Moth to a Flame

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER EIGHT

Regan

“I like them younger.” His knife flashes in the moonlight. His teeth do too. Both are equally terrifying. He’s so close. “But there’s no one else and I’m hungry. You’ll have to do.”

I should spin on my heel and run. I have my sneakers on, it’d be easy to slip past the Central Park walking trails and into the wooded area. I could take the shortcut out of here and get home in no time.

I should. Hell, I could even do that.

I won’t make it that far.

By the time I manage to shake off the shock and lift one foot on the ground, he’s on me. Hand in my hair. A blade pinned to my throat. If I take a deep breath, it’ll break the skin. I might bleed out.

Except something tells me this isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me tonight.

“How old are you?” For some inexplicable reason, this matters to him. His brown eyes are squinted and evil, and he puts his face an inch from mine. “Whisper it to me. Scream, and you’re dead.”

Whisper? It’s a wonder I’m not throwing up. The late-night snack I had with my best friend, Tillie, is about to expel itself from my stomach. My heart races, remembering all the horrible things Dad’s ever written about.

When my attacker licks his lips, my fear grows tenfold. No, not true. It detonates inside me like a C-4 explosive, destroying my insides.

There’s nothing left but fear. I’m terrified. I’m frozen.

I’m going to die out here.

“How. Old.” The question is asked while I’m being dragged behind the bushes. To the trees where no one would see me.

“My name is Regan Everglow.” My last resort. Make him remember I’m a real person.

They do that in horror books and action movies. Very rarely, it helps. Like if the villain has a relative with my name. Or if he realizes I’m a person, not prey.

I’m a person. I’m a person. I’m a person.

“Didn’t ask for your name.” The tall, terribly horrifying man doesn’t care. My feet drag across the grass as he pulls me further inside the wooded area. “Age.”

“Please, stop.”

He shoves me to the ground, and he smells all wrong. Rotten apples. Too sweet. Too overwhelming.

“Age.”

It’s too late when I notice the baton he has in his holster. When he pins his groin to me and spits on my mouth.

He has a baton and a knife. He has my arms pinned over my head.

He’s going to kill me.

He’s going to take what isn’t his, and I can’t do anything about it.

Reality finally sinks in.

The snack I had at Tillie’s is acid in my stomach. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes.

My body breaks out in shivers, and it only makes him harder. Makes him spit on me again.

Vaguely, I feel his hold on my wrists loosening.

But I can’t run, can I? He’s only released me so he could punch my ear.

Everything fades to black.

Stay awake. Stay awake. Fight.

The world is spinning. I’m close to blacking out.

“You really should’ve told me how old you were when I asked.” A hand on my jeans button. On my zipper. “You didn’t, and you’ll pay for it. Oh, are you going to pay.”

“Help.”

“Help. Help. Help.”

I wake to the sound of my quiet, terrified voice and to a knock on the door. I think I heard a knock. It’s never clear with these dreams, what’s real and what’s not.

It’s even less so after the news Dad delivered to me today.

Lester.

He could be paroled.

He could be out here, in the streets.

He could—probably would—come for me.

My black sleepwear is drenched in sweat, and my heart is beating wildly.

The smell of rotten apples hasn’t left my nose.

The crippling terror still has my muscles straining, my jaw locked tight.

“I’m home.” I flatten my palm on my chest, rubbing the pain away. The beating of my heart slows. “I’m home. I’m safe. It was just a dream.”

It was just a vivid memory.

Two more raps on the door. Light footsteps growing farther away.

I force in a harsh, cleansing breath.

No more footsteps. Whoever’s there, they’re gone.

Eyeballs Person. Has to be them.

My hand flies to the Ruger on my nightstand. My beloved Jigsaw. At the feel of the metal, heavy in my palm, another breath of fresh air rushes in.

I’m out of bed, flinging my feet to the floor. The blinds are closed, so I switch on the lamp at my bedside.

A strange kind of comfort washes over me as I tiptoe my way to the door. Having eyeballs waiting at my doorstep is a horrible thing to be excited about. But, and it’s a big one, it’s not as bad as my nightmare.

My stalker doesn’t hang around to drag me into a dark area. Doesn’t try to rape and sodomize and kill me.

They won’t be there when I open the door. And I’ll be soothed by someone else’s horror.

Just in case, though, I peek through the peephole. The hallway is empty.

Doesn’t mean there’s no one out there.

As much as I trust my stalker, I have to be smart about it.

My fingers are glued to my loaded gun, and my hand freezes an inch over the lock on my door.

