17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
A dam
She’s gone.
The realization slams into me the moment I wake, and the world tilts off its axis. The condo is too quiet, too still. There’s an emptiness I can sense without even leaving the bedroom. My pulse surges as I bolt upright. My gaze darts around and finds nothing. I was asleep for less than an hour. How could this have happened?
Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe I’m overreacting, and I’ll find her upstairs, safely tucked away where she belongs.
I stagger out of bed, my voice hoarse and breaking as I call her name.
“Jessica?”
Only silence answers back, deafening in its loudness.
“Jessica!”
Room by room, I tear through the condo, my heart a drumbeat of panic. Each empty space is a mocking reminder of her absence, each unanswered shout a knife twisting deeper into my chest.
She’s not in her room. I search her closet and the downstairs bathroom where she once left her butterfly necklace on the counter.
Nothing.
Her things—every trace of her—is gone as if she never existed. It’s like she was a dream, a figment of my overactive imagination.
That can’t be true, right?
She was real . I held her. Loved her.
Then I see it.
I’ve just entered my lair, where the security cameras and my special exam table reside. My throat goes dry when I look at the monitors. Every single one of them displays the same haunting image.
She wanted me to see this. For me to know .
On the screens, frozen in damning clarity, is the moment I slid the needle into her neck and placed the tracker under her skin.
My pulse roars in my ears.
She found out.
I run a shaking hand through my hair, my mind a storm of disbelief and fury. Doesn’t she understand? I had to do it. I was protecting her. Keeping her safe.
Keeping her mine .
I’d been so sure we’d work this out. She just needed time, space to cool off and see reason. I thought she’d realize what I already know—that we’re meant for each other. Soulmates. Bound by something greater than logic.
But now… Now, she wants to escape me.
A dark, hollow ache spreads through my chest, twisting into something sharper, something hungrier. My jaw tightens, and I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms, drawing blood.
Jessica saved me. Before her, I was too broken, too damaged, to find happiness, but like a miracle she reentered my life. She brought light into my darkness. She healed me, showed me there’s beauty, love, and trust in the world—even for someone like me. She proved there are things worth fighting for.
After all that, she thinks she can just walk away? That she can leave me behind?
Never .
I take a slow, steadying breath, my panic cooling into a deadly resolve. I’ve faced impossible odds before and crushed them. I’ve bent the world to my will when it refused to yield. And I’ll do it again.
For her. For us.
Because Jessica is mine .
I’ll track her down, no matter where she hides, no matter how far she runs. I’ll bring her back, even if she’s kicking and screaming. She belongs with me.
And nothing— nothing —will stop me from bringing her home.
Jessica
He comes to the opening night of the musical. Of course, he knew I’d be at the sold-out theater. The sight of West—calm, unbothered, like he belongs here—makes me want to scream.
How dare he?
The nerve !
I should call the police, but I don’t. It’s the same problem I had when Brad tried to break down my door. I can’t afford the negative attention. Can’t risk a scandal, not with my job.
West is gone by the time the students take their last bows and the curtain falls, but when I walk to the car Monica lent me, I swear I feel his eyes on me.
The next morning he’s outside my favorite coffee shop, then by the yoga studio, and finally by the grocery store. He’s stalking me, always close enough to see but too far to confront. This goes on for two more days. West in the distance. I ignore him, hating the way my skin heats under his burning gaze.
On the third day, when he loiters outside Monica’s apartment, where I’m temporarily staying, I lose it.
“Leave me alone!” I scream across the street at him. “Dylan was right. You’re a lunatic.” Angry tears sting the back of my throat as I fumble in my purse. The Ziploc bag I pull out has a shiny metal object in it. It’s tiny, the size of a grain of rice.
“Recognize this!” I screech, waving the bag in the air. “It’s the tracker they had to dig out of me.” Dried blood still clings to the tracker. My blood. “The one you put in while I was sleeping, you fucking pyscho.”
