want to share you.”
“All right. Then don’t,” I say with another shrug. “You’re in charge.”
His eyes dilate, and my heart flips. What is happening? I don’t have time to ponder it because he pulls me close and turns. With a few quick strides, we are out the cage door. He walks like a man on a mission as he carries me up the stairs and out of the arena to the bank of elevators we came from the first time I brought him here. I wiggle in his hold to get down, but he only grips me tighter. He’s not asking as he puts my hand on the biometric scanner and operates the elevators on his own. I stop shifting and hold on, waiting for his attention.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t set me down, just keeps his hold on me. When we get to the penthouse, he speaks. “You went this way earlier. Where did you go?”
“My room. It’s over there, down that hall.” I point off to the right, and he moves in that direction. “Second door on the left.”
He opens the door, and his hand reaches out, feeling the wall for a light switch. I chuckle to myself.
“Penny, lights at fifty percent, windows open,” I say.
The lights come on, and the panels that cover the full wall of windows opposite us retreat into the walls, revealing the city lights below. Dex sets me on the ground and takes in the room. Directly in front of us, with its headboard against the wall to the left, is a king-sized canopy bed. It’s flanked by two full-size chests of drawers, and on either side of those are two doors, one leading to the closet and one to the en suite bathroom. To the right is a large open space with only two pieces of furniture, a chaise and an armchair. In the center of the room, chains hang from the ceiling off a metal grid. His eyes linger on it.
“Welcome home, Mistress,” the female computer voice intones. “I trust your fights went well tonight? Would you like me to start the shower at your preferred settings or run a bath?”
Dex’s head whips in my direction.
“It’s Maddie, Penny. And no, we’d just like some privacy,” I answer.
“Very well,” Penny replies.
“Your friend has a pretty fancy smart home setup,” Dex states.
“I am not a mere smart home, sir. I am an intelligent digital construct. Penthouse. Penny is my given name,” Penny drones. Though there was definitely a pout in there, if computer voices could sound pouty.
“Penny, I said privacy,” I interrupt. “You’re not supposed to address guests anyway.”
“Who are you people?” Dex asks. “What the fuck is an intelligent digital construct?”
“Penny is just Dawn’s brainchild.” I wave it off. “Artificial intelligence. She’s kept on a private server and given full run of the penthouse, but she’s harmless. Though, it’s a little creepy at times.”
I shut the door behind us. Dropping the tattered remains of my shirt on the floor, I move toward the bed. Glancing back over my shoulder, I find Dex watching me.
“What do you know about Dominant-submissive relationships, Dex?” I lie on my side on the bed.
He shrugs. “Not much, to be honest. Just the chatter that happened after those movies came out.”
I rolled my eyes. “How about power dynamics?” I pat the bed next to me in invitation, but he doesn’t move. “Ever given any thought to who holds power, in any situation where control is given to an individual?”
“No, I haven’t given it much thought.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stands there, watching me, but it’s clear that he’s not getting any closer at the moment.
I sit up, zipping my sports bra closed. “Okay, let’s take the president. He gets elected, people vote for him. Who holds the power?”
“I don’t understand what this—”
“Just answer the question,” I sigh.
“The president does.” He shifts his weight to one foot and frowns.
“He just gets in office and does whatever he wants because he has the power? What happens if the people who voted him in are unhappy?”
“Then he doesn’t get reelected,” he drolls. His lips become a flat line as he pins me with a stare.
I nod. “He has to bend to their will. Do things that make them happy. So, who holds the power?”
“The voters who put him there, I guess.”
“Exactly. Control that is given can be just as easily taken away. Therefore, the giver is the one with the real power.”
“Makes sense.”