Calling Rosemary is out of the question. I’m the one with the firearm. She only has butcher knives lying around in strategic places around her apartment and Mojo, and I won’t sacrifice him for nothing.

Although, that’s not what really stops me, is it?

The thought that the eyes might belong to Landon does that to me.

It could be him. It’ll make sense, seeing that Marshall was first.

He wasn’t good enough for you.

My heart dives to the floor at that idea. I wouldn’t be comforted by a dead Landon. I really like him. He’s exactly what I wanted.

It can’t be him. No way.

The idea of anyone killing the tall, broad, and fierce Landon is ridiculous.

Impossible.

God, or whoever’s out there, I truly hope it isn’t him. The world can’t be that cruel, that unfair, to give me everything I’ve ever dreamed of just to rip it away from me.

Without giving another thought about what I might find outside, I flip the lock and open the door. The cool air of the hallway has goosebumps running up my arms. Or maybe it’s the velvet box on my doorstep.

Or the too-silent hallway.

Pointing my Ruger at the stairs, I whisper, “Hello? Anyone out there?”

Silence.

The box is in my hand in the next second. Fast as lightning, I’m back behind my closed door.

Safe. I’m safe.

But Landon could be dead. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Jigsaw on the table, laptop swiped to the side.

Deep breath, and I flip the top open.

The note they left this time is placed neatly on top of the eyeballs. It’s easy to see the slightly smudged Not good enough for you note. I toss it to the table since there’s a more pressing issue.

The eye color.

Not black.

Not.

Black.

The eyes are not black.

I almost cry in relief.

And I also know who’s their owner. Who used to be their owner, of this one blue eye and one green.

“Callum? Caleb? It definitely starts with a C.” I tip my head up, wracking my brain.

Kind of hard to remember anyone else when I can’t seem to forget Landon’s hand between my legs. If I concentrate really hard enough, maybe I could…

“Right.” I snap my fingers. “Clayton.”

The man lost his life and eyeballs for blocking me. And he’s just what I needed. His eyeballs, that is.

The more I look at his blue and green eyeballs, the less power my nightmare has over me.

I feel even better once I get my hands on my second empty jar I have around here and fill it with ethyl alcohol.

Plop. Plop.

Both eyeballs land in there and then they’re secured next to Marshall’s in one of my cupboards.

As I wash my hands in the kitchen sink, I consider my options.

One, I could log on to Moth to a Flame to save Landon from being the next victim. To have my stalker set his eyes—haha—on another target. I received a lot of emails today, telling me I have messages waiting for me on the dating service.

I could message either of them and take the heat off Landon.

An option that isn’t really an option at all. Despite being dangerous and scary, I like Landon too much to talk to another man like that .

Sigh.

There’s only one solution to my problem.

Warn him.

He’ll visit me again, I’m sure of it. When he does, I’ll tell him to watch his back.

Unless my stalker gets to him first.

He won’t. He can’t.

Landon will be okay. He has to be.

The store is quiet this late morning. So quiet, without Rosemary and Mojo scraping his paws on the wood floor.

They left less than a minute ago, and the silence is already getting to me. I was the one who pushed her out, told her to go deliver one of our customer’s her tablet personally.

We could’ve called the delivery service we use sometimes, yet I insisted she should go herself. Walk Mojo while she makes the hour-long round trip.

She refused until I explained that she’d be doing it for me. That way, Lester won’t win. I won’t be held back bymy fear and be chaperoned my entire life.

He’s in prison. He’s there to serve his thirty-year-long sentence. Every second of it.

Fuck him. Fuck every fear I’ve ever had.

The books I read are far scarier than them. Like the book I’ve just finished reading for our book club this Sunday.

It’s way scarier than anything Lester has ever done to me.

I was right about the plot twist, in case you were wondering. Brawn, the guy in the book, messes up Frida’s doses. He comes on the cut he made on her left breast, fills it with his seed, and grabs it.

Her heart doesn’t beat beneath his palm, and while he’s sad about killing her, he’s also sort of happy. He freezes her body, then takes her out to fuck her whenever he wishes.

His version of happily ever after.

Creepy. Definitely creepy, although…Yeah, also kind of romantic.

And scary. Landon is scary too.

Not Lester.

This, being in my store with my Jigsaw in broad daylight, is child’s play. I should be able to stay here by myself.

Besides, it’s not like I’m really alone. Foot traffic is lighter at around eleven in the morning, sure, but there’s still light outside. The street isn’t empty.

The memory of Clayton’s eyeballs pops up, and surprisingly, I’m not scared of that either.

My Jigsaw is secured safely in my leggings’ concealed pocket. No one can see it under my oversized pink tunic. It’s there nonetheless.

