Chapter 1—
Em
I unfold the white sheet I picked off the table and gasp, my eyes going wide. “Did you see who left this?” I shout after Jake, who just finished busing the section.
“Left what?”
The cold sensation along my neck claws its way deeper under my skin. “Never mind.” I fold the paper, feeling it crinkle against my fingers as I shove it into my back pocket. There’s no way I’ll show him the drawing.
I swallow my discomfort before moving on to the last table.
It’s been five days since my encounter with the man in the mask.
He hasn’t shown himself again, but I’ve felt his eyes on me every step.
Whether I’m leaving my apartment for work or retracing my steps to go home after my shift, he’s always there, a heavy presence hovering over me, a shadow.
Occasionally, I’ll hear footsteps behind me only to swing around and find no one there. He’d have me thinking I was imagining it all, had he not made himself known in other ways .
It started with pencil sketches of me at work, serving tables; harmless scenes. But over the days, the drawings have become more unsettling. There was one of me walking home alone, arms hugged tightly around myself with an expression of fear as I glanced back over my shoulder.
How he captured the details in my features and eyes is remarkable, and at the same time, utterly terrifying. Like he stared directly into my soul.
And what’s even more terrifying is that he’s so familiar with my features that he started drawing me in poses he’s never seen me in—couldn’t have.
Like the one that’s burning a hole into my jeans now.
In the drawing I’m asleep, my face relaxed, my eyes closed, the angle as if he’s right on top of me.
A shudder runs over my spine as I wipe the table’s sticky surface. I don’t remember serving him. How did he come in and disappear without notice?
He’s left other sketches for me to find beneath the wiper of my car on the street. He knows which one is mine. I assume he’s been watching me get in and out of my apartment. This is the first time he’s left one for me at the diner.
Yesterday, he left a sketch of me undressing in front of the window, which on its own is unsettling, but the view isn’t from outside looking in. It’s from the viewpoint of my closet.
It scared me so much, I checked the space for any signs of him having been there.
Of course there were none. He’s fucking with my head. He wants me to think he was there.
But what’s he waiting for ?
“See you tomorrow,” I tell my boss Laura after I finish my round and clock out in the kitchen.
Pulling the diner’s back door shut behind me, I step into the dark alley.
An instant chill creeps over me.
I’ve only been working at the diner for a little over a week, but even before my encounter the other night, I’ve been getting the sense someone is watching me.
That’s what I get for moving out here, I guess. I could’ve settled for a cozy life in a small town, full of dull friends and a husband who considered doing it with the lights on kinky.
But that wasn’t for me anymore. Four years were enough. I needed more excitement in my life.
So that’s what I got. A clean start in a new city, no friends, and no safety net.
It’s a thrill to be on my own. My job at the diner is only temporary. I have a degree in communications, and I’ve applied for a few positions, but I need something to keep me afloat for now.
My shoes crunch on the ground. The hairs on my arms raise, and I instinctively perk my ears as my breathing shallows to take in my surroundings better.
I’m scared.
I admit I hate walking alone at this hour. It’s the only time I miss my boring little home town.
A snapping sound at my back makes me jolt around. I expect a guy with a knife to jump out at me. In this city, you never know; crime is high. I remember the news report about the body of a woman being found in an alley a couple of weeks ago, strangled. I don’t want to be next .
I stare down the pitch black tunnel, a cold hand of fear tightening around my throat. But there’s no one there.
I expel a breath and spin back around to continue my walk home—
My feet freeze mid step.
Straight ahead of me at the other end of the alley looms a guy in a bright, neon blue purge mask; the one that has the glowing Xs for eyes and a wide stitched grin.
At least I think it’s a guy.
He towers at over six feet, and despite his dark hoodie, I can tell he’s athletic. He has wide shoulders and strong legs that end in black combat boots.
It’s him .
Hands buried in the front pocket of his hoodie, he cocks his head to the side as I stare at him unblinkingly.
I’m utterly terrified. Is he the one who’s been watching me all along?
I don’t wait for him to make a move. I whip around and set off in a dead run down the dark alley.
I can hear sprinting sounds, but I don’t know whether it’s his or my own, and I’m too scared to look back. Steps echo off the brick walls as if he’s closing in on me from all directions.
I don’t slow until I reach the end of the alley. I veer left as fast as I can, and push more speed from my legs. I can’t feel them over the adrenaline. Blood rushes in my ears and the drum of my heartbeat pounds behind my ribs—
I shriek .
My hands fly up, and I skid to an abrupt stop when a pair of boots land with a heavy thud not three feet in front of me to cut off my escape.
How the hell?
