Page 26 of Heroes & Hitmen
We just sit together in silence for a while, my sister’s comforting presence easing the ache in my soul. In moments like this, it’s easy to pretend that we’re normal girls with free will, but that only digs the knife in deeper. Because we aren’t. We don’t get to live freely or make our own choices; not the ones that really matter.
We’re prisoners to the blood running through our veins, and this Tower is our gilded cage.
CHAPTER 9
Ares
I’ve never hadtrouble sleeping. I’m the kind of guy who can pass out anywhere– on a couch, in a truck bed, once in the middle of a hallway at a party after too many shots and too few regrets. Usually, my head hits the pillow and I’m gone in sixty seconds.
Not tonight.
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for over an hour now, counting the slow rotations of the fan and listening to my own heartbeat thump out a rhythm I can’t settle into. My muscles twitch. My skin feels too tight. My inner wolf won’t shut the hell up.
Maybe I just need a drink. That usually does the trick.
I kick the sheet off and climb out of bed, padding barefoot to the kitchen in my boxers. Yanking the refrigerator door open, I hope for a miracle, but I’m met with nothing but condiments, sketchy leftovers, and an empty beer shelf.
Shit.
I check the cabinet above the fridge. The expensive whiskey I was gifted when I arrived is still inside, my hand closing around the neck of the bottle and lifting it out. It’s light as air– barely a splash left– and that’s when I remember finishing it off last night.Damn.I huff out a disappointed breath as I slam the empty bottle down onto the counter, the mocking thud echoing through the empty kitchen.
So much for drinking myself to sleep.
Accepting defeat, I grab a bottle of Powerade from the fridge instead, nudging the door closed and heading back toward myroom. The city glitters outside the windows with its skyline made of stars and steel, but even the killer view can’t settle the unease twisting in my gut or my restless wolf clawing at the inside of my chest.
I pause in the doorway, staring at my bed. The crisp white sheets, the view from the window beyond it, the deafening silence.
I don’t want to get back in.
I know I won’t be able to sleep because every time I close my eyes, I see Miley. Standing in the elevator, pale and dazed, like she wasn’t fully in her body. Clutching her elbows like she needed to hold herself together or she might come apart.
Something was definitely wrong.
The spark in those violet-grey eyes was dimmer than I’ve ever seen it, and her vanilla and freesia scent was tainted with something unnatural. Sterile, like a hospital or a morgue.
There’s something seriously fucked up going on in this pack.
Giving up the fight for sleep, I throw on sweats and a hoodie, stuff some cash in my pocket, and head out into the night. I don’t know where I’m going exactly, just that I need to move and breathe some fresh air.
The city streets are quiet when I step outside. A few cabs blur by. The bodega on the corner is still open, buzzing with flickering fluorescent lights. I make my way there and duck inside, greeted by the scent of ancient mop water and burnt coffee. The guy behind the counter doesn’t even look up from his phone as I grab a six-pack from the cooler– nothing fancy, just something cold– and hand over a crumpled twenty.
The bottles clink against each other as I walk back to the Tower, the weight of the six-pack comforting and familiar in my grip. I’m nearing the entry doors when one of them swings open and a dark figure slips out into the night.
She’s got her hoodie up and head down in an obvious effort to be incognito, but I’d recognize Miley anywhere. My wolf perks up instantly, lips breaking into a grin.
She doesn’t see me– just pivots and takes off in the opposite direction, weaving between pockets of shadow as if it’s a well-practiced routine. Quick, like she’s got somewhere to be and doesn’t want anyone following.
So, naturally, that’s exactly what I do.
In the week and a half that I’ve been observing her, she’s neverbroken routine. Then again, I haven’t been keeping watch at night, assuming she was the type to be tucked in bed by nine.
This is new. Unexpected. Thrilling.
What are you up to, sweetheart?
Excitement thrums through my veins as I track my prey through the quiet downtown streets. It’s not subtle– there’s no sound to cover my footsteps except the occasional hum of a passing car or the sharp bark of a dog in some high-rise penthouse– but Miley doesn’t glance back. She has to know I’m following, but either she doesn’t care or she wants me to. I’m choosing to believe it’s the latter.
The city’s asleep, but we aren’t. The bottles in the six-pack clink softly as I trail her through the streets and underpasses until the lights thin out and the buzz of traffic fades behind us. The air changes, growing cooler as we head east toward the lake. Miley slips past a weather-worn sign that warns the beach is closed from 11pm to 6am, ignoring the city ordinance as she steps over a low fence like it’s not even there.
