Chapter 10
Isat at the edge of my bed, all the lights on. A man had been in my apartment. The thought terrified me. At first, I’d worried he’d found me. That I hadn’t hidden far enough away, that somehow he’d discovered me. Clint Randall. The man who had opened my eyes to my brother’s misdeeds in such a terrifying way that I’d been looking behind me since that night. Nightmares had plagued me for months, and even now, they occasionally returned. The man I’d given my heart to just to have him tear it from me and stomp all over it when he tried to kill me. A man who had infiltrated my brother’s ranks then seduced me with his bad boy smile and tattooed biceps. He’d been everything I loved in a man, and I’d fallen like an idiot, na?ve to Mason’s secret life and the enemies he had. An enemy who had found me and used me until the day he turned on Mason by trying to kill me.
He”d gotten away from Mason’s men that night as Mason had rushed me to the hospital. The wounds had healed, but the scars, both physical and emotional, hadn’t. It had been the fracturing moment in my relationship with my brother. And as much as he told me he’d always protected me, keeping me blind to it all to keep me safe, it didn’t matter.
I’d moved into his guesthouse at his insistence, and since Clint was still out there somewhere, I’d had no choice. Even now, Clint was still out there. Whether in hiding or hunting me, I didn’t know. But in my mind, he was hunting me. So when I’d woken to the touch of fingers on my cheek and the hushed ‘good girl’, my first thought had been Clint. But the touch wasn’t right. It was too gentle, and Clint had never been a gentle man. He’d insisted we keep our relationship from Mason, so when he took me, it was quick and dirty, his fingers forcing my orgasms from me. Clint wouldn’t have stood by and watched me touch myself. He would have taken what he wanted, then strangled and beaten me. There would have been no gentle brushing of his fingers over my cheek and certainly no hushed words. If the scarves hadn’t fallen over my eyes as they blinked open, I may have even thought I was dreaming. But it hadn’t been a dream. The scarves gripped in my hand were proof of that. My heart was thudding so loudly, I could barely think.
Someone had been in my apartment. Someone who had watched as I’d touched myself while imagining Greyson Tides was fucking me hard. My cheeks warmed with the memory of my fantasy until I reminded myself that someone had watched from my closet. The door hadn’t been wide open when I’d gone to sleep. Had he jerked off to the sight? The dirtiness of the thought gave me a strange stir of flutters in my lower belly.
“Shit, what is wrong with you, Riley?” I muttered, rising to check that he hadn’t come in through the window.
I stopped in my tracks, realizing that the top lock on my door was unlocked and I always locked it. The sight confirmed that someone had indeed been here. There was no sign that he’d broken the lock, and I clicked it back into place. Nothing but the scarves even looked touched. It was as if he’d only entered to watch me touch myself.
I sat back on the bed, my mind muddled. I should have reported it and called the police, but what would I tell them? Some guy snuck into my apartment and watched me finger fuck myself? It was too embarrassing to even confess. And he hadn’t hurt me. He hadn’t sexually assaulted me, which seemed strange. Why hadn’t he touched me? He’d only brushed his fingers over my face delicately. I brought my hand to my cheek, remembering how the softness and the low words had stirred me. There was something familiar about the touch that I couldn’t place, something soothing.
I decided not to report the incident, but promised myself I would call the landlord in the morning and have my locks changed. There was no plausible way for me to explain it to anyone and so I rationalized the incident before I snuggled at the end of my bed, staring at the scarves in my hand, wondering why there was a familiar scent in the air. It took me a while, my mind awake and actively going through the event, but eventually my eyes grew weary, and sleep took me.
Morning came too fast, and I was too on edge to think clearly. I trudged my way to the shower, wondering how I was going to make it through work when I couldn’t get my mind from the touch of the stranger’s fingers on my face. Or that he’d watched me come, some warped part of me wanting to believe he’d come with me, that he was some sexy morally gray guy like in the dark romances I read. In reality, I knew I should have been worried and more frightened, but it hadn’t been Clint, and nothing frightened me like he did.
