Page 30 of The Misfit

“Yeah, I got a job for you.” My voice sounds steady despite the adrenaline still coursing from the beating I laid on Marcus. “Nothing too rough. Just need you to make someone feel unsafe.”

Jake’s voice crackles through the phone, asking for details. He’s done jobs like this before—subtle intimidation, careful threats, nothing that leaves marks but everything that elicits fear.

“Tomorrow. The library. Around noon.” I think of Salem’s usual study schedule and how she always takes the corner table near the emergency exit. “She’ll be alone. Wearing gloves. Just crowd her space a bit, make her uncomfortable. Maybe mention how isolated that corner is.”

Jake listens, professional in his silence. No questions about motives, no concern about morality. Just business.

“Bring someone with you,” I add, remembering how Salem counts everything, memorizes faces, and creates patterns from threats. “Two guys are more intimidating than one. Make sure she sees you clearly. I want her to recognize you when I step in.”

The price we agree on is nothing—pocket change for a Sterling heir. Worth every cent to create the perfect scenario where I get to swoop in like a knight in shining armor. If only she had shown up to the coffee shop. I could’ve explained my plan to her and made her see how much she needed someone like me in her life.

I’m fucked up; I know this, but that doesn’t stop the grin from appearing on my lips. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I outline the final details. Nothing physical, nothing traceable, nothing that could lead back to me. Just enough to make her feel unsafe. Just enough to make her reconsider my offer when I make it the second time.

The plan feels solid now. Simple. One encounter, well-orchestrated and perfectly timed. I’ll be nearby, so there’s no chance of things going too far. Satisfaction slithers through my gut.

By this time tomorrow, Salem will understand how much she needs someone to keep her safe. How much she needs me.

Whatever it takes.

EIGHT

salem

The library’scorner table feels like a sanctuary. Tucked away near the emergency exit, it allows me to see everyone as they approach. My books are aligned at perfect angles, my laptop is precisely centered, and everything is in its proper place.

I feel good. This feels good.

Everything except my thoughts, which keep drifting to Lee. I feel guilty about standing him up the way I did. My phone sits beside my pens, the screen dark but somehow accusing. I’ve drafted seventeen different messages to him since this morning.

Sorry about yesterday.

Something came up.

I got overwhelmed.

Maybe we could?—

Delete, delete, delete.

Nothing sounds right or seems good enough to explain how I panicked at the idea of meeting him, of discussing whatever he wanted to talk about, of facing those storm-gray eyes that see too much.Besides, what would I even say?Sorry I’m too broken to handle a simple coffee meeting? Sorry I spent an hour organizing my closet instead of showing up? Sorry I’m the kind of person who needs to count ceiling tiles before entering any room? My nitrile-covered fingers hover over the phone again, composing attempt eighteen.

Hi, so about yesterday?—

Delete.

The textbooks in front of me offer safer territory. Physics doesn’t judge. Equations don’t care that I wear gloves or count things or measure spaces between people. Numbers make sense in a way people never will.

I say that, but deep down, I know Lee makes sense. He notices my patterns without commenting. He creates space around me without making it obvious. I’ll never understand how a person who is my complete opposite in every way can understand that chaos must be met with control in equal measure.

And that’s exactly why I can’t text him.

Can’t face him.

Can’t handle his proposal.

The scariest type of people are those who understand, who see through you when they look at you. I’ve learned that people who accept broken pieces usually end up cutting themselves on the sharp edges.

I talk myself out of messaging himagain.

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