Chapter 16
The Tattoos Gave it Away
CALLIE
You are exactly the type of person I should not be friends with.
Did I really say that as I drove away? After going to Lake Savage with the specific goal of finding Wes? I regretted those words as soon as they left my mouth. A hurt look flashed on his face just as I drove away.
I’m such an asshole.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I’m stepping into the apartment, but I ignore it for now.
“Hello?” I call into the space, checking for my brother as I shrug off my winter jacket and hang it on a hook by the door. “Jake?”
There’s no answer, so I head to the kitchen.
I realize something. I should avoid Wes because he’s too distracting. Too tempting. Too much for my broken soul to handle.
I should tell him never to contact me again. Never to show up at Jake’s apartment or Killer Beans or wherever I happen to be, because he’ll definitely know where I am. He’s tracking me, and that should scare me.
I could tell him to send me the address as to where I can find Shane when he gets it, then I can fucking Venmo him money. Something tells me he’d listen to me.
And I certainly shouldn’t do things like driving around looking for him or openly flirting with him or drooling over the shirtless pictures he sends.
But it’s been so long—forever?—since I had someone appear to be so interested in me. With Shane, once he secured his spot in my family thanks to our marriage, he lost all interest in me as a person. I was a tool for him. An in to the men in the group.
I wish I had more pie.
I fix myself a cheese sandwich—I really need to go grocery shopping—and settle at the kitchen island. My phone buzzes again when I have the first bite in my mouth.
Unknown
glad you got home safe
I choke on the dry bread and am afraid I’m going to have to perform the Heimlich on myself, but I manage to swallow before I die.
I start typing an apology for how I acted as I drove away, then delete it. Then I try again, and delete it again. Shit.
What if it’s not even Wes?
Of course it’s him, but still.
Me
who is this?
Three little dots appear and disappear multiple times.
Unknown
you know who this is
Me
seriously, Wesley? how’d you get this number?
Unknown
have you met me?
I huff out a laugh, then the guilt for my last words to him makes my chest ache.
Me
hey, I didn’t mean to be such a jerk as I drove away
There’s a pause.
Unknown
what do you mean?
Me
the shitty thing I said
Unknown
can you remind me
Me
no! If you don’t remember, good. But if you do, I’m sorry
Unknown
apology accepted
His last text came without hesitation. The ache eases from my chest. I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings. But I’m sure he’s got thicker skin than that. A throwaway comment from me won’t ruin his day like some sensitive little flower.
Me
so are we not using Gone anymore?
Unknown
we can use whatever you want, Calliope
Me
I am a little sad I couldn’t save the picture of your tattoo the other day
Unknown
if you want another picture of me without my shirt on, all you have to do is ask
I crack up and take another bite of my sandwich. Yes please, Wes, another picture of you without your shirt on.
Me
unnecessary
Wes sends me a crying emoji, and I bite my bottom lip. Time to ask more questions as he’s clearly in a chatty mood.
Me
hey, you never answered me when I asked why you care so much about me being safe
He doesn’t respond, and a minute later I’m regretting pushing him on the topic. He didn’t answer before because he didn’t want to. Why do I have to have an explanation for everything? I’m coming across needy and desperate for validation. I hate that.
But he does care. I know it.
And I also know that if I were a normal human being, I wouldn’t be okay with how all of this is going down. Luckily, I’m not. I feel alone and isolated and lost, and Wes makes me feel safe.
Yeah, that’s fucked up.
Unknown
Is that so wrong?
Me
no. It’s just that you don’t even know me
Unknown
something that can be changed
My stomach squeezes at his words. Does he want to know me?
This is ridiculous. He’s the guy I hired to track down Shane.
But no matter how many times I remind myself not to get involved with Wes, I can’t seem to stick with the rule.
I set my phone down and push my hands in my thick hair, loosening chunks out of the braid and letting them fall around my face.
Unknown
I think it happened the moment you were sitting in front of the fire in my cabin
Me
First of all, sitting in front of the fire is a cute way to describe what happened
Second of all, it’s when you think what happened?
Unknown
I started to care
I intake a sharp breath. Shit, why is that romantic?