When I emerged from the bathroom, toweling my hair, I stopped in my tracks, my heart pounding. A beautiful bouquet of pink and white peonies sat on my counter. My favorite flower. The scarves lay delicately draped next to them. Drawing my eyes up, I scanned my apartment, checking under the bed and in the closet again. No one was there, but those flowers hadn’t been there before I’d stepped into the shower. Tentatively, I picked up the note that sat nestled within them.
You came magnificently, like a good girl.
My thighs clenched, my hand shaking. He’d been here. My stranger. My stranger? I was losing it. This man had broken into my apartment twice now and I was calling him mine? Clint must have damaged me completely, because this was not normal. I dropped the note, backing from the flowers, my mind a confused jumble of thoughts, my body a convoluted mix of excitement. I sat on the loveseat, staring at the flowers. They were lovely and delicate.
My phone sat on the table across from them and I rose, ready to pick it up and call the building manager, to have someone change the locks, but I sat back down. This was dangerous, and if my brother weren’t a killer and feared mob boss, if Clint hadn’t exposed me to violence and pain, I would have been terrified. But I wasn’t. Sure, this man had left me shaken, but I was also curious. Why go to the trouble of coming back and bringing me flowers? It seemed such a sweet gesture for the creepy act the night before. Why not rape me and never return? Something about the gentle touch to my cheek, the ‘good girl’ on the air, the note, and the flowers gave me pause. It was almost endearing, like something a lover would do. And maybe I was just so messed up that I was looking for a good guy in every man I came in contact with because so many had hurt me.
I bit my lip, worrying about my sanity and wishing I had someone to talk to. I didn’t know Ava enough to trust her with this and the only friend I had was the sister of Mason’s best friend. I couldn’t take the chance that she’d tell Tyson who would tell Mason.
Thinking of Mason brought a melancholy ache to my chest. A part of me wanted to hear his voice, to have him talk some sense into me. Rising, I reached into my purse, pulling out my second phone. The one I had yet to use because I knew it would bring Mason to my door. I placed it on the table, not turning it on. Sitting, I pulled my knees to my chest, looking between the phone and the flowers. Instinct told me to call, to have him come get me, to tell him what was going on because he would rescue me and pull me out of this warped sense of normalcy I was giving to someone who was clearly stalking me enough to know my favorite flower.
I dropped my head to my knees. I didn’t want to be rescued. I didn’t even know if I needed to be rescued. Someone was playing a game with me, but it wasn’t one that was hurting me. It was teasing me, twisting my sense of normalcy, and letting me accept that this was okay. And I didn’t know what to think of that. Chewing my lip, I glanced at my bed, where I’d slept with the scarves in my hand. A reminder of my stranger. And in return for watching me, he’d brought me flowers.
“Dammit, Riley,” I muttered. “This is wrong.”
I grabbed both phones, throwing my everyday one in my purse and tucking the other in the back pocket of my jeans before throwing on my boots and coat. Leaving, I rushed to the parking garage where I stored my car, forgetting that my hair was still wet until the winter air hit my face. It was too late now; I wasn’t turning back because the need to hear my brother’s voice was driving me. He had always been the calm, controlled one who made things better, even if I hadn’t seen who he really was.
While I wanted to hear Mason’s voice, I still wanted to remain free of his control. There was no way I could call him from my apartment, or he’d discover where I was. Leaving the parking garage, I headed west, only stopping to get gas and coffee once I left the city.