He barely raises his voice, but still I hear him over the noise of the city—as clear as if he were standing next to me. “I may be a psycho, but I’m your psycho, Jess. If I’m crazy, it’s because you make me that way.”
My harsh bark of laughter has nothing to do with humor. “Says every abuser.”
I spin on my heel and stomp into the building, grateful that Monica makes enough money to live in an apartment building with a doorman, Dimitri. We’ve already given him strict instructions to not let West inside.
The next day West waits three cars down from Monica’s luxury sedan.
“Don’t you have a job to go to?” I snap when I see him.
His answer is calm, breezy. “Ten years with no time off. I’ve got lots of vacation days stored up.”
My hands ball into fists as I resist the urge to punch him. “This is how you’re spending them? Stalking me?”
A half shrug, the motion leisurely. “I’ll retire if I have to. Make this my full-time job.”
Anger surges through me. “You’re wasting your time. I hate you.”
“You know what they say about love and hate.” He pauses, waiting for me to ask what, but I refuse to give him that satisfaction. My silence doesn’t seem to perturb West, though. He sends me a lazy smile. “Two sides of the same coin, Jessica. Love and hate.”
“Well, I flipped the coin, and it landed on hate, so fuck you.” I hurry to the car.
He follows, calling, “You know you still care about me.”
At the last second, I wheel around to face West and hiss, “I hate that I care. If it would burn you out of my veins, I’d set myself on fire.”
I fling myself inside the car and slam the door, but not before I hear him call, “You’re adorable when you’re angry.”
He’s laughing as I drive past with my middle finger raised.
It’s a week into spring break, and still West follows me. He comes closer now and tries to get me to speak with him, but I won’t. I pretend like I’m deaf to him, like he’s invisible, even though my breath stutters every time he’s near.
How does he know where I am? I’ve changed my routine. Driven miles out of my way. Tried every trick I know to lose him, to disappear, but inevitably I look up and there he is—lounging, staring, waiting. His hungry gray eyes fixed on me like he’ll never look away.
Like he’ll never stop wanting me.
Adam
It’s 11:00 p.m. Dimitri snores softly beside me, the sound like a small boat sputtering in the open sea. His head is slumped forward, his chin on his chest, one hand clutching the vodka bottle I brought for him. It’s half-empty now—he’d polished it off mumbling about how much he hates the old lady in 13C.
Turns out Dimitri has a drinking problem. A little fact I uncovered over the past week while I carefully wormed my way into his confidence, supplying him with his favorite poison so I can hang around the security office of Monica’s building without raising suspicion. Tonight, I needed him incapacitated, and he delivered.
His snores cut off abruptly, and I freeze, heart pounding.
A choked inhale, and then he's snoring again. Thank God, he’s still out cold. His chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm. The bottle teeters precariously in his grasp. I gently pry it from his grip and place it on the table.
Perfect .
The faint hum of the tracker app on my phone pulls me back to the task at hand. Jessica thinks she’s so clever for finding the tracker I implanted in her neck. She doesn’t know there’s another one hidden in the diamond earrings I gave her for Christmas.
They always say two trackers are better than one…or wait—maybe I’m the only one who says that?
Hmm .
Either way, the earring tracker was a brilliant idea. I can keep an eye on her like a guardian angel, or in my case a guardian devil. Not only does this tracker show Jessica’s location, but it contains a microphone. I can hear everything—her conversations, her surroundings.
The catch? I have to stay within range for it to work.
That’s why Dimitri had to go down tonight. With him snoring away, I’ve claimed his jacket, with the security company’s logo stitched on the back, and stationed myself at the desk. If any tenants wander through, all they’ll see is a new doorman eager to help.
I’ve even figured out where to put packages and how to contact maintenance. Not that it matters. At this hour, the building is silent. Most of the residents are older and have long since gone to bed.
Movement flickers outside the wide front window, catching my attention. It’s Brad, the junkie from Jessica’s old apartment building. The one who tried to break down her door, so I had to break his face. He’s barely recognizable now, with unkempt hair and eyes wild enough to rival a feral raccoon. Not that he was ever a picture of stability, but this?
