Chapter 17
HARPER-RAYN
Embarrassment plagues me as I watch the footage of me climbing into the refrigeration unit for the millionth time.
How could I have been so stupid? I was crying in a freezer, terrified for my life, all while Vincent made his way around the morgue, minding his business as he mopped the floors and straightened up my desk.
I should be stronger than that, but this stalker has turned me into a mess, and Knight probably had to call in a favor to get the footage of the biggest false alarm known to man. I’m humiliated. Not to mention, he had to deal with me showing up on his doorstep in shambles for no reason.
I’m sure that when he looks at me now, all he sees is a scared little girl, lost in her own paranoia. He’s a freaking SWAT officer at the top of his game, and I’m a joke. I need to be cared for because a janitor at work unknowingly sent me into a blind panic.
This asshole stalker has turned me into a laughing stock.
I suppose my time with Knight was fun while it lasted. There’s no way he’s going to touch me now. I don’t exactly know what type of women he goes after, but I know he doesn’t deal with other people’s drama. And right now, I have an abundance of it.
Oh no. He probably thinks I’m my mother reborn.
The very thought sends a stabbing pain shooting through my stomach. With one hand cupped over my mouth, I jump out of bed and scramble to my bathroom. Just as my knees hit the ground in front of the toilet, I proceed to throw up every last scrap of food in the pit of my stomach.
A sheer layer of sweat coats my forehead, and I roll my ass straight into the shower, needing to somehow pull myself together, but with all the bullshit currently going on and the new addition of Detective Gray suddenly appearing suspicious, I don’t know if I have what it takes.
I sit shivering in the bottom of the shower as the water takes far too long to warm up, but once it does, it’s fucking scalding. I spring to my feet, frantically adjusting the temperature as my ass takes the brunt of the hot water.
Today is not my day—apart from the mind-blowing sex I had on Knight’s kitchen counter this morning. That was pretty freaking amazing, but everything since that has been nothing but a downward spiral.
After leaving Knight a spicy message on his home security camera, I took my ass home, got ready for work, and just as I was about to get in my car, Knight’s call came in.
After that, I did what I could to hold my head high and head to work with the intention of catching up on work, but Dr. McKullan was quick to reprimand me for slacking in the first place.
I promptly fell apart in the bathroom, and I don’t just mean a handful of tears here and there; I’m talking snot running down my face. It was mortifying. My face was blotchy and red, and my eyes were puffy and sore, but there’s no denying that I deserved it.
By the time I pulled myself together and walked back into the morgue, I looked like a natural disaster had aimed every ounce of its destruction at me.
I was a mess. Hell, I looked like a group of men had run a train on me.
Only, it wasn’t a domestic train taking me from city to city, this was a long-haul, international-type train.
I’m not typically someone who cries. I despise tears.
They make me feel weak, and yet these past few days have turned me into a complete wreck.
I don’t recognize myself right now. I don’t feel as though anything is right.
I like my independence. I like feeling as though I have my shit together.
I’ve prided myself on how I’ve built a life and a career without anybody’s help, and day by day, I’m crumbling.
I stay in the shower until the water runs cold, and honestly, it’s not that long.
My apartment has the worst water heater known to man.
It makes taking long, dragged-out showers impossible—unlike at Knight’s place where I could stand under the hot water for what seemed like a century. It was incredible.
After wrapping a towel around myself and heading to get dressed, my phone rings from somewhere on my bed, and I hurry across the room to answer it, hoping it might be Knight, Izzy, or even Laith.
When I pick it up and see my mother’s name across the screen, a heavy disappointment pounds through my veins.
I immediately silence the call before tightening my towel around my chest, not having the energy or the will to find something comfortable to wear to bed. That is future Harper’s problem—as is dealing with my mother. I’ve already had a rough day. I don’t need to make it worse.
After swiping away the notification, I go to flop down onto my bed, but something across the room catches my eye. My head whips up to my dresser, and there, sitting among the mess of makeup, cheap jewelry, and skin care is the bloodied black rose I’d pulled out of the victim’s chest cavity.
I suck in a petrified gasp, my eyes widening in fear, and just as my body starts to violently shake, movement in my full-length mirror steals my attention. My gaze snaps across the room to the mirror, and fear cripples me as I take in the masked man hovering right behind me.
A heavy scream rips out of me, terror pounding through my veins as I go to run, but he’s too quick. He steps into my back and braces one hand over my mouth, muting the sound of my cries as he pulls me in hard against his chest.
He’s massive. Must be at least six-foot-four. Maybe six-five. And the strength radiating from his body is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Trying to break out of his grasp is a waste of time. He’s a fucking machine, built of pure muscle and malice.
Tears roll down my cheek as he holds me still, and his other hand reaches for the towel as I feel his laser-sharp stare on me through my full-length mirror. My chest heaves, panic infecting me as I watch him closely.
He’s wearing all black: tactical pants, boots, a shirt that accentuates his muscular build. His shoulders and chest are broad, and I can only wonder what’s hidden beneath that terrifying mask. It’s somewhat of a gothic skull, but its jaw is wide open with sharp, talon-like fangs.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
The man leans in even closer, his lips just a breath from my ear as I try to focus on anything but the intoxicating scent coming off him.
