Chapter 13 Wesley
Wesley
Mine. Fuck off.
Madison
You should come over. I’d offer to cook you dinner, but I wouldn’t want to give you food poisoning. I’m sure we can find other things to do to occupy our time.
I’m back in Madison’s apartment, but the text from her has stopped me dead in my tracks because I’m so fucking jealous that I can barely see straight.
It was bad enough when she immediately texted “Peter” after our stupid-all-my-fucking-fault altercation, but now she’s being outright flirtatious and I can’t stand it.
She’s inviting him over. She’s planning a sex date.
Even though he’s me, I don’t want her sleeping with Peter. I don’t want her falling for the person I’m pretending to be. Well, I suppose I was being myself on our date, or… as much as I could be… But in her head, he’s not me. He’s not SpyderMan. He’s not Wesley—though she doesn’t know that either…
Fuck me, this is confusing. As well as really god-damned ridiculous. I know my jealousy is absurd, but I can’t help it. It really felt like she was talking to me about another man. The person she’s excited to go out with again feels like someone else. I hate that she’s excited about someone else.
But I just learned—well, re-learned—a valuable lesson about Madison.
I can’t push too hard or I’ll activate brat mode and she’ll do the opposite of what I say simply because I had the audacity to try to tell her what to do.
It’s infuriating, and I love it, but being on the receiving end does require some patience.
And I am patient. Well, about most things. Getting my hands on Madison seems to be the exception.
I’m taking you out. I’ve already planned it, so don’t say no.
It takes her a moment to respond.
Did anyone ever tell you how hot it is when you take charge like that? Because it is. Ridiculously.
I’ll be thinking about you all night.
I groan and stare down at the camera in my hand.
After Mac’s taunting, I thought more about it and decided to take them out.
It feels different now to watch her without her knowledge—not wrong; too damn right.
But the invasion of privacy somehow seems more sinister, given how badly I crave her and the history we have that she isn’t aware of.
My plan was to leave a bug or two, because I can justify that for her safety—cameras aren’t strictly necessary. Plus, I’m nearby. I’m watching through the windows of my van and on the tapped cameras on the street. No one goes in or out of this building without me knowing.
But after that naughty little text? Will she be thinking about me later… in bed? With that vibrator in her top drawer?
The tracking app dings, so I know she’s on her way back from her visit with her grandmother.
Time to go. Abandoning all deliberation, I carefully place the camera back, ensuring the angle will see the entire room.
On my way out, I give her cat a scratch behind the ear that he leans into with a heavy purr, and grab the prop clipboard for my cable tech disguise.
As I open the door, I hear, “Caution! Wide load!” and a human-approximation of a lorry’s beeping sound.
With a curious frown, I step into the hallway. There’s a bloke waiting—her neighbor, I think… Terry? Tom?—eyes fixed on Madison’s door, leaning casually against his own and wearing a cruel smirk. He’s got a small pile of mail tucked under his arm, like he’s just returned from his box.
When he sees me, his brows shoot up and his arms slacken, falling to his sides. “Oh, uh… my bad, man.”
“What?” I frown, confused.
“I thought you were... Never mind. You’re, uh…” his eyes trail down over the uniform and clipboard. “The cable guy?”
Realization dawns, sending ice through my veins. He thought I was Madison. Was he… comparing her to the size of a lorry? Must have been. So, he was waiting here for her, just to be an arse and say something mean. And judging from the practiced delivery and smarmy grin, he’s done this before.
From what I’ve seen in their limited hallway interactions from the hacked security cameras, Madison doesn’t like him very much.
The insults he slings at her are enough to tempt me to violence.
Luckily for him, she doesn’t seem to need me to intervene—she holds her own.
It filled me with pride watching her destroy him so effortlessly before our date.
And that was even before I realized she was my mermaid.
I hate a bully as much as anyone else, but I’d have been content to sit back and let her handle it.
But then this dickhead went and waited in his fucking doorway to insult my lovely girl.
Anger rises in my throat; I’m practically choked by it.
My fingers grip the edges of my clipboard so hard it nearly snaps in my grip as I glare.
I say nothing for a few seconds, and the silence hangs between us.
His awkwardness turns to nervousness, which crystallizes into a prideful kind of shame that has him rubbing the back of his neck and looking away.
“Yeah, so… I’m thinking of switching services—”
“I’m not the cable guy,” I say, stone-faced. It sounds like a threat. It is a threat.