Always.

I’m fine. Really, I have this.

Until a large, dark figure appears in the street and steals my breath from me.

The tall man in light jeans and black, long-sleeved Henley pushes past the door to my store.

The bell chimes over his head as he steps inside.

It’s as if my heart races and freezes at the same time. I feel as if I just died, yet I’ve never felt more alive.

I’m burning up. I’m frozen.

I stare up into the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen.

He’s right here, at the counter, and I wasn’t ready for him. I wasn’t ready to want and fear him like this.

“Hello, little lamb.”

Instinctively, my hand reaches for my gun.

Landon’s gaze slides lower, then back up to my face.

“Hmm.” His expression is unreadable. I would try to understand what this hmm means, except I can’t help the way my attention drifts to his hair and how gorgeous he is when he wears it in a half updo. “Is that a thing here? To greet your customers with a gun?”

“Jigsaw,” I murmur. I don’t know why I’ve chosen to tell him that.

He tilts his head. “Jigsaw?”

“Its name.”

“Cute. And fitting.” Landon sounds sincere. He drops his leather satchel on the counter, and it lands with a thunk .

“Wait.” My eyebrows scrunch before the other part of his sentence registers. “A customer?”

“I’m more than that, true.” His lips hike to the side, a short, fleeting smirk. “We’ll get to that part later. My laptop has been acting up all morning. This is a repair store, so, here I am. A customer.”

An emotion I can’t place flashes behind his eyes. Other than that, he seems harmless enough. As harmless as a man like Landon can be, anyway.

“Okay.” I’m still struggling with moving when he pushes his shoulder bag in my direction. “Your nail polish. It’s new.”

“Couldn’t sleep last night.”

He was in his home, doing his nails. Where it’s safe. He might not be there today.

Is this the time to warn him about Eyeballs Person?

No. I mean, yes, but it’ll take elaborate sentences and long explanations. I haven’t settled from the shock of seeing him here.

My skin is buzzing, set alight from this man’s presence.

Once I have my brain back, I’ll speak. He won’t see how I’m weak in the knees for him. No man will see it unless I can fully trust him.

His smirk returns as he watches me. It isn’t wicked. Pure satisfaction, that’s what I get from him.

Nails. Right, we were discussing his nails. I steal a glance at mine. I painted them three days ago, and they look nothing like his. Other than the black, glossy coat, his seem freshly painted, but…

“Why is it chipped?”

“You ask all your customers so many questions?”

He’s baiting me. Teasing me. He…could be flirting. I wouldn’t have the first clue on how to flirt back.

I offer the only thing I have. The truth. “No.”

The air between us crackles. His intense focus makes me heady.

He breaks the silence first, tapping twice on the top of his bag.

“You need me to repair your laptop,” I whisper.

“Correct.”

“Your full name?” I keep my eyes on his bag. He could say it’s none of my business. He could make it clear that when he said mine yesterday, he meant mine to fuck, and that’s it. “For our records?”

“For your records, of course.” His hands flatten on the counter, long masculine fingers flexing. “Sterling. Landon Sterling.”

“Cool.”

Trying to pretend that he’s just another customer is a tall fucking order.

Somehow, I manage. My fingers don’t reveal how nervous I am when I take out his shiny, silver laptop. I lift my chin when I hand it over to him.

“Password.” Ten points for eloquence, Regan . “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” He swipes his tongue along the top row of his teeth.

“I didn’t beg.”

“Here, let me.” He doesn’t call me a liar, which I am.

I just want to hear more of his voice. I want—after he fixed one of the broken parts of me—to fix something for him in return. I had no idea how much I wanted that, how wet it’d make me, up until this moment.

“My screen froze while I was working.” His voice is serious as he places his laptop on the counter. “I was going through some of the photos I’d taken recently, and—there you go. See for yourself.”

He flips it to me and all the blood rushes out of my face. I’m numb. Worse than numb. It’s this polarity again, these things he wakes in me. I can’t feel my body and I also feel so much. I feel everything at once because…

Because…

Clayton’s eyes. One green, one blue. In a velvet box.

My velvet box.

“Landon.”

I wish I could say that my fingers shake. That I’m scared or repulsed.

You’d do that? For me?

Yes.

“How did you know?”

Landon’s at the door. Twists his wrist.

Locks us inside.

“Don’t act so surprised.” He annihilates the distance between us, fast. Oh, he’s behind the counter. I’m dying. I’m alive. My chin is in his grip. “Little lamb, it’s my job to hunt you down. And I take my job very seriously.”