“It took me years to understand all of it. What I am. Why I do it.” I stand and cross the room to him. “I’m a sexual submissive, Dex. It doesn’t make me weak. It doesn’t mean I’m helpless or some sick, twisted freak. I don’t necessarily need it. I’ve had regular sex quite a bit, and I didn’t dislike it. I just—”
I start to pace as I glance at him. He’s not giving anything away, and normally I like that about him, but right now it’s just frustrating. “I’m a giver. I like to do things for other people, and sex, for me, can become… confusing. I give everything to my partner and take nothing. Most people, normal people, are a balance of both give and take. What a Dom does for me—it takes away my choice in the moment. Gets my head out of its focus on my partner and allows me to just feel. No thoughts, no worries, no guilt. Just pleasure given and received. And I’m not telling you that you have to be a certain way or accept some position to be with me. You just need to know this is who I am and why I’m this way.”
“Stop,” he says, and I freeze midstep. “As adorable as your pacing is, it’s very distracting. It makes sense, but I don’t get what has you so anxious about it.”
“Because I’ve never had to do this before. I’ve never had to explain this.”
He raises an eyebrow at me in question.
“I’m serious. I’ve only ever had one top, and that was years ago. We both kind of fell into it without giving it a name. It took years of therapy to understand all this. Because it wasn’t until after that relationship ended that I found out how hard it would be to live without it, or to be with someone who couldn’t understand it.”
“Come here,” he says, holding out a hand to me. He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me. “I understand it.” His fingers trace along my jaw. “I just have one question.”
I nod.
“Where does your friend Nic fit into all this?” he asks.
“Sounds like I’m right on cue,” Nic says, standing in the now open doorway.
Then
“This is just some place you heard of?” I asked, pinning Holly with narrowed eyes.
She shrugged. “Aunt Mae’s worked here longer than I’ve been alive, but it’s not like she owns the place.”
I gave her the side eye and took a deep breath.
Turning my focus to the stage, I studied the weathered old man up there. The lighting onstage wasn’t very powerful, and his dark skin blended with his dark clothes and the dark wood paneling of the wall behind him. Only his instrument, a pearl-white Gibson ES-335 guitar, was truly visible. I’d a feeling that was his goal. He played a bluesy, twangy melody as his fingers plucked the strings and his other hand slid back and forth over the frets. It was hypnotic.
By the third bar, I recognized the song as “I Can’t Quit You Baby” by Otis Rush. I closed my eyes and swayed in my seat, just absorbing the musician’s soulful voice. The tinkling piano keys and slow brush rhythm accompaniment was also lost in the dark behind him. It gave the tune a haunting feel, and I was captivated.
“Earth to Maddie,” Holly said, snapping her fingers next to my ears.
I opened my eyes. Everyone at the table was looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry,” I murmured with an apologetic smile.
Jared leaned forward and captured my hand, pulling it to his mouth. “She does that with the blues. Gets lost.”
“You could say that,” Asher laughed.
“I was just sayin’—you gonna get on the stage?” Holly asked. “Gus will be off the stage after this song.”
“Can I do that?”
“Of course—it’s fuckin’ open mic night, bitch.” She grinned deviously. “You think I’d bring you to a place you couldn’t feel at home? And I know you’re at home on the stage. I got you.” She winked.
My heart raced at the thought of getting to play something different than our regular tour set. I grinned widely at her. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.
“I wanna go up there with you,” Asher added. “You know what you want to play?”
“The possibilities are endless,” I answered.
“Brothers Osborne?” Asher suggested.
“Definitely fits the vibe here.” I nodded. “What songs do you know?”
“All of them,” he said with a shy smile. “They’re one of my favorites.”
“We could do ‘Love the Lonely Out of You.’ Since it’s just two guitars.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Asher nodded once and turned back to the stage.
It didn’t take long before the song was over and Holly was dragging us to the stage. House instruments were shoved in our hands, and we took our places on the dark stage, Asher with an acoustic guitar, me with an electric and a microphone.
It felt anonymous on the dark stage. I allowed myself to get lost in the words and the notes I plucked on my guitar. When Asher joined me with his guitar, my heart soared.
The song was a soulful surrender to a lover, sexy and heartfelt. My eyes were trained on Jared as the words fled my mouth. When a gorgeous blonde in a denim miniskirt approached him with a tap on the shoulder, I fought hard not to falter. He patted her back as she hugged his neck and took my seat next to him.