I’m face to face with him now, paralyzed by his sheer presence. There’s something about him that dominates me without so much as a touch.
And I know I was right. There’s a wall of muscle under that black hoodie.
He dips his head, hovering an inch from mine, and I swear I can feel him smile—a cruel, maniacal smile.
A prickle skips down my spine. I swallow, and my eyes rake over his mask before I’m able to recover my senses.
My feet are already back in motion. I make a 180, trying my luck in the opposite direction.
My lungs burn. Breaths burst out of me as I force more oxygen down and turn another corner—
My muscles freeze. My lips form a silent No , and I can’t believe my eyes. He’s right fucking there, ready to intercept me again.
I shoot for a narrow passage between two buildings, but I don’t know where I am; nothing looks familiar anymore.
Panic blurs my vision. I catch sounds of metal somewhere behind me, the rattling of a chain link fence, him jumping onto a dumpster…
When I round the corner, he appears in front of me again, his chest heaving.
A sob hitches in my throat. I can’t escape him. He knows all the shortcuts. How else is he able to beat me every time? It’s not like he can be in two places at once .
He cocks his head to the side again in mocking. This time, he doesn’t just stare, though. He draws his knife and flicks the blade out.
Raising his arm, he points the tip at the alley behind me and nods in the direction like he’s telling me to run.
So I do.
I run like my life depends on it.
—
I can hear his boots pounding the ground. It’s all I hear as he chases me. I know he’s right at my heels. He’s faster. Any second he’ll catch me and rip me back.
I get to the end of the alley. I cut the corner in a sharp turn, but I feel his hand closing around my upper arm.
I pinch my eyes shut. I don’t want to see his mask. I’m so scared. I know that’s it. He’s got me in his clutches now.
A second hand grips my other arm, and I spin to crash into a chest. A scream ruptures from my throat as I squirm.
“Woah! Hey!” someone says.
They’re not the words I expect. Nor the tone. The male voice is warm and laced with surprise.
“Where’s the fire?”
I open my eyes and look up to take him in, the first human face since leaving the diner.
He’s gorgeous. Tousled, dirty blond hair crowns his head, several inches on top blending into a buzz cut. A few long strands fall over his eyes as he peers down at me. I’m not sure about their color in the dark. I think they’re green .
His chin is lined with light scruff and doesn’t disguise the dimples in his cheeks when he crooks a grin at me. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I huff, still catching my breath. “There’s a guy with a knife. He’s right—” My voice cuts off as I look back over my shoulder.
He’s gone.
“Someone was chasing me,” I explain, returning my attention to the guy in front of me. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.
He straightens and throws a glance past me down the alley, but I know he can’t see anyone there.
“Looks like he took off,” he says with a shrug.
My gaze lingers on him. I bathe in the sense of comfort he prompts in me. I hesitate to move.
And so does he, like he’s as reluctant as me to break the connection.
Warmth chases away the last cold tendril of fear. I become aware of my palms pressing against his hard chest. His T-shirt is soft and thin, and I can feel every twitch of his muscles under my touch.
“Um… sorry.” Embarrassed, I curl my fingers and withdraw my hands from his chiseled pecs. I don’t even know when they ended up there.
His eyes flit to my hands then back to my face, and I don’t miss his grin stretching a little wider when he catches on. “No worries,” he assures me with another easy shrug. I get the impression that’s his usual quirky attitude.
I kinda like it .
“I’m Asher, by the way. You can call me Ash.” He extends a hand. An array of dark tattoos winds up his arms like sleeves, then disappears into his shirt. Even his fingers are inked.
“Emily,” I offer, sliding my palm against his.
“Nice to meet you, Emily.”
Our connection is brief. Car noise rises around us, and I glimpse a bar across the street. I didn’t realize I hit the main road.
Stuffing both hands into his pockets, Ash rocks on his heels. “So, where are you headed at three in the morning alone?”
“I was on my way home. I just got off work.” I hike a thumb over my shoulder, then realize I have no idea which direction the diner is. “But I think I got lost. Do you mind pointing me toward 32 nd street?”
He squints one eye with a cute twist to his lips, then says, “I can do you one better. How about I walk you?”
My breath hitches at his suggestion. Is he offering in hopes to get lucky?
My lips part, but before I can decline, he tips toward me. “You know, just in case he comes back,” he tags on, brows arched.
Ash doesn’t blink as he holds my stare, and I find myself swept up by his charm. Warm vanilla and a mix of amber and oak invade my airways. He smells divine. I feel my conviction dwindling.
I weigh my odds. I’m already running from a stalker. What are the chances of me stumbling into the arms of another, or someone worse?
“I’d like that.”