CHAPTER 14
Riven
Sleepless - Dutch Melrose is better.
Sweat clings to my hairline as the screams from the horror movie echo throughout my loft.
My body shifts restlessly in my sleep, clearly disturbed by something.
I jolt awake when one particularly loud scream finally breaks through to my brain.
I gasp, my breathing uneven.
I look around, wondering what the fuck that scream was, before turning toward the Smart Panel.
Great, just great.
“Panel off.” I order.
Instantly, the screen goes dark, plunging the loft into darkness save for the city's neon lights filtering through the windows, casting shifting colors across the brick walls and exposed beams.
I let out a shaky breath and rub my eyes.
I don't remember what I was dreaming about, but I'm sure it was creepy.
I have that awful feeling you get after waking from a nightmare. A knot twisted deep in my stomach, leaving me nauseous and uneasy for no reason I can name.
I push myself off the couch and head for the fridge, looking for something to drink.
Probably water or wine, if I still have that sweet white wine from the vineyard district of Kairo-9.
It's light and fruity, the kind of wine that's far too easy to drink.
I don't know how many times Jules, Charlie, and I ended up with our heads over a toilet, sink, or shower drain because we drank it like it was juice.
That's the trap. The sweetness fools your brain and your taste buds. You start thinking there can't possibly be any alcohol in it.
But it's definitely there.
I look inside, no wine.
I'm almost disappointed because that fucking knot in my stomach refuses to go away.
If anything, it's getting worse, making me feel even more paranoid because I'm alone in my loft.
Not that I'm easily scared.
I get startled when something catches me by surprise. But genuinely scared? That's not easy.
Except for spiders, spiders creep me the fuck out.
Something about the eight legs and the way they move so damn fast makes my skin crawl. Give me a two-hundred-pound man twice my size who's about to tear me apart—I won't pretend I wouldn't piss myself—or a horror movie marathon, and I'll manage.
A spider the size of my thumb? Absolutely fucking not.
I decide to go for the booze anyway, it's probably two in the morning and I don't care.
Right now, I don't want to think about the time.
I want to relax.
I crack open a beer and take a long sip, nearly draining half the bottle in one go.
A contented sigh escapes me as the cold liquid slides down my throat.
Much better.
I lean my hip against the kitchen island and keep sipping my beer, but that knot in my stomach refuses to disappear.
No matter how much I try to relax, it's like a leech--or a vampire--Slowly sucking you dry while you try to sleep.
Though, to be fair, I probably wouldn't mind a sexy vampire sucking me dry, turning me, then spending eternity together.
I shake my head.
I seriously need to stop watching so many movies and reading so many books.
Suddenly, three soft knocks.
They're so subtle I almost convince myself I imagined them.
My heart starts pounding, my grip tightens around the bottle hard enough that I nearly crack the glass, and I'm not even that strong.
I freeze, I don't breathe, I just listen.
Nothing. Not a single sound.
I'm probably going crazy.
Falling asleep with horror movies playing in the background isn't exactly great for my peace of mind.
I sigh.
“Goddamn it, Riven,” I whisper to myself. “You're going crazy.”
I start toward the stairs leading to my mezzanine. I'm halfway up when I freeze.
I hear footstep outside.
Outside.
How the hell? I'm on the sixth floor.
Sure, there's an emergency staircase outside the building, but it's beside my bathroom window.
Not behind my bedroom wall.
And my bedroom sits even higher than the living room because it's on the fucking mezzanine.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Maybe it's a neighbor, maybe it's the building settling. Maybe it's—
Another step echoes softly, slow and deliberate.
My stomach drops.
No.
Someone is definitely out there.
“I'm going to call the Enforcers!” I shout toward the wall.
Toward whoever's out there.
If someone could see me right now, they'd probably think I'd finally lost my mind. Just some crazy woman yelling at a wall and wondering why nobody's locked her up in a psych containment facility.
But I swear to God, I fucking heard footsteps.
I wait but nothing comes.
No answer, no movement nor mocking voice from the other side.
Just silence.
The kind of silence that somehow feels louder than the noise itself.
I stare at the wall for a few more seconds before slowly letting out a breath.
Okay.
I'm definitely going crazy.
I take off, the last few steps disappear beneath my feet as I sprint toward my bed and literally dive under the covers.
I pull the blanket over my entire body, wrapping myself up like a child terrified of the monster under the bed, convinced a few layers of fabric can somehow protect them from anything.
It's ridiculous.
I know it's ridiculous and yet I don't move.
I stay curled beneath the covers, listening to my heartbeat pounding in my ears and trying very hard not to think about footsteps outside my bedroom wall on the sixth fucking floor.
For a few awful minutes that feel like hours, nothing else happens.
Nothing moves. No one knocks.
No more footsteps echo through the wall.
Am I being haunted by some fucking ghost that enjoys scaring the shit out of me?