I wasn’t sure who she was, but as she leaned in to whisper in his ear, my vision tinted green. It was obvious that they knew each other as they talked through my performance. Jealousy filled my heart, making it feel dark and nasty. I’d never been one to get jealous. I’d never been in a relationship where I didn’t feel secure about the other’s commitment to me until that moment. And that hurt.
When the song was over, I turned to Asher, placing my hand on the mic. “You know any of the songs from my old band?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he answered with a wicked grin.
I whispered in his ear the song I wanted to play. He laughed loudly and got up to put the guitar away and move to the drum kit behind us. I stood and moved the chair I was sitting on to the side. Adjusting the mic, I told the crowd we were about to shake things up.
Asher led the song, setting a rhythm, and I followed with the fast-paced grungy guitar licks. Then I opened my mouth to sing the song that Spencer wrote for me all those years ago. It was written as a joke after he walked into the kitchen one night while Law and I were discussing some rather intimate suggestions for our alone time. The thing was—it was good. It had a catchy tune and quickly became our most popular song.
It felt weird not hearing Spaz’s bass or Spencer’s guitar join us. But I shut out that pang of loss that echoed in me. It was time to take my revenge.
I may look like a saint, but I’m a sinner.
I’m the girl that brings you to your knees.
All you have to do to please me…
is spank me like a bad girl.
I knew once the words were out of my mouth, I’d have his attention. His head snapped in my direction from the bubbly blonde. His face became a hardened mask. Narrowed eyes watched me as I put on my show.
Tie me up, touch me, tease me
Make my body your new religion
I’ll beg until you lose control
And you spank me, I’m your bad girl.
I was working the crowd, playing up the sex appeal like I used to. A crowd began to form in front of the stage. I felt powerful again at that moment, weaving a spell over the crowd as I captivated their attention.
I realized then I’d been suppressing myself, trying not to garner too much attention for fear that it would set Jared off. But that just pissed me off. We could’ve grown together, but he forced us to grow apart and then decided he didn’t like who I’d become. Fuck him.
I stopped watching him then, turned my attention to the crowd and played for them, letting my hands slide over the guitar seductively. How had I let myself become so powerless? We were tearing each other down. I watched as the audience became enthralled, watching me intently, hypnotized by my music, my voice. This is me, this is my strength. I’m a siren. I’d been hiding it out of fear. No more. We would be who we were meant to be, and if it didn’t work out, then it didn’t work.
The song ended, and people cheered. I made my way back to the table, getting stopped every few feet by someone who wanted to ask about where the song came from or if they could buy the CD. I didn’t know the answer to that. Spencer had controlled most of the group business, and even though we never recorded in a studio, he had made a demo from one of our garage practices and sold copies at gigs. Whether or not they were still out there was beyond me.
When I got back to the table, Blondie was nowhere to be found. Instead, Jared had tossed aside the pretense of a glass and was drinking straight from the bottle. I could see the unfocused quality to his eyes as he pinned me on the spot with narrowed eyes.
“Thanks for rent,” Holly said, glancing up from her phone. “I’ve already gotten over ten thousand hits on this video.”
“You posted that?”
“Why not?” She shrugs. “I’m sure someone else is gonna, too. That was some real shit. Just figured you’d be happier knowing that a friend was receiving the payoff rather than some tool.”
“True.”
“I think whores usually like to get paid themselves,” Jared muttered before taking another swig.
I’d like to say I was shocked, but by now I was becoming used to his violent mood swings and sudden shifts in temper. I should’ve known that this night would end this way. We hadn’t had a nice night out since before he was deployed. Plus, I couldn’t fully blame him because I chose to poke the bear.
“We should probably get back to the hotel. Asher, would you give me a hand?” I gave Asher a pointed look and jerked my head in Jared’s direction. Hopefully, he would get that I needed to get the drunk out of the bar without making a scene that would end up on tabloid websites. I’d no desire to listen to Press-zilla bitch at me.