I was so angry when I woke up tied to that chair in front of his warm, crackling fire.
But he confused me right away with how he checked my wrists when I complained and then set me free.
And when I fell on my face as I tried to escape, he helped me up and made me hot chocolate.
Drugged hot chocolate, but still.
It was… sweet? And more than a little hot.
Me
you’re fucked up
Kettle, meet pot. I save his information in my phone.
Wesley
don’t lash out at me
Me
I’m sorry. You’re right. I was mostly thinking I’m fucked up
Wesley
for what?
Me
for liking that you care
I drop my phone on the counter face down. Why am I telling him this? I shouldn’t be encouraging my stalker. I stand and walk a circle around the family room, trying to convince myself not to pick my phone again.
The battle is lost in less than a minute, and I head to my room and collapse on the bed. There are messages patiently waiting for me from Wes.
Wesley
of course I care
what else do you like?
I should close this chat and text Lola instead. I should tell her what’s going on, and she will be appropriately appalled and tell me to cut it out.
Honey Bunny hops up onto my bed and pushes his soft nose into my leg. I gently scratch his little head.
Instead of texting Lola, I write back to Wes.
Me
I liked it when you went out to get firewood wearing that black mask
Oh god, please stop, Callie, please stop. I splay my hand over my face but peek through my fingers to watch the three dots dance on my screen as he replies. Earlier today I literally told him we shouldn’t be friends. My resolve lasted only a few hours.
I should be mad at myself. I should not be having so much fun.
But… fuck it. I deserve fun with this hot masked man. Hot masked tattooed man. I don’t have a thing for tattoos, but apparently, I have a thing for Wesley’s tattoos.
Me
and your tattoos. I liked them too
Wesley
good to know. we can arrange for all of that to happen again
for what it’s worth, I like your tattoo too
He sends through the image I sent him last week. Fuck! How did he save it from Gone? I deleted it right away from my camera roll, force of habit from when Shane used to check my phone for anything he didn’t like. I tilt my head. I mean, I love my phoenix tattoo. I love everything it represents.
I love that Shane hasn’t ever seen it.
Still, I can’t believe I sent it to him.
I’ve never sent anyone naughty pictures, but after seeing his, I couldn’t help myself.
Again with something I never thought I’d do, but it was such a rush.
I decided to send him that picture. I’m taking control of my life, deciding what I do, where I go, who I talk to.
No one is going to control me ever again.
Me
I would ask how you managed to keep that picture, but I’m guessing it has something to do with you being a hacker
Wesley
yep
let’s get back to how you like me half dressed and wearing a mask
Me
did I say that?
Wesley
I think you did. Scroll up
Me
what kind of messed up person would like a man wearing a mask
Wesley
you will not see me judging you for that
as a matter of fact, I am happy to be half dressed in a mask for you at any time
“Fuuuuuuck.” I bite my lip and grin. I haven’t smiled this much in months. Most of my interactions with people—people being Jake or Lola—include me complaining or yelling or sighing deeply or cursing out Shane.
By the time my text conversation with Wes ends, I’m giggling like one of those middle school girls in Killer Beans.
It’s late, and the apartment is quiet. I scoop some food for Honey Bunny and get a text from Jake letting me know he’ll be out of town for a few nights, so I sit at my desk and do a search for Wesley Winters.
There’s nothing, of course. No social media, no professional profile, nothing.
Maybe I should be productive and browse houses for sale or apartments for rent in Seattle.
My application for the program is complete, but I can’t get myself to press submit.
I just can’t imagine myself there right now, so instead, I push the laptop away and pull out the latest book page art creation I’m working on.
It’s half of an adorable hedgehog, and I continue to fold the pages, first in half and then the corners, to work on its body.
It’s soothing and satisfying, and I manage to finish an entire hedgehog.
I pull out my glue gun and attach big googly eyes, a black puffball nose, and a tiny pair of eyeglasses I bought online.
I crack up at the finished result, then climb into bed and turn off the light.
I awake with a start. A thin ray of moonlight beams in from the window.
My bedside clock says it’s three o’clock in the morning.
There’s a weird stillness in the room, probably because the streets are pretty quiet in the middle of the night, so noise from the outside is minimal. I’m not usually up at this hour.
