Chapter 12 Harper-Rayn
HARPER-RAYN
Water spurts out of my mouth like a violent, messy fountain as I read Laith’s latest text.
If there’s one thing I will always appreciate about Laith Mitchell, it’s that he knows how to keep me on my toes. I never know what I’m going to get with him, and I love that about him. There’s nothing quite like a man who can keep a woman interested.
The only problem is, no matter how enticing his words are or just how well I know he’s going to put it down, I don’t think I could let him touch me, not without picturing my step-uncle in his place.
What the fuck is wrong with me? One taste of Knight Slater, and I’m ruined. But is it really that bad? Laith probably wouldn’t care if I was thinking about another man while he was fucking me into oblivion. Knowing him, he’d probably get off on the idea and treat it like a challenge.
It’s not as though we have a moral high ground that we fuck by.
There’s no contract stating I can’t be interested in someone else, and we’re sure as fuck not exclusive.
We’re free to do and please whoever we want.
We just have mutual respect for one another and a good moral compass.
You know, apart from when I’m daring him to disrespect me in the filthiest ways.
After putting my water bottle down and grabbing a few tissues from the holder on my desk, I quickly mop up my spilled water and hope like hell that I haven’t ruined any of the notes I took on the two autopsies I’ve meticulously worked through tonight.
Once my desk is back in order, I grab my phone again as a stupid smile pulls across my lips, and I prepare myself to rip this fucker from limb to limb.
I hit send before slowly typing out another message, yet with every new letter, I feel dread sinking deep into my stomach. I don’t understand it, and while my finger hovers over the send button, I can’t bring myself to pull back.
I don’t owe Knight anything. We’re not together and we’re sure as hell not about to become anything more than a random, crazy morning blowjob. He’s my step-uncle for fuck’s sake. I should be pushing this thing with Laith, not fantasizing about the way Knight’s veins felt against my tongue.
I hit send.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why do I suddenly feel so sick?
This was a mistake.
I get halfway through typing out my rambled response when Laith’s response finally comes through, and before I’ve even finished reading through his message, I quickly delete my text before I accidentally hit send.
Laughing to myself, I put my phone away and try to focus on the report in front of me, but my little freak-out over potentially seeing Laith tonight is screwing with my head.
Bottom line: there shouldn’t have been a problem.
There shouldn’t have even been a second of hesitation on my part.
Yeah, okay. Knight Slater is every kind of delicious I always knew he would be, but Laith is realistic.
He’s safe. He gives me more than what I need and knows where my boundaries are—most of the time. It’s easy with him.
Knight would be nothing but chaos—but a sexy chaos. The kind of chaos that would leave my mother in tatters, and there’s no denying the allure that brings.
What am I even doing weighing the options as though either one of them actually exists?
A relationship with Knight isn’t even something that’s on the table.
It was a one-time thing. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’s about to get possessive.
Though there’s no denying how damn hot that would be.
As for Laith, we set our boundaries in cement a long time ago.
Neither of us wants anything more than just a casual hookup, so what the hell does it even matter?
Neither of these men pose any kind of threat to my immediate single status, and that’s the way I want to keep it. I don’t want to be tied down . . . Well, at least not metaphorically. I certainly wouldn’t argue if Knight wanted to strap me to his bed and have me in every possible way.
Damn. Now there really are tears rolling down my thighs.
I need to get a grip—or another vibrator.
Standing from my file-covered desk, I stretch out my body and take three quick laps around the empty autopsy table, desperately needing to get my head in the zone.
I can’t be thinking about this shit while I’m working.
It’s unprofessional, and not to mention, disrespectful to the victims I’m trying to report on.
If they knew the filthy thoughts that were rolling through my head while I was trying to work on their case, they’d be rolling in their graves.
Well, when they eventually get one, of course.
I suppose they’d be rolling in their body bags instead.
Though that doesn’t have the same ring to it.
I shake out my hands and mentally bitch slap myself before grabbing the back of my desk chair and preparing to sit back down. Only as I start to lower my body, I hear the familiar sound of an access card being denied on the other side of the morgue door.
