Chapter Three
Olive
"Order! I demand order!"
"What the hell?" I sit upright in my bed, blinking. My heart pounds against my ribcage as I try to get my bearings. I still feel like I'm dreaming, but whatever that was…I'm almost positive it wasn't a dream. It was screaming.
I strain my ears, listening, but the only sound is the ticking of the grandfather clock in my living room and then the faint, indignant squawk of a bird.
"Jesus Christ," I groan, flopping back against my pillows before I immediately roll from bed, crossing to my window to peer out at Mason's house. It's completely dark and still. "I'm losing my mind."
Ever since he moved in next door, I've been hearing the most random things. Half the time, I don't know if I'm actually hearing them, or if I just think I am. He showed up at the bookstore and made me paranoid. Now, I'm hearing things.
At least, I think I am.
The way he looked at me yesterday when I brought up the weird noises, though… For a split second, he looked guilty, like he knew exactly what I was talking about. Like he was lying.
He's hiding something. I just don't know what.
It's driving me insane.
"Asshole!"
I jump so high my feet actually leave the floor, and then I press my face to the glass, trying to get a better look at his place. It's still dark and quiet, but…that shout definitely came from his house. And I didn't imagine it.
"Holy crap," I whisper.
There's a woman over there with him, and she does not sound happy at all.
"I'm telling you," I hiss to Sarah, peering around the corner at the gorgeous, infuriating man pretending to browse the shelves again.
I'm almost pretty sure that said gorgeous, infuriating man is stalking me.
There's also a high likelihood that he has someone tied up in his basement right now. "He's following me."
"Olive," Sarah says through laughter. "I love you, but you're delusional."
"Oh, yeah? Then why is he here again?"
She widens her eyes, looking around the store. "I don't know. Maybe he likes to read?"
"Right," I snort. "He just happens to move in next to me. And right after I start hearing weird noises from his place, he just happens to start showing up here regularly."
I'm freaking out about the screaming from last night. Either he's into some really kinky shit, or he's a serial killer. I thought about it all night. There are no other logical explanations. There just aren't.
"It's a bookstore."
"Exactly!" I whisper-hiss. "And we sell romance. Monster fuckers shop here, not—" I wave my hand in his general direction—"potential fucking monsters."
Her lips quirk into an amused grin. "You like him."
I gasp, outraged. "Take it back."
"Can't," she says, inching around me into the store. I try to grab her to haul her back behind the counter, just so she's out of the line of fire in case he is here to kidnap me or murder me or whatever his serial-killer-kink is, but she dodges me, hurrying around the counter.
"Hey, Mason. Welcome back!"
Great. Just great. My best friend is going to be murdered, and it'll be my fault. I mutter a curse beneath my breath and then rush out, refusing to let her wade into danger alone. We ride together; I guess we die together.
Am I entirely surprised we're going to die in a spicy romance bookstore? No. It's on brand for the two of us. And, truthfully, it's better than dying tied up in his basement.
"Oh, hey," he says, turning with a copy of The Notebook in his hands. His gaze flicks over Sarah before coming to me. I do not miss a step. The carpet trips me. There's a difference.
"Hey, Rebel. How's Oscar?"
"Why?" I ask, ignoring how damn hot he is. I mean, statistically speaking, there has to be at least one drop-dead gorgeous serial killer out there, right? I guess Mason is it.
That's just my luck. The Universe tried to warn me away from dating, but I just had to tempt fate by flirting with the dangerous man next door. Now, I'm going to pay for it.
He looks caught off guard by my question. "Uh, just wondered how he's been doing."
"Still vicious," I say.
"Oscar?" Sarah laughs loudly. "Oscar is harmless. He just thinks he's scary." She and I seriously need to have the stranger-danger talk again.
"So…I have to finish something up, but Olive can help you find whatever you need," Sarah says, nudging me toward him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Payback is going to be swift and vicious.
I shoot her a death glare, but she's already scurrying away, leaving me to meet my demise on my own.
Mason grins at me. "I'm looking for a specific book. Think you can help me?"
"What book is it?"
"I can't remember the name," he mutters. "But it's about a man who kidnaps a woman and keeps her chained to his bed until she agrees to marry him."
Either he's fucking with me, or he really does have someone chained to his bed. Why is it so hard to tell these things? Evil should really come with a warning label, like trigger warnings.
"Who wrote it?" I ask.
"Will you strangle me if I admit that I don't remember?" he asks, his smile sheepish.
"Well, it definitely wasn't Nicholas Sparks."
"What?"
I nod at the book in his hands.
"Oh." He laughs. "This isn't for me."
"Girlfriend? Wife?"
"Nah, don't have either of those." It might be my imagination, but I swear I hear him mumble, "yet" under his breath.
Suspicious and suspicious-er.
"Okay, well, I have no idea what book you're talking about because it could be five hundred different ones. If you could give me anything to work with, I could maybe help you figure it out, but with no title or author and a vague plot, I've got nothing but questions."
"Shoot."
"What?" I startle.
"You have questions. Shoot."
"Uh…"
The way he smirks does things it shouldn't. "I'll make you a deal," he says. "If you have dinner with me tonight, I'll answer your questions."
I must be losing it because I hesitate. I actually hesitate like I'm considering going to dinner with the maybe-a-serial-killer next door.
You are your own worst enemy, Olive Medlock.
"Sorry, I can't," I mutter. "I have to wash my hair."
He splutters laughter. "You have to wash your hair."
"Yes," I lie. "It's a whole process. Takes all night."
"Uh-huh." He takes a step toward me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I bet if I ask you about tomorrow, you'll have to shave then, right, Rebel?"
"Exactly!" I breathe, tangled up in his gaze even though I absolutely shouldn't be. I've listened to podcasts and watched all the true crime shows. This is absolutely how unsuspecting women end up sleeping with evil. I'm going to be a statistic.
