Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Not a cop, Scar.” Falling back into our usual banter brings some much-needed levity.
She rolls her eyes. “Listen, I'm just saying. It feels… surreal. My townhouse is my happy place and now, it feels tainted.” She tugs the blanket tighter around her. “The thought of being there terrifies me.”
“Well, first of all, I’m installing a doorbell camera and alarm system before you step foot back inside your house.”
“Really?” She sits up straighter and crosses her arms over her chest letting the blanket fall down from around her shoulders as she peers up at me. “You’d do that?”
“Hell yes, I’ll do that.” I sit down next to her, so close our knees are touching.
“It was on my to-do list to get one, and then it just never happened.” She scooches closer to me. “It's a safe area, you know? It’s well-lit with good neighbors. I didn't think it would be an issue.”
“You damn sure didn't think,” I agree easily, and then add, “But I understand. We’re gonna fix it though.”
She rolls her eyes as she turns away from me. “I'll order one now.” She leans down and pulls her phone out of her bag.
I watch as she taps on the screen. “Is this a good one?” I nod my head. “Okay, bought. It should be here tomorrow. I'll pay you to install it.”
“No payment needed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Princess,” I murmur right as her stomach growls. “You hungry?”
“Yeah.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her hears. “Do you... do you mind if I make a sandwich or something for myself? Obviously, I didn't eat the food on my porch.”
“How about you wait here and I make you one?” I stand back up. “Ham or turkey?”
“I’m fine with either.”
“Oh, you want a Wilder special?” I wag my brows, causing her to smile—just a little. “Coming right up.”
I make quick work of assembling our sandwiches—French bread, garlic mayo, and smoked turkey with pepper jack cheese, lettuce, tomato, and fried jalapenos, plating them up with a handful of chips and some grapes.
“It’s simple but delicious,” I say, sliding a plate her way as I join her back on the couch.
I don't waste a single second, digging in and devouring every bite. Scarlet, on the other hand, picks at it like a bird.
“You sure you're good?” I ask, popping a grape into my mouth, relishing the crunch.
“Honestly?” She tilts her head to side. “No. Not even a little.”
“Didn’t think so.” I glance down at her half-eaten sandwich. “Out of curiosity, what did you do with the letter?”
“It’s in my pocket.”
“Okay. What about the food?”
“Ugh. I left it on the table.”
“That’s good, Scar. Put the note somewhere safe, too, okay? The cops are gonna want to look over all of this. If we’re lucky, they can lift a print.”
“You think?”
“Can’t hurt to try.” I cross my ankles and lean back. “We can also show them all the other notes you kept from me.”
“I wasn’t trying to keep—” She shakes her head. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good girl.”
“I’m not a dog, Ellis.”
“Smartass.”
“Even on the worst of days.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Don’t I know it?” I nudge her with my knee. “You’re the type to talk shit to the bitter end.”
She snorts then sighs. “Let’s maybe not make jokes about my death.”
“My bad.” I sit up straight. “You know I didn’t mean anything by, it right?”
“Yeah, Ellis.” Something about the way she says my name sends shivers down my spine. “I know.”
“So, what now?”
“Um.” She captures her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you mind if I use the shower? I kind of want to get all this makeup off and put on my pajamas.”
”Of course. Down the hall, last door on the left. There’re fresh towels in the hall closet.”
SIXTEEN
SCARLET
I grab my bag and trudge toward the bathroom, feeling like I have anvils strapped to my ankles, desperately weighing me down. My legs shake with the effort, each step harder than the last.
Sweat dots my hairline by the time I finally make it to the end of the hall. I’m momentarily shocked by how clean his bathroom is—I’m talking immaculate—but the tears come as soon as I start the water, turning it as hot as I can bear.
“You’re okay,” I sob, hissing as I step beneath the scalding spray. “You’re safe.”
But it’s no use. I’m unequivocally not okay.
Sinking to my knees, the water pelts me as I completely and utterly break.
At least the sound of the shower will drown out my sobs.
My shoulders shake violently as my thoughts spin, round and round, much like the water circling the drain.
“Get a grip.” I dig my fingers into my scalp until I can’t take the sting another second.
I’m spiraling. I know I am. But I don’t know how to stop it. It’s pathetic, really. All I’ve ever wanted is to be, well, wanted, and now that someone finally does, they’re a psycho stalker.