Page 55 of Brutal
I head to my bedroom, wash my face, and change into my silk pajamas. I slide under the covers of my bed and turn onto my side. Then onto my back. Then the other side.
I adjust the pillow.
Shift again.
My body won’t relax.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Samson Vexley. Feel his hand on my wrist. See the danger in his amber eyes, know that I should stay away, that I shouldn’t want…
That I shouldn’t want that kiss. And everything else. Especially not when my research has led me to him.
I roll onto my back and drag a hand over my face. This is ridiculous. I should be thinking about the lock. About the report. About what really happened that night. About where I’m going tomorrow.
Instead—
All I can think about is Samson Vexley, his large muscled body hovering over me. His lips on mine, his hands touching me, pleasuring me…
Sleep doesn’t come.
Not for a long time.
13
SAMSON
I watch her come out of the municipal records building just after four the next day.
She doesn’t linger on the steps. Doesn’t check her phone.
I stay where I am across the street, one shoulder against a building, and watch her walk briskly, a brown messenger bag slung across her body. She cuts toward the subway entrance on the corner.
I push off the wall and cross the street. She’s halfway down the stairs when I catch up.
The station air is warmer than the street and smells like something I don’t ever want to smell again. When was the last time I was on the subway? Seems like forever, though it was probably only a few months ago. We Vexleys use the subway when it works for us.
A train screams somewhere below. She hears me before I say anything. I know because her shoulders shift, just slightly.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says dryly.
“You don’t know when to stop,” I say.
She keeps walking. “Neither do you.”
I fall into step beside her as we descend the stairs and reach the platform. It’s not empty—it never is—but rush hour hasn’t quite started yet.
Delaney moves farther down the platform. I go with her.
“You went digging again,” I say.
She finally turns her head to look at me. “And you followed me again.”
“Yes.” No point lying.
She lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t get to do that.”
“I do what I want. Especially when you’re making a mistake.”
“Do you ever make mistakes, Samson?”