This is next-level tragic.
I’ve been keeping tabs on him, so I already knew his rich family cut him off. I figured that might be his wake-up call, but nope, he’s only spiraled further. Evicted from the building he shared with Jessica, now he’s here, lurking like a Z-grade villain who hasn’t realized he’s only supposed to be a one-scene side character.
I swear, Jessica attracts trouble like a magnet. First me, now Brad. What is it about her? Her beauty? Her innocence? Honestly, it’s a little insulting. I put in the work—learning her routines, syncing my schedule with hers, and, of course, monitoring her emails. It’s called commitment. Brad, meanwhile, just stumbles back into her life uninvited, no finesse, no strategy. It’s amateur hour, and I’m offended by the association.
I’ll have to deal with him at some point…preferably before he escalates his creepy lurking into actual danger. Not because I’m worried about competition, but because I am the gold standard in this obsessive dynamic. If anyone’s going to be the shadow in her life, it’s me. Not him.
That’s a problem for later. Right now, my focus is where it belongs: Jessica. I pull up the app on my phone, the familiar hiss of static crackling before the microphone connects. The first sound I hear guts me.
Jessica. Crying.
Muffled, shuddering sobs, like her face is shoved into a pillow to stifle the sound. My entire body tenses, a knot of despair tightening in my chest. Unable to bear it, I half rise from my chair, ready to sprint up twenty-seven flights of stairs, break down Monica’s door, and take her in my arms.
I sit back down when I hear Monica’s groggy voice. “Jess? What’s wrong?”
At least she isn’t alone.
I’ve never met Monica, though Jessica had planned to introduce us before…well, before the tracker debacle. Still, from what I’ve overheard through the earrings, I like her. She’s feisty and clearly loyal to Jessica.
Jessica sniffles, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”
“I wasn’t asleep yet,” Monica replies gently. “What’s going on? Why are you crying—again? Scratch that. It’s West, isn’t it? Are you missing him?”
Miss me. Please God, say you miss me.
I hold my breath, leaning closer to the phone.
“N-no,” Jessica stammers, and I hear the lie in her voice. It wavers, breaking at the edges. “It’s…I got some news today. I was going to tell you at dinner, but then I decided to think on it.”
“What news?” Monica presses.
Jessica hesitates. “Remember that job I applied for in New York? The first one?”
“The one near Sarah’s apartment?”
“Yeah.” Jessica sighs. “The one I really wanted.”
“What about it? I thought they already rejected you,” Monica asks cautiously, like she doesn’t want to dig up old wounds that might make Jessica even sadder.
“They did,” Jessica says, exhaling shakily. “Months ago. But today the administrator called. The woman they hired, an internal candidate, her husband’s job got transferred to California. She had to back out, and I’m next in line.”
“You got the job?” Monica doesn’t sound any more excited about this idea than I am.
Go, Monica. Talk Jess out of it!
Jessica’s voice cracks. “They want me to start in two weeks.”
Too soon.
My stomach drops, and panic spreads, burning like a firestorm through my chest. Two weeks? How am I supposed to fix this mess in two weeks?
A pause, which I guess means Monica is gathering her thoughts. When she talks again, her voice rings with false enthusiasm. “That’s great, right? You wanted to go to New York? To be with Sarah?”
Jessica cries harder, not bothering to hide it now. There’s rustling sounds, and when Monica speaks again her voice is louder, like she’s moved closer to comfort Jessica.
“Hey, Jess. Shh. It’ll be okay.”
“Nothing’s okay,” Jessica chokes out. “You’re right. I should be happy. This is exactly what I wanted. But he’s ruined it.”
“Who?” asks Monica. “West?”
I perk up at the mention of my name and press the phone closer to my ear, praying no one comes downstairs right now.
“I—I should be excited, ready to go,” Jessica says, her voice breaking, “but you know what my first thought was? When they told me?”
“What?” Monica asks.
“I thought about him . How would I see him if I’m in New York? How would we work things out if I’m so far away?”