I wasn’t one to make friends easily. Ava was an exception, but I wasn’t about to tell her anything about my past. I rarely let anyone that close to me. I had acquaintances, but no one from home who I could call. Anyone else I knew was too close to Mason. And in reality, I only had Mason. He was my best friend. We’d always been close. Even though he was nine years older, he’d never pushed me away. I’d run in his pack, hung with him and Tyson, and stayed in their circle. I saw now that he’d placed me there on purpose. Needing me close to keep watch over me, to dictate all the pieces of my life without knowing. Pretending I had autonomy while keeping me on a short leash. A leash I’d rebelled against when Clint had tempted me. Clint was the first time I’d lied to my brother, the first time I’d ever gone behind his back. But it hadn’t been the first time he’d lied to me.
I drove all morning. I wanted to be far from Bridgeville, far from the life I was creating for myself. A life free of my brother’s reign.
By noon, I pulled into a mall in Creekwood. It was far enough from Bridgeville that Mason wouldn’t connect the two. I did some shopping to ensure I’d be on the cameras and grabbed some lunch. When I’d procrastinated enough, I returned to my car and powered the phone, seeing the picture of me and Mason load on my lock screen. The sight caused a sob to rip from me. As much as I hated my brother for what he’d done, I loved him. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I needed to hear his voice.
With a shaking finger, I hit his name and waited for him to answer. He picked up immediately.
“Riley?” His voice was a mix of anger and worry.
“Hi, Mason.”
“Where the fuck are you? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? Are you safe?”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine? You left without a note, without a goodbye. Cleaned your storage unit out in the middle of the night? That’s not fine! What the fuck are you doing, Ri?”
I held the phone back as he screamed at me.
“Come home now.”
“I’m not coming home,” I answered, his anger shifting my mood. What had I thought? That he wouldn’t yell at me for hurting him? Because I knew that’s what I’d done. Hurt him because he’d hurt me.
“What the fuck do you mean, you’re not coming home? I will find you and drag your ass back to Treemont.”
“No, you won’t, Mace. You’ll leave me be. I can’t live under your shadow anymore. What you did?—”
“What I did? What did I do, Riley? Tell me. Because all I’ve ever done is keep you safe. You were the one who snuck behind my back and who let that asshole in.”
“An asshole I would have known about if you’d ever bothered to tell me the truth!”
He was quiet. I couldn’t tell if he was seething or contemplating my words.
“Just come home, Ri. Please.” His voice was softer, and it squeezed at my heart.
I held the phone to my chest, trying not to cry. I wanted to run to him. To tell him what was happening and have him guide me. Bringing the phone back, I bit back my tears.
“No. I need to do this on my own, Mace. You need to let me go. I don’t belong in your world, and you don’t want me in it…or you would have let me in long ago.”
“Riley—”
I disconnected, powering the phone back down and sliding down the side of the car. The tears rushed out like a torrent. It hurt to hear his voice, hurt to bring him pain, and I wrestled with that. I wiped my eyes, pushing the tears away and rose, climbing into my car and making the journey back to Bridgeville. By the time I made it to my apartment, it was dark, and I was exhausted. I ordered delivery but didn’t bother eating it. Curling into bed, I finally drifted to sleep with the salt of my tears still dried on my cheeks.
There was no sign of my stranger that night, but when I woke, the smell of coffee invaded my senses. He’d brought me breakfast. A cup of my favorite coffee, exactly like I ordered it, and a bagel sat on my table, my scarves laid out next to them. I couldn’t help smiling. The act was sweet, even if it was creepy to know someone had been in my apartment again, watching me sleep. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he would have that first night.
I decided I’d continue the game with my stranger. He was giving me something to think about other than Greyson Tides, the pain of missing Mason, and the ever-looming threat of Clint Randall.
I spent Sunday alone,contemplating my dilemma, my rising obsession with Greyson Tides, and the growing curiosity with my stranger. The scarves I’d found over my eyes that night twisted in my hand as I absently held them. My eyes remained fixed on my bedframe with its slatted boards, perfectly distanced. The racing of my heart was a worrying reaction to the thought that he hadn’t haphazardly thrown the scarves over my eyes to give him time to leave. They’d been deliberate, a calculated move. One he’d considered yet turned from. He’d wanted to touch me, to do more than watch me, more than brush his fingers over my cheek.
