Chapter 13 Holland
HOLLAND
Flipping my turn signal on, I merged back into traffic but quickly exited to take the back roads. During rush hour, it would be faster to get home that way, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to keep an eye out in case someone was tailing me.
The next twenty minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity, every second crawling by with suffocating dread, and I finally pulled into my driveway.
I parked in the open, a silent plea for my neighbors to notice my presence, a precaution in case something bad was waiting for me.
With my heart pounding, I chose the front entrance.
It would be more likely someone would hear me if I screamed.
Once inside, I left the door open behind me. Sweat coated my palms while I removed my gun once more and took a few steps into the entryway.
I searched around the room, scanning for any signs of disturbance, but everything seemed untouched.
With a quick shrug of my shoulder, I dropped my handbag, jumping as it made a loud thud on the cherry wood floor.
Room by room, I conducted a search, peering under beds, into closets, and yanking back the shower curtain, my pulse racing with every unchecked corner.
“Better safe than sorry,” I muttered. I lowered my arm to my side, and I flipped on the switch for the living room lights before I secured the front door.
Daylight made everything look safer. But the worst kinds of evil didn’t hide in the shadows—they thrived in plain sight, smiling as the world stared them in the eye.
Still on high alert, I made my way to my bedroom and set the weapon on my nightstand.
I wanted to change into something more comfortable—jeans and a comfy shirt.
I searched through my closet and realized I’d left the blouse in the car, but it could wait until Kip was here and could go out with me.
After scouring every inch of the place, a fleeting sense of safety washed over me.
But then I froze mid-motion as a chilling thought invaded my mind.
I turned slowly, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with the undeniable sensation of being watched.
The soft, eerie glow of my personal computer seized my attention.
I struggled to suppress the gnawing suspicion that Draco or Cooper had bugged my home with hidden cameras and tapped my phone.
My hands clenched into tight fists, a seething fury coursing through my veins like wildfire.
“Fuck you!” I yelled, sitting in front of my laptop and staring at the camera. “Funny how you were too chickenshit to visit me while I was awake and not in an Ambien-induced coma.”
I closed the laptop, unsure if I was being spied on, but I was about to find out.
Over the next hour, I combed every inch from top to bottom. I unscrewed every light bulb, searched in the bottom of every lamp and behind every light switch.
I rubbed the back of my neck, seething while I stared at ten little devices that, minutes ago, had been hidden in my home—watching me. Watching me shower, dress, conduct confidential virtual sessions with some of my clients.
When the hall clock chimed, I looked away from the evidence to check the time.
Shit. I’d forgotten about Kip during all the chaos.
It was five-thirty, and I had to clean up before he arrived.
Confident that I’d found all the cameras, I scooped them into a shoe box and shoved them in the hall closet before I hurried to my room.
I shed my slacks and blouse and tossed them on the floor.
I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, my jaw dropping when I noticed the green and yellow bruises on the inside of my thighs.
“Shit.” I moved closer and ran my fingers over the discolored marks. The bruises proved it. Even I could only wear denial as a second skin for so long.
Someone had violated me last night, but I wasn’t any closer to knowing who it was.
The mere thought of Draco or Cooper having taken advantage of me filled my body with revulsion.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, my stomach heaving violently as I struggled to comprehend the horror of it all.
I stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it in time to fling open the toilet lid before my muscles convulsed, emptying its contents with a force that left me gasping.
I gripped the toilet seat, my knuckles white, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.
My legs shook beneath me, but I forced myself to stand.
I brushed my teeth and splashed cold water on my face, desperately trying to piece myself back together, but the onslaught of the last few days battered me like a relentless storm.
I had to confront the truth, though which truth had tracked me down, I didn’t know yet.
After several deep breaths, I dressed in jeans and a lilac top before I squared my shoulders and left the room.
I stepped into the kitchen, the chill from the tile biting at my bare feet. The sun had set without me noticing. The overhead light was off, but the moonlight filtered in through the window above the sink, pale and cold. The kind of light that made the world look haunted.
I grabbed a glass from the cabinet. My body moved, but my mind wasn’t fully there—not really. I hadn’t slept much lately. Not well, at least. Not since I’d woken up with a phantom touch burning into my skin.
As I turned to the sink and picked up the glass I’d left there that morning, something in the window made me go still.
My reflection stared back at me—pale, hollow-eyed, with hair tangled around my shoulders.
And behind me, a shadow.
Tall. Still.
My scream caught, strangled in my throat.
I whipped around, heart jackhammering.
Nothing.
The kitchen was empty. Quiet. Too quiet.
I waited, listening. Hoping for something—anything—that would prove I wasn’t losing my damn fucking sanity. A creak. A footstep. A breath.
But there was nothing.
Except the silence pressing in.
I turned back to the window. The shadow was gone. Only my reflection remained, but something was off. My expression didn’t match how I felt—my eyes were too wide, too aware, like they knew something I didn’t.
I backed away from the counter, glass still in hand, my knees wobbling and threatening not to support me.
“Get it together,” I whispered. “You’re tired. Too damn tired.”
That’s when I heard it.
A whisper, so faint it barely registered.
Right behind me.
“Found you.”
The words curled into the base of my spine like a cold knife. My knees buckled slightly, but I caught myself against the fridge, the glass clinking hard against its surface.
I spun around again.
Still nothing.
My lungs locked. My heart kicked into overdrive, racing so hard I thought it might explode.
I pressed my palm to my chest, forcing myself to breathe. One in. One out. One in.
Had I actually heard it?
The sound lingered in my mind, soft and male and dangerously familiar.
But there was no one here. I was alone. I’d locked every door. I always did.
Maybe it was my imagination.
Or maybe …
Maybe it was a lingering effect of the Ambien again.
Or maybe it was the man from my dreams. The one who’d left bruises all over my body. The one I swore I left behind in the dark.
And now … he was in my kitchen.