A flicker of warmth sparks in my chest. She still cares about me, I think with a smile.
Jessica gets louder, anger vibrating in her words. “Can you believe that, Monica? That I’d let him —that asshole—invade my thoughts? He put a tracker in me, for God’s sake!”
Not smiling now.
The warmth vanishes, replaced by a cold, sinking weight.
Monica’s voice is soft, hesitant. “Maybe it means something? That you thought of him?”
“It means he’s brainwashed me into thinking he’s human when he’s not. He’s a monster .”
My grip on the phone tightens at her words.
Am I selfish, obsessive, possessive? Yes.
Am I irrevocably fucked-up from my past? Also, yes.
Am I a monster?
Ten months ago, I would’ve agreed with her. I’d have worn the label proudly. But not anymore. Not since meeting Jessica. Loving her. She taught me that I do have a soul, one that’s shredding itself apart at the thought of her moving to New York.
Their conversation fades into background noise. I can’t focus. My mind is already spinning, frantically crafting a plan to reclaim her love.
To make sure Jessica stays mine.
Jessica
Monica convinces me to go out for drinks. She says I only have one week of break left, and I should live it up. That the only way to get over West is to move on. Go out and flirt. Remind myself that there are other men in the world.
I have no desire to move on. No motivation to let another man into the space West left vacant, but I go along with her plan. She’s been wonderful, letting me sleep on her couch and mope. I owe her since I’ve ruined her crazy active love—or should I say lust—life. The least I can do is go out with her.
The bar downtown is dark and loud, full of bodies crammed together on a Friday night. We take our place at a table in the corner, falling easily into our pre-West routine. Within minutes, a couple of guys approach and offer to buy us drinks. We accept. They sit down and talk to us. The man I speak with is named Mike. With brown hair and light brown eyes, he seems like a nice guy. We laugh over shared trash TV shows that we like and commiserate over the state of the environment. When I ask if he likes to read and he says no, I try to ignore the jolt of disappointment, the comparison to West that springs immediately to my mind, but it’s hard.
I find that my gaze drifts over Mike’s head, searching for dark hair and piercing gray eyes. It gets so bad that at one point Mike asks if I’m expecting someone. I flush, choking on my sip of wine, and sputter my denial. The night wears on. Mike and his friend leave, only to be replaced by another pair of men and then another.
Monica goes to the bar and gets waylaid by a tall, handsome, blond man, just her type, while I’m left alone to fend off several men who approach with cheesy pick-up lines. Already tipsy and on a fast train to drunk, I decline. I have a feeling that if I let myself get wasted tonight, it’ll end up with me crying on some man’s shoulder about West and how much I miss him. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone, so when 1:00 a.m. hits and the room has a shiny, spinning haze to it, I decide to call it quits. Weaving slightly, I make my way to Monica, who’s now licking her way up the blond dude’s neck with complete disregard for the astonished stares around her.
“Monica,” I say when I reach her, followed by a louder, “Monica! Get your tongue out of his ear.”
She disengages herself from the man and swings her gaze my way. “What? Are you okay, Jess?”
“Fine. I want to go home, though. Don’t worry. I can walk by myself.”
She squints at me like she’s trying to separate out exactly who I am. Drunk Monica is just as formidable as sober Monica. I brace myself to argue, determined she won’t ruin her night because of me.
“I’ll come too. I don’t want you to go alone.” She casts a look filled with longing at the blondie, who stares at her enraptured, like she’s a goddess brought to life.
I roll my eyes, used to Monica’s effect on men. Poor bastard. She’ll sleep with him tonight and then never see him again. Even fresh off my disaster with West, I’d love to see Monica finally settle down with someone. She says that’s never going to happen. That she’s not the monogamous type. I disagree. After all, she’s been my faithful best friend for over fifteen years.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her—desperate to be gone, far away from here. “It’s only two blocks to your place. I can make it home myself.”
The blond guy caresses her arm and kisses her neck. Monica’s eyes drift closed, and a pleased smile curls her lips. “Are you sure?” she mumbles, her breath hitching as he sucks on her earlobe.
