“I know,” I agree. “I’ll make the necessary connections.”
I will find this place, and once I do, I will kill every single motherfucker associated with that hellhole.
By the time I’m done, the entire government will be dismantled.
Chapter 18
The Manipulator
U
NKNOWN: You’re so pretty when you sleep.
My heart drops when I read the text.
I already knew the fucker was in my house from the rose on my nightstand, but his lack of shame enrages me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks as fury and embarrassment rise inside of me.
I was knocked out cold last night, and I hate that while I was peacefully sleeping, a man was standing over me, watching and just being an all-around freak of nature. The thought sends cold shivers down my spine.
After Max crashed our dinner, Daya and I felt considerably on edge-the mood soured and rotted. We combated that feeling by bar-hopping. We picked a random drink off the menu for each other, and by the end of the night, we were both pretty toasted.
I tried to avoid thinking about Max the entire night, but his threats plagued me anyway. Lingering at the back of my mind, there to remind me when I had a moment to think.
And it hasn’t gotten any better.
I spent this whole day trying to write, but I barely managed over a thousand words. I’ve long since given up and have retreated to my room to watch mindless TV.
ME: You’ll look pretty after I stab you.
I don’t even know why I reply to him. I should stop and report this to the police. They’ll think I’m antagonizing him.
Jesus, I am antagonizing him.
But after Max’s threat, I don’t need any more reason to make him suspicious by reporting a stalker. And for the ones I already made after Arch’s disappearance, I hope those went missing too.
Never thought I’d wish for my only evidence against my shadow to disappear, but the threat of Max oddly frightens me more.
Maybe I’m kidding myself with a false sense of security with the former. He’s scared the absolute fuck out of me, but he hasn’t seemed inclined to physically hurt me. In fact, he’s done the exact opposite, and that knowledge makes me sick.
Max, on the other hand, I know would hurt me.
UNKNOWN: A gun wasn’t enough for you? Interesting.
I drop the phone on my bed, and then my head into my hands. But then my head snaps up when I remind myself that the fucker was watching me sleep last night. Which means he got in my house again.
All the blood in my cheeks drains like a whirlpool when I realize he could’ve been in my house before I even went to bed.
That’s what he did last time, and I was pretty out of it last night. I know I read Gigi’s diary for a little while, but I don’t think I retained a single word I read.
My gaze draws to my closet doors, like a magnet on a refrigerator. It’s a large closet with two doors that slide apart. My eyes thin, narrowing on the tiny crack between the two.
My body moves on autopilot. I’m scrambling out of my bed and storming to the closet door before I can think it through. I have no idea what I’d do if he’s standing there.
Probably shit myself.
I tear the doors open and stop short when I’m met with nothing but way too many clothes that I don’t wear.
There’s nowhere for him to hide in here. It’s not a deep closet and certainly not big enough to hide a six-foot-too-many-inches man. My hands tear through my clothes anyways, searching for him. And even when I’m positive he’s not there, I stare harder, swiping my clothes aside with heightening aggression.
Get a fucking grip, Addie. It’s like you want him to be there.
I sigh and turn away, the adrenaline rush diminishing. There’s nowhere else in this room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it’s an open concept with minimal furniture.
Now, I just feel like an idiot.
I plop on the bed, crisscrossing my legs as I stare at my phone like it’s a mousetrap with a big ass block of cheese in it. Gourmet smoked gouda fucking cheese, to be precise.
The phone lights up with an incoming text, the vibrations in the bed traveling straight up my legs.
I snatch it up. I fucking love gouda cheese, goddammit.
UNKNOWN: I’ll be seeing you tonight, little mouse.
I snarl.
ME: From outside my house, and preferably in a cop’s handcuffs.
UNKNOWN: You don’t need a cop to get me in handcuffs, baby. I’ll let you do anything you want to me.
I’m going to suffer from a heart attack with the severe directions my blood keeps rushing to. My pussy pulses from the illicit thought of him handcuffed to my bed, a smirk on his face, dripping with sin. And those goddamn mismatched eyes looking up at me the way he did when he was fucking me with his gun. Like I’m a little mouse that he wants to devour, stuck in the trap with the gouda cheese puffing up my cheeks.
Fuck.
My hands shake as I try to force the thought from my head. But it’s taken hold and I can’t get it out.
I straighten my legs, squeezing my thighs together. But it doesn’t ease the steady throb between my clenched thighs, nor the wetness pooling between them.
My heart races as another ping vibrates my phone.
I don’t want to look, but I have no fucking self-control.
UNKNOWN: Are you playing with yourself, little mouse? Touching your sweet little pussy to the thought of me handcuffed to your bed?
ME: You’re disgusting.
But that’s exactly what I’ve begun to do. As soon as I read the words, it was like he possessed my body to do exactly what he was asking. My hand snaked down into my panties, my finger gently swiping at my engorged clit. Even as I wrote back my scathing reply.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.