I thought I wasn't easily scared, but hearing footsteps coming from inside a wall is a completely different story.
That's fucking terrifying.
I grunt and gather what little courage I have left.
Slowly, I poke my head out from beneath the covers, let out a shaky breath, and look around.
Nothing.
There are no shadows, no ghost waiting to drag me into the afterlife.
I sit up and run a hand through my hair.
My fingers drift to my rings, and I start fidgeting with them.
I should probably take them off before going back to sleep.
But right now, the cool metal against my skin is strangely reassuring.
So I keep turning them around my fingers, clinging to that small, familiar comfort while my heartbeat slowly settles.
“I'm being ridiculous.” I scoff at myself.
I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“No one can actually be outside my wall in the middle of the fucking void like some flying magician.” I murmur to myself.
The words sound much more reasonable when I say them out loud.
The knot is still there. If anything, it's even stronger now but I shake it off.
I refuse to be scared by some ghostly fucker who thinks he can get to me.
Instinctively, I raise my fists. Then I pause, staring at them.
A laugh escapes me.
This is ridiculous, how exactly am I supposed to punch a ghost?
I climb out of bed and walk over to my dresser, open it and start peeling off my clothes.
I'd fallen asleep on the couch wearing them, and now they feel uncomfortable against my skin.
I unclasp my bra and toss it aside before pulling out a hoodie. It's oversized, almost absurdly so but there's something reassuring about it.
I pull it on, hood included, then climb back into bed.
It wraps around me like a cocoon. The hood stays on, it's comforting and it keeps spiders from crawling into my ears while I sleep.
Again, completely ridiculous.
I know spiders aren't secretly waiting for me to fall asleep so they can invade my ears.
That doesn't stop the thought from existing, so the hood stays on.
I drift back to sleep.
I jolt awake an hour later, there's a noise downstairs.
Am I fucking crazy or is there really someone in my home?
How?
The door is locked, only my palm print can open it or you need to have my passcode.
The building's security is supposed to be airtight.
So how?
I stop breathing literally, the sound comes again.
I can hear footsteps, distinct footsteps. Then curses, muttered under someone's breath.
My entire body freezes, every muscle locking in place as adrenaline floods my system.
Someone is downstairs, in my loft.
I should call the Enforcers. I should grab my comm and get whoever broke into my home arrested.
But calling the Enforcers before even making sure someone is actually here and finding out who it is would be insane.
I could get Jules or Charlie arrested if I don't check.
Even Liam.
I'm being stupid. I'm probably about to get myself killed. I hate being woken up suddenly.
Even more when someone invades my personal space and probably starts rummaging through my stuff.
Slowly, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand.
I tiptoe toward the railing of my mezzanine and carefully peer down into the loft below.
I don't see anyone but I know someone's here.
This isn't my imagination.
The footsteps outside the wall had been improbable.
This? This is real.
Someone is inside my home.
The realization sends a chill down my spine. Suddenly, the knocks don't seem so imaginary anymore. They might have been real all along.
I wait patiently, not daring to breathe too loudly or move in case I make a sound.
Every second stretches endlessly.
Then a hand, it passes directly through my line of sight.
My entire body starts shaking. My heart pounds so hard against my ribs that I almost think it's loud enough to echo through the loft.
Fuck.
There really is someone here. The sight of that hand somehow makes everything worse.
Before, it had been sounds, footsteps, curses. Things I could've convinced myself I'd imagined.
Before I can think, my body moves.
Instinctively, I take a step back and my ring chooses that exact moment to betray me.
The silver band scrapes against the steel railing, the sharp rasp of metal against metal cutting through the silence.
The sound echoes through the loft.
I freeze completely.
Every muscle locks, every thought stops.
Well, I'm fucked.
“Well,” a man's voice says, low and deep, echoing through the loft. ‘You're awake?”
The chill spreading along my spine suddenly floods my entire body.
My blood runs cold, and all the color drains from my face in an instant.
I hear footsteps approaching the stairs, next, slowly climbing them.
I still can't see who it is but it certainly isn't Liam.
“I apologize,” the man says. “I didn't want to wake you up, troublemaker.”
A pause.
“You look so peaceful when you sleep.”
What? this freak have been watching me sleep? For how long?
I finally see his face.
It's him.
So many questions race through my mind at a hundred miles an hour.
How did he find me? Since when has he been here? Why did he break into my home?
My face is as pale as a corpse.
The only signs of life left in me are my heart, beating like it's about to explode, and my breathing, which keeps accelerating.
He reaches the top of the stairs and leans against the wall beside them, looking me over slowly.
My bare thighs are exposed.
I'm wearing nothing but a thong and a fucking oversized hoodie that practically swallows my frame.
I feel exposed anyway.
His eyes glow in the darkness. I feel like he can see right through my clothes, probably through my soul.
“Did you miss me, troublemaker?” Another pause. “Or should I say...” His grin widens.
“Riven?”