Watching Monica only makes me miss West more, so I reassure her that I’ll be fine and beat a hasty retreat to the door.
Once I’m outside, a warm spring breeze lifts the hair off my face. I let out a relieved sigh and raise my arms to let it wash over me, drying the sweat from being in that packed bar. The scent of flowers drifts over from a planter by the door, carried on the wind. The noise of the city hums around me. Laughter drifts out from the open door, a car drives by with its bass blasting, and in the distance someone plays a saxophone, the timbre mournful. I absorb the sounds, the breeze, the sweet scent. The familiarity of it all soothes me, draining the tension that’s been building all night.
“God, you’re beautiful,” says an all-too-familiar voice from the shadows.
My heart falters, fumbles. I gasp and spin around to see West leaning against the wall of the bar, over by the alley. He’s stunning, wearing neatly pressed slacks and a blue button-down. His dark hair is swept back from his face. His cheeks are hollowed, like he’s lost weight. His eyes are locked on me, his mouth twisted with melancholy and longing.
“You’re like an angel, an apparition with your arms up and your head back. I thought for a minute you were going to cast a spell, to call down the moon or the stars to do your bidding.”
I pause, wondering what’s got into him. It’s not like West to wax poetic.
He continues in that same wistful, melodic way, “Do you know what it was like? Standing out here watching all those men court you? Fawn over you while you smiled up at them? Can you possibly understand what torture that was? How much it hurt ?”
Something feral slides into his tone, and the first stirrings of fear rise from the deepest recesses of my brain. The parts that used to run from the wildebeests, the saber-toothed tiger.
“You were watching me?” I ask shakily, already knowing the answer.
He pushes off the wall and stalks my way. “I’m always watching you, Jessica.”
Those words should be a red flag. They should make me reach for the pepper spray in my purse. But they don’t.
Instead, they make my breath quicken and my body heat.
He’s reached me now. He holds his hand out to me, his eyes mesmerizing, his scent intoxicating. “Come with me, pretty girl. I need to talk to you.”
Wine swirls through my bloodstream, lowering my inhibitions. I let him lead me to the alley like a lamb to slaughter. The moment we’re cloaked in the shadows, he backs me up against the rough brick wall. The cool surface presses into my spine as his body closes in, warm and solid, a cage I don’t have the strength, or maybe the will, to escape.
“Jess, Jessica. I miss you so much,” he whispers huskily in my ear.
There’s the hint of alcohol on his breath, something smokey like whiskey or bourbon. Fear trickles down my spine. West rarely drinks. He hates to lose control.
“Have—have you been drinking?” I ask.
A sigh whispers over my skin. “This is what you do to me. You drive me to this.” His lips are inches from my neck. Suddenly they’re on me, warm and consuming. He kisses down my shoulder and over my collarbone. My body arches toward him, and I moan.
We shouldn’t… is what my rational mind says, but my body gives it a big fuck you and acts on its own accord. My hands rise and tangle in his hair. Temporarily insane, I pull his mouth up to mine and kiss him. He responds instantly, shifting himself so he’s between my legs, his erection pressed to my core. West licks into my mouth with greedy open kisses. We’re hasty and clumsy, frantic to get closer. Teeth clash, and our noses collide.
“Please, Jess,” West says into my mouth. “Please come home.”
“That’s not my home.” My heart pounds in my ears as his hands roam my body, running over my shoulders, my breasts. “I’m angry at you,” I gasp as he reaches into my shirt and runs a finger over my pebbled nipple. “You tricked me, lied to me.” My sanity frays with each touch. I reach deep inside, try to hold onto my fury. Without conviction, I tell him, “I hate you.”
“Be mad at me, hate me. I don’t care.” His fingers trail down my ribs. “Hate me at breakfast, hate me while you sleep next to me, hate me when I’m deep inside you making you scream. You can hate me all you want, just do it at home. Please. Come home .”
