Page 77 of Brutal
It makes something darker move in me instead. Something old. Possessive. Mean. The urge not just to warn her away from the house, but to shut the door behind her once she’s inside and make the whole world answer to me before it gets near her.
Not noble, then.
Not gentle.
I’m not the kind of man that women in stories are meant to trust.
The entrance opens.
This time it’s her.
Everything in me goes still.
She steps out in dark jeans, boots, and a black sweater over what looks like a filmy blouse. Her hair is down and she has her messenger bag over one shoulder and a fierce look on her face.
She pauses on the sidewalk and looks around.
A slow smile ghosts my mouth before I can stop it.
She feels me.
Or maybe not me specifically. But something. Enough to make her cautious. Enough to make her test the air. Then again, maybe she’s overcautious because of the break-in. Whatever it is, she’s hyperaware.
People pass between us. A woman with a stroller. A man talking into his headset. The ordinary world.
Delaney adjusts the strap on her shoulder.
And instead of turning away, she walks straight toward me. She stops a few feet away and tilts her face up to mine, blue eyes sharp and awake and too fucking beautiful.
“Were you planning to stand there all morning,” she asks, “or did you eventually mean to say hello?”
I look down at her and let the silence sit for a moment.
Then I say, “Good morning, Delaney.”
18
DELANEY
“Good morning, Delaney.”
Like we’re normal. Like he wasn’t in my apartment yesterday. Like he didn’t put his hands on me.
Like I didn’t want him to.
My heart skips. I ignore it.
“You’re still here,” I say.
“So are you.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I live here.”
“For now,” he says.