His lips quirk into a grin so beautiful, my heart starts racing. He steps right up in front of me, so damn close I smell his cologne. "You should really stick to stealing mail, baby," he rumbles. "You're better at it than you are at lying."
"I'm not lying."
"Yeah, you are." He leans down, running his nose along the side of my jaw. His beard scratches at my skin in the most delicious way, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to whimper. "That's okay, though, Rebel. One day soon, you'll agree to give me a chance."
"I'm a nun."
He freezes, his lips against my cheek. The way he laughs against my skin? Good God. I want him to do that when his face is between my legs. "A nun, huh?"
"I mean, I don't date." Yes, that's better than whatever nonsense I just said. A nun? Jesus Christ, Olive.
"Pity," he breathes, nuzzling my skin. "Because I'd fucking kill to date you."
There's that word again—kill.
He takes a step back, his gorgeous blue eyes meeting mine for a moment. "See you later, baby."
"Yep," I squeak. "Later."
He saunters from the store like he doesn't have a care in the world, leaving me clinging to the shelf like it's the only thing holding me up. I'm pretty sure it is.
"What the hell?" Sarah cries, materializing from around the corner. "He asked you out, and you said no?"
I blink at her, trying to get my mind back in order. "Uh…yes?"
"You've lost it," she says, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You've completely lost it."
I'm not sure which is worse…the fact that I think she's right, or the fact that I'm beginning to think dating the serial-killer-next-door might not be so terrible.
"You know what you need?" Sarah asks, shaking her head at me like she's royally disappointed.
"A stakeout."
She blinks, caught off guard. "That is not even in the realm of things I was going to suggest," she mutters. "I was going to suggest therapy."
"Whatever. A stakeout sounds like more fun for me," I retort.
"Yeah, right up until Mason finds you watching him, decides you've lost your mind, and rescinds his request for a date."
"He followed me first. It's only fair for me to return the favor. And if I happen to find that he's a serial killer, then I'll be a hero." I smirk at her. "I'll be sure to mention you in the articles they write about me."
The bell over the door chimes before she can come up with a suitable response. Lilah and Jazz hurry into the store, bickering back and forth.
"Hey," Lilah says, breathing hard. "Sorry, I'm late again. Lincoln wouldn't…you know what? Never mind."
"He had her tied to the bed," Jazz says, smirking like the cat that ate the canary as she sashays toward the counter in four-inch heels and a miniskirt.
"Oh my god," Lilah growls at her best friend. "He did not have me tied to the bed."
"Stop ruining it for me, Lilah. I'm trying to live vicariously through you since the man currently starring in my fantasies is the world's grouchiest author.
" Jazz tosses her hair over her shoulder with a sniff.
"If I want to believe he ties you to the bed every night and has his filthy, billionaire way with you, then it's your job as my best friend to let me keep believing that. "
"He only ties me up sometimes," Lilah mumbles.
Jazz spins midstep, squealing. "I knew it!"
Lilah turns beet red before giggling. "Can we please stop talking about my sex life now?"
"Hell no. Unless and until one of us is getting tied to the bed and railed regularly, you're the only one here who has a sex life," Jazz retorts. "Who else are we going to talk about? Loralei doesn't even have a sex life."
I do not miss the way Sarah turns red, fidgeting.
"Olive could have a sex life," she mutters when she catches me staring at her.
Dammit. She's playing dirty.
Lilah and Jazz immediately turn to look at me.
"Was your hot neighbor back again?" Lilah asks me.
"Hot neighbor? What hot neighbor?" Jazz wants to know.
"He was," Sarah says, smirking at me. "He asked her out. Guess what she said?"
"Hold the phone!" Jazz cries, stomping her foot. "When did she get a hot neighbor? Why am I always the last to know thes things?"
"Because you haven't been here?"
"I've been at the library, helping Loralei."
"Badgering her into helping you run the book club is not helping, Jazz," Lilah retorts.
Jazz just waves her off, pointing at me. "Spill."
"Uh…"
"He moved in last weekend," Sarah says when I don't answer fast enough. "He's been coming here to see her."
"He might be a serial killer," I quickly add before Jazz can join the hate train heading my way.
"What the fuck?"
"He is not a serial killer," Lilah says, spluttering laughter. "He just likes you, Olive."
"See?" Sarah crosses her arms, smirking at me. "Told you."
"What did she say when he asked her out?"
"She is right here," I complain, but they completely ignore me.
"She told him that she has to wash her hair."
Judging by the way they gasp, Lilah and Jazz are scandalized.
"You didn't!" Lilah groans.
"See previous statement about him being a serial killer," I mutter, turning to straighten books on the shelf behind me. "I cannot date a serial killer, Lilah."
"So…find out if he's a serial killer," Jazz suggests.
This time, Sarah groans. "Do not encourage her! She's already planning a stakeout."
"A stakeout?" Jazz eyes me appreciatively. "That's genius. If he catches you, you can just pretend that you're into him. You're quirky, so you can sell it."
"Uh, thanks?" I say sarcastically.
She waves her hand. "I just mean that you do random, wild shit all the time. A stakeout is totally on brand for you."
I hate that she isn't wrong.
"It's not a terrible idea," Lilah says. "I mean, on the off chance that he is an actual serial killer, it's literally the worst idea imaginable, but since you're the only one in creation who thinks that's remotely possible…why not stake him out? You guys can bond over your mutual obsession."
"I am not obsessed," I huff, full of indignation and lies. "I'm saving lives."
The way all three of them grin at me says they think I'm full of shit. They may be right, but they haven't heard what I have. There is something weird going on at his place.
And if he isn't a serial killer? Well, I'll cross that bridge if I come to it.