He unbuttons my pants, pulls down my zipper. I’m paralyzed with desire, unable to stop him.
“Do you want me to beg? Is that what you want? To be on my knees for you?” Shocked, I watch as West slides to the ground, taking my pants down with him. He looks up at me, an expression of pure devotion on his handsome face. “I’ll bow to you, worship you.”
He leans forward and licks between my legs. His tongue expertly lands on my sensitive clit, and I moan so loudly it bounces off the buildings around us. West takes the sound for the encouragement it is. He pulls my legs wider and places his head between my already-wet thighs. His hands reach around to grip my ass as he licks the length of my slit, concentrating extra-long on the front. He sucks on my clit, licks it, and sucks again.
My hands drop to twist into his hair as I guide him to the place that feels the best. I half-scream in pleasure as he draws my clit between his teeth and bites down gently at the same time that he slips two fingers into me. He’s moving, using his fingers to pump into me and his tongue to lap at my clit. I breathe in ragged gasps and groans, my pelvis rocking madly to the fast pace he sets.
A tiny part of my mind warns that this is stupid. We’re in an alley next to a popular bar. I’m naked from the waist down. West is kneeling with his nice slacks on the dirty, trash-strewn ground. Anyone could walk by and see us. We should stop. We’re being completely idiotic.
That’s what I think, but my body doesn’t care. It’s missed him, my beautiful broken boy. Missed his company, his touch. I come alive when he’s with me, like I’ve been living underwater, drowning, the entire time we were apart, and now I can finally breathe.
He’s moving faster, using his entire mouth to rub against me. His tongue probes into my opening, joining with his fingers. My orgasm is a tsunami that washes over my body from head to toe. I scream as I come, a guttural sob of ecstasy. My hands grip West so hard, I’m sure I pull out some hair. Aftershocks rack my body, almost as intense as my orgasm.
West rises and tugs up my underwear, followed by my pants. He kisses me open-mouthed so I can taste myself. The salty earthiness of my essence is all over his tongue.
He grips my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “I love you, Jessica. I’ll love you forever. Please, I’m begging you, don’t move to New York.”
My addled brain takes a few minutes to process his words. “New York?”
I see the second he realizes his mistake. His eyes widen, and his nostrils flare.
My hands regain their strength. I push him away, needing space to figure out what he just said.
“How do you know about New York? I only told Monica, and she wouldn’t tell you.”
West reaches out to me. “Uh—you must have mentioned it to me. That’s how I know.”
Thinking hard, I shake my head slowly. “No. I never said anything about it to you or to anyone besides Monica.” A sharp inhalation. My mouth falls open.
“Are you—did you—are you spying on me? Again? After everything? That’s the only way you could have known about that job offer.”
“What!? No—no—I, um. You told me.”
“I did not ! I never mentioned it.” I step away from him until my back bangs against the wall. “Tell me how you know!” I demand. “Did you monitor my emails? Bug my phone? What is it?”
“No. No. I didn’t.” West looks me straight in the face and lies to me. I’m certain of it. He’s lying. There’s no other way he could have known.
Does he think I’m stupid?
Does he have zero respect for me?
He frames my face with his large hands and moves in to kiss me. Right before his lips meet mine, I say it.
“ Cupcake .”
He reels back like I punched him, his face pale, horror-stricken.
“Cupcake?” he repeats hoarsely.
I’m crying, tears streaming down my face, as our reality punches me in the gut. I can’t trust him. That’s why I said it—the safe word. I didn’t say it when he was taking my body, but I say it now, when he’s taking my heart, ripping it out with his deceit and treachery.
“Cupcake!” I scream at him. He recoils at the word like it’s a physical thing, a sword, a knife, a bullet.
“Cupcake. Stay away from me, Adam. We’re through. I mean it. I’m done.” I gather my unbuttoned pants in one hand. “You’ve lied to me for the last time. I never want to see you ever again.”
Sobbing, unable to breathe, I shove past him and run. The word tears from my throat one last time, a final good-bye.
“ Cupcake !”