He falls back a half-step. “Oh, you’re, uh… with Madison?” he asks incredulously, eyes scanning my biceps and tattoos.
Her name on his lips sends me spiraling.
Mine. Fuck off.
The urge to punch him in those stupid fucking perfect American teeth is almost too strong to control. He’s a handsome enough prick, I’ll give him that, but I’d like his face a lot more if it was pulp under my boot.
“And what if I am?” I challenge. “It’s Todd, right?”
His eyes widen at my low, combative tone.
For a second, I watch the emotions play out as he cycles through fear, anger, curiosity and lands right back on apprehension.
Smarter than he looks, then. He straightens against the closed door of his apartment, mail nearly slipping from beneath his arm.
I don’t normally let my size speak for me, but I’m not a small man.
I’ve got about three inches and 40 pounds of muscle on this dickhead—obviously he’s only tough enough to go after people smaller than him. Like Madison.
And that makes the anger burn even hotter.
“Whoa, hey man. I got no beef with you.”
I just stare, letting him see the sharp edges honed by a life of violence that I normally keep hidden.
The instant he realizes I’m an actual threat, his eyes dart to the side, like he’s gauging the likelihood that he can grab for the doorknob and slip inside before I reach him.
“Did she say something to you? It’s… it’s just a fucking joke, okay?
We joke around. Jesus Christ. She gives it right back, too—she tell you that? The mouth on her—”
That’s what does it.
I step into the hallway, tucking the curious cat back into the room behind me and letting the door close.
In a flash, I’ve got my forearm pressed against his Adam’s apple, and his head hits the wood behind him with a hollow thunk.
He makes a choked noise, scrabbling against my grip.
Arms and legs flailing, he tries to push back, but I press harder, easily countering his jerky movements.
He’s strong with adrenaline, but I’m stronger and I have more training.
Plus, it’s hard to fight someone off when you’re panicking and asphyxiating.
I need to be quick so my message lands before he passes out.
“If you ever speak disrespectfully to Madison again, I’ll kill you.
In fact, you’re never to speak to her again.
Full stop. She never has to see you again.
She never has to deal with your sorry bullying arse ever a-fucking-gain.
If she enters the hallway, you leave it.
If she leaves her flat, you stay inside yours until she’s out that door. Do you understand? Nod your head.”
I’ll take the trembling, jolting movement of his neck and the accompanying gagging sound as a yes.
When I step back, he falls forward, fearfully clutching his throat with both hands as he coughs. He nearly slips on an envelope in an effort to flatten himself against the door and get as far from me as possible. As he’s fighting to refill his lungs, I get into his personal space one more time.
“I’ll be watching,” I murmur, low enough that he has to strain to hear it.
But he did hear it. The look of red-faced terror he shoots me is enough to convince me of that. He ducks into his flat, and I hear a firm deadbolt click that brings a dark smile to my lips.
Forcing myself to make unhurried, casual movements, I pause to double check the name on his mailbox and make my way out. Once I’m back in the quiet stillness of the van, anger slowly melts away, leaving room once again for logic and sense. I groan and scrub my face.
Fuck. What the hell did I just do? I acted like a damn territorial caveman. I made myself memorable to someone who knows Madison in person.
The desire to break his face only grows stronger when I think about how she has to live next to that creep.
Good thing I have some time before I’m due for my “date” with Madison.
Plenty of time to figure out how to deal with Todd.
I’m not so gauche as to murder him just for speaking unkindly—though I could, and I want to—because there are so many more creative ways to destroy someone’s life than just taking it.
Plus, dealing with a body is such a fucking hassle.
In the meantime, I just have to hope he doesn’t say anything to her before I can.
She believes she’s seeing Peter tomorrow, but she’s going to get SpyderMan.
I don’t have my speech planned out quite yet. There are a lot of moving parts. And how honest should I even be? The whole story is so unbelievable she might think me insane.
Hiya, you’ll never believe this, but I’m SpyderMan.
Yes, that SpyderMan. I’ve been watching your every move for weeks because I’m actually a hitman, and I’ve been sent to kill you.
Oh, don’t worry—I’d never hurt you. I’m pretty sure I love you, and also I’d very much like to spend the next 72 hours with my face buried in your cunt.
Then we’re going to kill the man who wants you dead.
We just need to find him first, and I need your help.
The raw material is there. The execution just needs refining.
A lot of refining.