“I’m sorry, Bria.”

She stands, as fluid and lethal as a beast of the jungle. “Don’t be.”

I expect her to say something further. Maybe something cutting, and I would deserve it, to be honest. But she doesn’t. She just fixes her unblinking eyes to me as she pulls the strap of her bag up her arm and settles it on her shoulder. I’d like to chalk the boldness of her reaction up to being entitled. There are many students that feel like they’re deserving of something they didn’t earn, after all. But that’s not what this is. She believes in her work. It might be great work that deserves more attention than the platitudes I’ve given her. And she knows I failed her by not giving her proposal the attention it deserves, whether or not I was willing to support it moving forward.

It’s for the best.

Bria Brooks takes a step back from the desk. Her eyes stay fused to mine for one more step, and then she turns her back to me and leaves the office without another word. A breath that was caged in my lungs filters through my pursed lips. It feels like a tiger has just left the room, taking all of its deadly energy with it down the hall.

Well. You really fucked that, didn’t you, Kaplan.

It’s for the best.

…I think.

OceanofPDF.com

4 BRIA

Fucking prick.

Kaplan didn’t even bother to actually read my work. At least not the full document, that’s for sure. He admitted it when I cornered him. He was able to follow along for the first few minutes of my discussion, so I’m guessing he read the summary, but nothing further than that.

Why, though? Did he see something I couldn’t? Was he just too much of a coward to tell me? Did I miss something glaring? Is my methodological approach off but I’m too close to my work to see it?

And it’s not just that.

I’ve been sporadically watching Kaplan for a few weeks. I recognized him in the window as I was about to pass Deja Brew. I almost kept going, but I wanted to get closer before we met in his office. Just a glance.

But with that first close look as I entered the cafe, I found that I wanted to stay.

I managed to avoid meeting Kaplan’s gaze, even though I felt it latch onto me. I still stole glances when I could. A heated, dark energy seemed to roll from his wide shoulders in waves, pulling me in. And it didn’t seem like I was the only one affected. Kaplan tried to focus on his work but he struggled, running his hand through his artfully disheveled dark brown hair, his muscles bunching beneath his shirt. He seemed tense. Frustrated.

And when I finally let our gazes collide, he seemed interested.

I was so sure of it. There was a humming current in the air between us, a vibration. Desire. But something darker, too. It felt like another predator was there in my midst, but one with a different kind of hunger to sate.

So why was he so dismissive when we finally met? Did I read everything wrong? When he got a closer look, could he see behind my mask? That’s what he does, after all. Excavates the souls of people like me. Did he see darkness there with just a glance?

These unanswered questions burn in my mind like embers as I drive home. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to make it into the house and onto my treadmill without combusting in a red mist of rage. I skip the warm-up and just start running.

A 06:30 minute mile.

06:15.

06:00.

I’m pounding out a 05:10 pace, slick with sweat, when I hear the driveway alarm. I hit the emergency stop on the treadmill and rush to the security tablet on the wall, keying in my password and bringing up the camera.

Amy. My cleaner.

Fuck.

In my fit of rage at Kaplan’s dismissal, I forgot she’d changed times to come in the afternoon. And I’m not in the mood to see anyone right now. For their safety and mine.

I grab a towel and head downstairs to the front door just as Amy walks through.

“Hi, Bria!” she says in her singsong, cheery voice as she turns and disarms the security system. I want to snap her neck and strip out her vocal cords with my bare hands.

“Hello, Amy.”

“Getting an extra workout in?”

My molars grind together as I force a smile. “Yep.”

Amy bustles past me with her supplies, blowing a lock of over-bleached hair from her eyes as she sets them down beside the kitchen island. Kane saunters in from the living room to rub against her legs. She coos in a baby voice to the cat who relishes every moment of the affection. I fold my hands into fists when she calls him “Sir Kitty Candy Kane.”

I could grab a knife from the kitchen. Or the steel throwing needles hidden in the living room. Or the Glock 43 from the closet; shoot out her kneecaps. It would be so easy. So easy to kill and feed this fury. To feel the euphoric release of a life ebbing away by my hand.

“I’m going out for a run,” I announce, heading toward my bedroom to change into dry gear.

“Be careful out there, Bria,” Amy says. The worry in her voice is so genuine that it forces my feet to a halt. “It’ll be dark soon.”

I scowl at my watch. “It’s only four thirty.”

“I know, but I worry about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. You don’t know what kind of weirdos are out there in the shadows.”

I look at her over my shoulder, some of that scratching rage calming, just a little. She knows a lot about weirdos in the dark. And I know there are just as many in the bright desert sun as there are in the cool Montana night. “I’ll be careful. Thank you, Amy.”

She smiles, the worry still heavy in her weathered skin. The wrinkles of her hard early life make her look older than she really is. I walk away toward the bedroom, get changed, and leave without another word.

I sprint down the driveway and the gates open as I draw near, sliding back into place once I’ve passed into the empty street. There are few cars and no pedestrians, just me and my music which I keep low enough to hear my surroundings. I take a few turns and head in the direction of Berkshire’s campus.

It takes me thirty minutes to work my way there. I twist through the sprawling grounds, narrowly avoiding the few students who have returned to get a jump on the next semester. I exit the campus, crossing a few streets until I arrive at Bloomfield, the condo looming ahead like a fortress of concrete and glass.

When I arrive, I key myself in with my fob and then take the elevator to the eleventh floor. I watch my reflection in the mirrored walls as I ascend. Sweat dots my skin, plastering wisps of hair to my forehead. There’s no expression on my face. Just a mask of skin and muscle that hides the rage still boiling deep within.

The elevator dings and the door opens. I turn right and head down the empty hall to apartment 1142.

When I unlock and enter, everything is just how I left it. Well-hidden. Clean. Simple. It’s a bland two-bedroom condo facing the campus and the mountains beyond, and it suits my needs well. There are too many people in the building for my sporadic comings and goings to be noticeable, but I’ve still made sure to set the lights, music, and television to come on at different times. The hidden cameras and the security system are only paired with my computer in my secret room at the main house. The system will alert my phone if an alarm is triggered, but otherwise I keep everything separate. The fewer links between me and my lairs, the better.

After a cursory glance at the space, I head to the shower. As soon as I’m changed into fresh clothes and a blonde wig, I gather a few snacks and make a brief tour through the hidden drawers in the furniture. Before an hour is up, I’m heading back to the elevators, descending to the underground parking levels.

Of the three vehicles I have here, I take the most nondescript option, a silver Honda Accord. I leave the parking garage, heading for the city limits, for a dead-end dirt road where I can change my license plate without the threat of onlookers. It seems like overkill, doesn’t it? Wearing a wig, switching plates on a deserted road, maintaining a second apartment…but Samuel taught me early on that there’s no such thing as too much preparation.