Page 88 of Brazen Mistakes

“This last Thursday. And the photo was from Christmas Day night.”

He tucks the photos back into the cards, swallowing again before meeting my eyes. “That’s quick. He was only let out a few days before that first photo was taken. And three threats in less than a week? That’s not a good sign.”

“No shit.”

“You know him best. What are the chances that I’ll find his fingerprints on these cards or photos?”

I think about the care Bryce put into his studying, into organizing our lives, making everything a glittering prism of mock perfection. Now, all he has left to care about is his hatred of me. “Close to zero. He’s careful. Smart. And quite obviously, obsessive. The photos are probably on his phone, but unless access to that is part of his plea deal, I don’t know what you can do, honestly. The only reason I’m filling you in is because you drove over to warn me. That counts for close to nothing, but maybe you actually want to help. You know, before I end up some God-awful statistic.”

Trips drags his hand through his hair, eyes squeezed closed, a small, pained noise escaping. Walker steps closer, while RJ pulls me against him, like they could somehow keep me safe just by being beside me.

Officer Reed nods, tapping the collection against his leg before holding out his hand for the newest gift from my ex. “I’ll do whatever I can. And as far as the other thing, I’ll dig into it and see what I can find.”

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly uncertain I made the right call asking the police to help.

But it’s the best option. It’s not like we’re equipped to go full vigilante mode on these creeps, as much as they deserve it.

Taking the newest card, he nods at me, then the guys, and I can tell he’s forcing himself to look them each in the eye. Which after seeing at least some naked ass, shows a certain amount of bravery.

None of us move until he drives away, as if without discussion we agree that the threat must be long gone before we open our door again.

The warmth of the house makes my cheeks burn, but as the door closes, I know even this warm space, full of love and comfort, is no longer safe.

We can’t keep training here. Bryce is smart enough to figure it out.

I’ve lost my room. I’ve lost the common spaces. I’ve lost the freedom to just enjoy existing in comfort with these men I’ve come to care about.

And it fucking sucks.

Bryce is a problem. And I need to knock that problem off my list again. Fast.

Chapter 33

Clara

The dojo is cold, full of things I’ve never seen before, but they’re wholly uninteresting when I have RJ to focus on. And after this morning’s aborted action, I’m not sure how I feel about that fact.

He moves through the space like it’s a second home, gathering pads, mitts, and towels. I guess for him, the dojo is exactly that.

I run my fingers over a stand of practice swords, the wood brassy under the harsh fluorescent lighting, my stomach rolling at the slight scent of sweat that permeates the room.

Walker made omelets after we regrouped in the house, and we carried them up to the attic to eat next to the wet bar. It wasn’t convenient, but the main floor is officially just for passing through now. Thanks, Bryce.

I finished half of my omelet, but I know it’s not enough. If I could just sleep and eat like a normal human, I wouldn’t feellike my emotions are caterwauling at me. I’d like to revel in my rage at Officer Reed or worry about my inability to grab onto the fear that I should be having with Bryce making such obvious threats. But those things seem impossible right now.

I might be a broken girl, but I’d like to see Bryce try to break one of my “toys.” They’re a hell of a lot more slippery than Bryce knows.

Reminding me of that fact, RJ slides up behind me without me noticing, despite the mirrors on the walls. His lips are soft against my cheek. “Are you ready, sugar?” he asks.

I shrug, turning into his arms. I’m so damn needy, and I wish I weren’t.

But I am. Whining about it won’t change the way I feel like I can finally take a deep breath once he pulls me close. “As ready as I can be.”

RJ leads me to the center of the room. “Usually we’d take off our shoes, but for self-defense, it makes sense to recreate real-world scenarios. So we’re keeping our shoes on.”

“Got it.”

“What do you already know?” he asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and I drop down across from him, our knees touching.

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