I pulled out my phone, searching for a local cab company number. Asher offered a hand to Jared, and when he didn’t take it, Asher moved to pull him up by his arm. As soon as he made contact, Jared kicked out, scooting his chair across the floor. The result was a loud grating sound and a lot of angry looks since the next act was already playing onstage. I gripped the phone tight in my hand and grabbed Jared’s other arm to drag him outside. As we were walking toward the front door, I went back to my task on the phone, only an active call was already in progress. Shit. I must have accidentally dialed it.
I put the phone to my ear. “Hello? Is this the cab company?” I asked, not knowing which one I’d accidentally dialed.
There was a click, and a male voice came through the line. “Yes, did you need a ride?”
“Yeah. We’re at the Old Point Bar on the corner of…” I drifted off to search for street signs. “Patterson and Olivier.”
“We have someone nearby. They’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Awesome, thanks.” I hung up.
I turned back to find that Asher had Jared propped up against the wall by the door. Holly was still inside, and they seemed to be having a heated exchange. I hung back, reluctant to wade into the fray of Jared’s bad mood. My back was to the street when a car pulled up behind me. I turned to find a black sedan. The window rolled down.
“You order a cab?” the voice from inside asked.
My brows scrunched in confusion. Shouldn’t a cab look like a cab? Maybe I’d called some uber-fancy discreet cab company. I shook it off, waving Asher and Jared over with a shout. The way Jared yanked his arm away from Asher and swayed on his feet told me this was gonna be a fun ride. Holly came out just in time to say good night. I made plans to meet her for breakfast at our hotel before she drove back to Austin and we moved on to Chicago.
After I assured Asher that I’d be fine getting us back to the hotel, I climbed into the back seat and told the driver the name of our hotel. He set off, and I watched Holly and Asher go back inside the bar.
“You know, I’m a big boy. I can get myself home,” Jared said, breaking the silence.
I turned away from the window. “You’re drunk, Jared.” I sighed. “And I don’t want to fight with you tonight.”
“I’m good, Mads. My fiancée just got up on a stage and announced that she’s a kinky freak, attracting a bunch of dudes to come hit on her. I’m peachy.”
“Nobody hit on me. What the hell are you talking about?”
He snorted in response but stayed quiet. I scoffed.
“Those people were just asking about where they could find the song. And you’re one to talk, having some bimbo hanging on you while I’m up on the stage.”
“She was not some bimbo. She was a soldier, stationed over in Iraq when I was there.”
“In other words, someone you fucked back when we weren’t together?”
He didn’t respond, and I knew I was right. Fucking hypocrite. I was done with this conversation. I was tired of him making me feel like I needed to walk on eggshells and pretend to be someone I’m not.
“At least it was normal sex, with a normal girl.”
Anger and hurt warred with each other inside me. I knew that I wasn’t normal, but I always thought that he loved me despite it. Now it felt like he despised me because of it. And it hurt because it was true. What Law turned me into wasn’t normal, but it was me. My gut wrenched. How did I get so fucked up?
The cab pulled up to the hotel, and Jared got out. I pulled a fifty out of my wallet and handed it to the driver and scooted out myself. I was about to take a step toward the hotel when I heard a voice. I spun back, and the cabbie had his window down.
“Your change.” He waved money in the air.
I approached the window and waved it off. “You can keep the change.”
I leaned down, and for the first time, really looked at the driver. He was wearing a green hoodie with the hood pulled up, his face lost in shadow.
“You know,” he said, “tryin’ to force things to live when they should be left to die never works.”
His voice seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. My mouth opened and closed as I tried to think of a response, but as his window rolled back up and he put the car in gear, my focus dropped to the passenger seat.
There was a single red calla lily sitting there. I gasped, and my voice caught in my throat with an intensity that stole my breath, choking me. The ground rocked beneath me.
He pulled away from the curb, and I chased after him, banging on the window. I had to know who it was. He didn’t stop or look at me, and soon, I couldn’t keep up with the car. I stood in the street, watching as he took a right a block later.
It only hit me after he had vanished that I should’ve gotten the license plate number, but it was too late.