My back stiffens as my heart lurches in my chest, and I find myself standing impossibly still.
I’ve been on shift for close to seven hours.
It’s the longest I’ve lasted over my past few shifts, and after Laith’s texts and my mental flip-flopping over a certain step-uncle’s mega cock, I had almost forgotten to be wary.
Yet, with one slight noise, I’m back to being the terrified train wreck that raced out of here just last night.
I’m an idiot. I got too comfortable.
The sound comes again and my stomach sinks. My hands immediately start to shake, and without a single doubt, I know it’s him. The door handle rattles, and an almost silent yelp tears from the back of my throat.
Holy fucking shit.
My gaze darts around the room, trying to figure out a game plan, and when the door rattles even harder, I lose all train of thought. All I know is that I need to get away.
Fat tears spring from my eyes, and when the soft beep of the access card being denied again sounds through the morgue, I bound across the room. Shivers race down my spine, turning my blood to ice, and my stomach knots in agony.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I try to figure out a plan, but I’m at a loss. There’s only one way in and one way out. I’m completely trapped.
As the person on the other side of the door shakes the handle again, I find myself backing up against the refrigeration unit, and without another thought, I whip around, finding the only possible solution.
I grip the handle, and with shaky hands, I unlock each unit, trying to find an empty bay, and the moment I do, relief floods my veins.
Fear grasps me in a chokehold as I frantically scramble inside the refrigeration unit, pulling the door closed behind me.
I can’t lock it from the inside, but it’s my only chance of survival.
If this asshole makes it in here, my only hope is that he’ll look around just long enough to assume I’m not here and leave.
But that’s ridiculous, right? My computer is still on, my notes spread across my desk, my phone and water bottle left behind.
He’ll know. A man so capable of dissecting a body and removing each organ for his own sick pleasure isn’t a man who overlooks the small things.
He’ll know I’m here. The only question is, what will he do once he finds me?
Tears well in my eyes, pooling before falling over the side of my face, and I hastily blink them away before swiping at my wet cheeks.
The door outside the morgue continues to rattle, continues to beep with every denied swipe of the access card, and for a fleeting moment, I think that I might just get out of this unscathed. My chest heaves, the sound of my heavy, terrified breaths taunting me that I’ll give myself away.
Why me? What does he want?
I’m just a normal girl trying to make it in the world. I’m nothing special, nobody to obsess over and watch through hacked cameras. There’s nothing interesting about me, nothing to capture someone’s attention. I’m just Harper-Rayn Madden, a nobody who’s terrified of commitment.
The horrid smell of death lingers thick in the air, and I do what I can to drown it out: closing my eyes and focusing solely on the noises coming from outside as the beeping and rattling finally come to a stop.
My back stiffens, and I listen closer, trying to track the sound of footsteps going up and down the hall, but I can’t figure it out.
Is he gone? Am I safe?
Seconds turn into minutes, and just when I think that everything is going to be okay, the footsteps return, coming closer and closer until they’re right outside the morgue door again.
“No. No. No. No. No.”
My heart lurches for the tenth time in as many minutes, and I grip the edges of the steel roller table, my knuckles turning white. This can’t be happening.
The chill of the refrigeration unit bites into my bones, and as I close my eyes and will my racing heart to calm, a soft beep sounds through the morgue. My stomach sinks with dread and not a moment later, the automatic lock releases and the door pushes open.
I hold my breath, terrified to make a single noise, and as tears roll freely down the side of my face into my hair, I listen as someone welcomes themself into the morgue, leaving the door open behind them. The seconds seem to drag on, every footstep killing something deep within.
The steps are too heavy to be a woman, too purposeful to be the janitor, Vincent. It has to be the sick bastard who’s been fucking with me night after night. I mean, shit. He’s made a streak. Why fuck with that now? Three for three, right?
I should have listened to Knight. I should have spoken to Dr. McKullan and been moved off the night shift.
But all that would achieve is having one of the other girls put straight into this position, and if anything happened to any of them because of my mystery black rose stalker, I’d never forgive myself.