The pounding in my chest was loud. He’d moved the scarves both mornings, an invitation to play, a seeking of permission to go further. My hands shook at the mere fact that I was thinking of playing his game. It had been a long time since anyone had touched me, aside from the brief temptation of Greyson in the elevator.
I rested my head in my palm, the soft material of the scarves pressing against my skin. My stomach flipped in excitement. I attracted bad boys, and they drew me in. This wasn’t the worst one I’d had, but this would be right up there under Clint. An invitation for the stranger who’d been stalking me the past few days, likely more, to take what he wanted.
“Shit, Riley, you’ve gone mad,” I scolded myself. But my insides twisted in anticipation.
I needed to get out, to take my mind off this, but I didn’t know where to go. Ava was working a double at the bar, so I couldn’t talk to her unless I left my apartment. And maybe that’s what I needed to do. Dropping the scarves, I changed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I ran my fingers through my hair and put a light layer of makeup on before heading out.
The bar was just down the street and as I walked, I wondered if my stranger was following me. The thought, although creepy, gave me some comfort. It was dark, and I didn’t like being out this late by myself. Clint was a shadow ever looming over me, one that was hard to escape, and I pulled my coat closer, hurrying my steps. I found Ava behind the bar, serving drinks. The place was bustling for a Sunday night.
“Riley!” she yelled, rushing over to where I’d squeezed in at the bar. Her hair was piled in two small, tight buns that gave her a girlish look. “What can I get you? And why are you out this late?”
“It’s not that late. It’s only eight o’clock!” I argued before ordering a beer.
She ran off to get me one, helping a few customers on the way back. A handsome man with a boyish grin shoved his way in next to me, but Ava plopped the beer in front of me and gave him a look. “Don’t even think about it, Paul. You’re not messing with this one.”
“Still sore you weren’t a keeper, Ava?” he asked, flashing an even bigger grin.
“Nah, just that you don’t know how to make a girl come, even with as much as you fuck.”
His grin faltered, and he huffed off.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“He pestered me until I gave in. He’s pretty to look at and that body is definitely worth the fuck, but he’s a prick, a player you want to avoid.” She hopped away to pour a few more drinks before she grabbed someone to cover for her and returned to me. “I can point out the good ones if you’re looking for someone to warm your bed, though.”
I thought about her offer. Was that what I wanted? Why I’d gone out in the first place? To have someone fuck the thoughts of my stranger from my mind, to make me come so hard Greyson Tides would disappear for at least a few hours? Two men who wouldn’t leave my mind, neither of whom I should have let in there in the first place.
“Nah, I just wanted to get out.”
She gave me a questioning look. “Everything okay?”
How did I tell her I was missing my brother? That I was homesick, being stalked, and considering inviting my stalker into my life to take my mind from an unhealthy obsession with Greyson Tides? I couldn’t, so I nodded and took a drink. “I just wanted to say hi and see what nightlife here was like.”
“You don’t strike me as a nightlife girl. You’re more of a homebody,” she teased. “Do you ever do anything impulsive?”
“I came here,” I groused.
She nudged me with her elbow and continued chatting. But her words played in my head. I’d never been the impulsive type, although Mason would have argued my taste in men was impulsive. And maybe that was why, by the time I left the bar, I had decided to tempt fate with my stranger, to take a chance and see what happened.
Once I prepared for bed, I laid the scarves out on my table with a note that my trembling hands placed in the center.
Tie me up, touch me, taste me, but nothing more.
My safe word is ‘yet’.
Sleep eluded me for a few hours, but I finally drifted off. When I woke without the touch of my stranger, the disappointment was unhealthy, but it dissipated when I found the answer to my invitation waiting beside a fresh cup of coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. One small word that sent my heart racing.
Tonight.