But—
Something is off. I sit up and glance around the room.
My bedroom door is cracked open. Didn’t I close it last night?
Honey Bunny shifts in his cage, so I know he didn’t use his rabbit magic to open the door.
My heart pounds like a bass drum, my eyes scanning the room until I get to the long shadows from the curtains that frame my window.
Did something just move? My hand shakes, and I reach for my phone on the nightstand.
My fingers grasp for something that’s not there. Instead, I almost knock over my water bottle. I grab it to still it, then look back at the curtains.
I must’ve imagined it.
But then the shadow moves again and out of the darkness steps a tall, dark figure. I gasp, and my heart races as my eyes struggle to adjust.
“What the fuck,” my lips part, and I mouth the words, but no sound comes out. The man is wearing dark pants, a dark face mask, and a bare chest. A bare chest? In February in Maine? But the moonlight shines on incredible chiseled abs and tattoos winding up both of his arms—oh god.
“Wesley?” My voice actually makes sounds this time, but it cracks. It’s gotta be him, right? We were just talking about this. Mask and ab muscles and tattoos… it has to be him because the other option—that it’s someone else—is way too dark. I squint but can’t make out the details of his tattoos.
He doesn’t answer, but instead walks slowly toward me, like a panther stalking its prey. I scoot back, my comforter kicked down my body to expose the thin tank top and underwear I wore to bed.
He stops next to my bed, and I crane my neck up to meet his eyes.
“What are you doing?” My voice wobbles.
He crosses his arms, and I take in the full view of his arms, covered in ivy and roses and thorny vines, the bear and the skull and dagger. His chest is clear of ink, which is surprising and hot. Who needs tattoos when he has all those muscles to show off?
I’d like to say my heartbeat slows now that I’m sure it’s Wes, but if anything, it speeds up.
His light eyes drill into mine, then he slowly scans my body, his gaze lazily lingering on my breasts, then down.
There’s a deep ache between my legs, and I press them together for some kind of relief.
I bet if I reached down and ran my finger over my underwear, it’d be soaking wet
Or if he did.
Damn. What’s wrong with me? A man with absolutely no boundaries breaks into my house and—wait, is this my masked man kink coming to life?
He bends down, a hand on either side of me, and I lean back against the bed frame.
I swallow as he gets close enough that I feel the heat emanating from his body onto my face, my neck.
He moves down. He’s breathing me in like some kind of hunting animal.
He pauses at my abdomen before lowering his face to the intersection of my thighs and pussy.
Can he smell me? I relax my legs and let my thighs open ever so slightly.
He pushes his mask up to expose his mouth and nose and inhales deep, like he’s trying to suck me up.
I can feel his hot, feral breath on the inside of my thighs as he exhales.
I desperately want him to touch me, but he doesn’t make contact at all.
I wonder if he could make me come without touching me.
I want to pull him down and feel the weight of his body on mine.
I want him to rip my underwear off with his teeth and bury his face between my legs. I want—
Then he’s standing straight again, his balaclava shifting down but still exposing his mouth. I stare at his lips, red and plump, and his icy blue eyes that are clear even in the dark.
“Lock your doors.” He practically growls at me. I’m frozen in place. Then he spins and walks out of my room.
“Hey!” I say, but my voice is weak, more like a whisper than the yell I intended.
It takes me a minute to convince my body to move. I jump up and run out of my bedroom to the door to the apartment. I open it but there’s no one in the hallway, and I don’t hear the door to the building open and close.
Did I imagine that whole thing? No way. I locked the doors before I went to bed… didn’t I?
Wes did not come all the way here to make sure I was secure in this apartment. There’s no way.
What if I imagined the whole thing? This is probably a dream. A wet dream.
I close the front door and double-check the locks before heading back into my bedroom, not sure I’ll ever be able to fall asleep. My phone is on the corner of my nightstand, about to fall off.
Huh. It was there all along.
I check it and there’s a message from Wes from hours ago, when I must’ve already fallen asleep.
Wesley
good night, Calliope
did you double check your doors?
Wish I’d seen that reminder earlier.
Or maybe I don’t.