Page 5 of Widow's Walk

“Why call it a widow’s walk?”

She exhales a short, dry laugh. “Romantic folklore. The wives would climb up there, watching the sea for their husbands to return. Waiting. Hoping.” She pauses for a breath. “But most of the time, the sea had already claimed them. The walk became a vigil. A place to mourn the lost before they were actually gone.” Her voice drops as if she’s reciting a ghost story she’s told too many times.

“And the theory?” I ask even though I already know where this is going.

She turns to me, eyes gleaming with a sly smirk. My eyes flick to her teeth, and yes, there’s a diamond embedded in each of herupper canines. And just behind her top lip, a golden hoop glints from a hidden piercing.

“The widow spider. The one who lures, mates, then kills. Unapologetic and efficient.”

“And which do you prefer?”

She falters from my question but quickly recovers. “Well.” She looks away from me again, leaving me to study her profile. “Either way, the male dies, and the woman lives.” She lifts the bottle again. “Unrealistic but very romantic.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She doesn’t answer right away, but I can tell she doesn’t need to think about it. “I don’t pine. Nor do I have the privilege to kill without consequence.”

We both let the silence settle between us, letting the night reclaim the space. I wonder if she was trying to warn me or dare me. And in that moment, I begin to understand something dangerous about her.

She’s not looking for a rescue. She’s already made peace with the edge.

“I’m sorry she died. I know she was the better choice,” she says almost sincerely.

“None of this was a choice,” I retort curtly, and I offer her my hand again. “Come inside.”

“Why?” she lashes defiantly.

“Because this is foolish.”

Her head whips around, eyes glowing like hot coals. “Foolish is letting assholes like you continue to decide the shape of my life. To pretend I have a say in any of this, when we both know I’m merely a transaction wrapped in lace. Accepting this fuckery is choosing a life of chains and quiet suffering. What kind of existence is that?”

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, trying to gain control over myself and the situation. If I want to get her off the ledge without incident, I need to stay rational.

“I won’t ask you again,” I say vehemently, failing miserably at the composure I know this moment requires.

She tilts her head, and something colder settles in her expression. “No. I choose the quicker death. Because at least that would bemychoice.”

Everything slows when I see her lift a foot with enough weight hovering over the edge to tell me she isn’t bluffing. I move without thought as instinct takes the wheel. I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around her waist in one violent motion, jerking her body into my chest. Her head barely reaches my chin, and she grunts from the impact, the same time the bottle shatters to the ground.

With a snarl, I haul her through the open window, my grip crushing and unforgiving. Her spine arches at a painful angle with the pressure, but I don’t ease up. I don’t stop until I have her inside and spin us toward the bed. Her feet never touching the ground.

I throw her down and pin her with my body, pressing her into the mattress. Her robe opens beneath her like spread wings.

She screeches and bucks against me with a strength born of madness. “Why did you do that?” she screams through her teeth. “I die and you’re free.”

Her struggle dies out, and there’s this deranged lucidity in her glassy eyes that rattles something I didn’t know I had. The world goes mute.

Up close, stripped of all that dark armor, no makeup, or taunting smirk, I can see her. Pure raw skin, pink cheeks, and those uncanny eyes. Those brown laced eyes with gold and green that somehow look ancient yet young, all at once.

They paralyze me.

“We’d both be free,” she whispers.

Something unkindly rips in my chest, burgeoning into something ugly. Something beyond madness that has me shutting down. Suddenly, everything stops meaning anything.

I lower my face until our noses touch, breath hot between us. “And what would people think? That I murdered you?” I snarl, now shaking with coiled fury. “You want to die? Do it on your own goddamn time. Not when I could be blamed for it.”

Her nostrils flare as she glowers up at me. Her eyes suddenly dry. “Get the fuck off me or I will rip your face off with my teeth,” she hisses, and I believe her. I’m almost moved by the power she exudes.

---