He smells like my darkest desires, and it fucks with my head.
I shouldn’t want to feel how his hands feel on my body.
Shouldn’t want him to have his wicked way with me, and yet, despite my overwhelming fear, if that’s what he wanted, I’d give it to him in a heartbeat.
“We’re going to play a game, kitten.”
His voice is like velvet, addictive and mesmerizing, every syllable sending shivers sailing across my skin.
He releases the knot in my towel, letting it fall to the ground until I’m standing naked in his arms. While I know I should run, or scream, or put up a fight, I can’t help but want to please him—even if I have no idea what his endgame is.
His big, calloused hand finds my waist and trails over my skin. “If you scream. You fail. If you run. You die. But kitten, you will hide, and I will find you.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat, keeping my eyes on him through my mirror, watching his hand skim up to my tits, firmly cupping them and squeezing tight before trailing down past my ribs and over my hip.
What does he want from me? Just to play some twisted game of hide and seek? I don’t fucking know.
I go to speak, and he eases his hold over my mouth, dropping the hand to my body, satisfied that I’m not about to scream.
“What happens after you find me?”
His eyes seem to penetrate right through to my soul through the mirror. A rumbling groan vibrates through his chest. “You become mine.”
Holy fuck.
You become mine. What does that even mean? Will I become his in a sexual sense, or does he mean he’ll claim my whole entire existence?
My chest heaves frantically, knowing exactly where his hand is aiming, yet I don’t try to stop him. I don’t cry out. I don’t scream. I don’t even try to push him away. Instead, I wait on bated breath, knowing just how dangerous this man can be.
Is he really going to kill me like he did the last victim? Or will he let me off the hook if I can play his game?
His fingers dip low between my thighs, and as they skim over my clit, my hips jolt with involuntary excitement. He rolls them over the sensitive bud again as if learning how responsive my body can be. I suck in a breath, and as his fingers continue exploring, they dip lower to my entrance.
My legs shake with nervousness, and as the heel of his palm rubs against my clit, he slowly drags his fingers through my wetness. “That’s a good kitten,” he rumbles, his breath brushing my shoulder. “Always ready.”
Sweet baby Jesus.
My pussy clenches, and then finally he pushes his fingers deep inside of me, making my knees weaken beneath me.
His other arm locks around my waist, keeping me upright, the same way Knight had to the other night, and I can’t help but wonder if this terrifying man behind me is the same one who was buried deep inside of me on his kitchen counter.
Physically, they match. Height. Build. Everything is ticking boxes.
Knight is covered in tattoos though, and this guy is covered in clothes, making it hard to tell, but that very thought has me relaxing just a little.
I don’t think it’s Knight. I don’t think he would go to the lengths of stalking me at work and murdering a man in cold blood just to send me a message, but if it were him, I don’t think he’d hurt me. I don’t know if he’d have it in him.
His fingers work me deep, rolling inside of me, splitting and massaging as the heel of his palm works my clit. My body is worked to the edge, the strange mix of fear and pleasure confusing my system as my nails dig into his muscled forearm.
As his fingers curl inside me, massaging that mystical place that only few have ever found and worshipped, my eyes begin to roll in the back of my head.
Everything tightens, and I clench my jaw, the rapid intensity building in a way I wasn’t prepared for. “Oh, fuck. Knight.”
His body stiffens behind me, and suddenly his big hand is at my throat, squeezing as his fingers keep working me.
His gaze locks on mine through the mirror, and I see nothing but evil staring back at me, turning my blood cold.
“Call me by another man’s name, and this game will only be fun for one of us. Understood?”
Okay. It’s not Knight.
I swallow over the fear and hastily nod, and as his fingers tighten on my throat, it becomes harder to suck in a breath, but as he does that, his fingers buried in my cunt pick up speed.
He pushes me to my limits, and as I gasp for air, my world explodes. My orgasm tears out of me like a burst of wild lightning. Hot pulses of raw pleasure rock through my veins as my pussy shatters, my walls erratically convulsing around his skilled fingers.
He doesn’t stop working my body, grinding his palm against my sensitive clit as his fingers roll inside of me, intensifying every second of my pleasure until I finally start coming down from my high.
When he finally eases up on my throat, I take a hasty breath, desperate for sweet oxygen as he slowly pulls his fingers out of me. My knees weaken, and he releases his hold on me, leaving me scrambling to stay upright as he steps around me, making his way to my bedroom door.
Then just when I think he’s going to disappear, he turns back, locking those deadly eyes on mine. “Ready or not, kitten. I’m coming for you.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me gasping for air.
I fall to my knees, grabbing my discarded towel and pulling it over me as though that could somehow protect me from whatever the hell just went down in here. And as the black rose stares at me from my dresser, I finally understand what this is.
He’s playing a twisted game of hide and seek, and when he finds me, he’ll have me anyway he wants. And if I deny him, if I run or scream . . . It’s game over.