Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
Bree
I 'm listening hard for any hint that the elevator is bringing Sam up to his penthouse. I'm waiting for him, but my back is to the doors. As much as I need to see him right now, every part of me wishes I was somewhere else.
I feel like the moment I get a look at this face, I'll know whether he killed his parents or not.
I tap my foot impatiently, my arms crossed over my chest as I stare at the gleaming floor. There's no lingering scent of cigarettes here—it's like they were never here. And now they're permanently gone.
I don't know how to feel about a damn thing. I'm surprised security even let me up. I feel like I'm about to blow my top at any second, my mind is such a mess—with his parents' death, Companion, the rocky state of my relationship. But I flashed security a smile, and they ushered me up with a sympathetic smile. I bet they think Sam really needs his girlfriend right about now.
The whole city is buzzing with his loss.
I know his parents were trash, but that doesn't mean Sam should have made a murderer out of himself. Well, okay, I don't know if he killed them. I rub my own arms reassuringly, trying to cling to that fact, but it won't stick. It's easily pushed aside by one glaring mark against Sam: He absolutely abused his position at work to spy on me through my Companion.
If he would spy on me and use that information to manipulate me into a relationship, what else would he do without thinking twice?
The sound of the elevator moving makes me almost jump out of my skin with a gasp. I try to calm my breathing, but my heart only beats faster. I'm about to confront him again on his turf. But for a murderer, is there anywhere that would be safer? Should I have called him to Cozy Cup to have a casual chat about crime?
No, no, that's the wrong thing to think. He wouldn't kill me.
Would he?
The doors start to open, so I whip around, my eyes wide with uncontained emotion. A wave of yearning ripples through me as I take in the exhaustion in his face, same as when I saw him last. His stubble tells me he hasn't shaved, and by how he hesitates in the elevator, I can tell security didn't warn him I was here.
"What happened to your parents?"
The words race out of my mouth. I've been thinking about them ever since Danica texted me—but my voice trembles. As Sam pulls the beanie off his head, his eyes flick to my hands. I don't know what to do with them. They're fluttering in front of my chest up and down and shaking. I make fists and shove them to my sides.
He calmly removes his jacket and kicks out of his shoes before saying anything.
"Do you think I did it?" he asks, tiredly.
This is the last thing he wants to deal with, that much is apparent. But I ignore the pang of guilt and charge ahead.
"I know they just got out of prison. I know why they went in the first place, and I know they were pieces of shit. As for whether you did it, all I know is how you looked when I saw you last. You said you had some things to take care of. Was it killing them?" I break off and turn away from him, looking around the open space for a clue. "I don't know what to think!"
"They were found dead in a hotel," he says quietly.
"I know that!" I snap, turning back to him. "Did you do it?"
Sam lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his hand over his face. He massages his eyelids as he speaks. "It depends, I guess. I didn't kill them with my bare hands, no."
I don't have a good feeling about what that means. I fold my arms across my chest just as he rests his back against the wall opposite me.
"But I did provide them the luxury they were asking for. To celebrate their release from prison, I had the hotel furnished with the very best liquor, hard shit. They killed themselves. I just facilitated it." Sam finishes with a shrug, crossing his own arms across his chest. His head dips heavily to the left as he regards me.
"Do you think that absolves you of anything?!" I explode, throwing my arms into the air. "Are you a good person just because you didn't pour it down their throats yourself?"
"I'm only telling you what happened."
"Oh, yeah," I scoff, feeling myself harden. "Like you told me about how you were stalking me?"
With satisfaction, I watch the color drain out of his face. Yeah, that's what I thought.
"When I came over on Saturday, you gave yourself away. You thought I had a date on Sunday, but that was just to get you to react, to give it away that you were monitoring my data. I didn't meet anyone, it was all fake. And there was no way you should have known about it. Just like you shouldn't have known about my Christmas plans. Didn't even realize that one, did you?"
Sam lowers his eyes to the floor, nodding at my words in defeat. I watch him work his tongue across his teeth, then bite hard on his lip.
"You got me," he finally says. "Yeah, I've been spying on you."
"How long?"
"For a long time."
"The whole time? When did it start? How did you even come across me?"
"You want to hear all this now?"
"I don't want to hear this at all!" I yell, throwing my arms up again. "Are you kidding? The last thing I want to know is that you've been… fucking stalking me for years! Why? Why me?"
"It's complicated," he says quietly.
"So it's been for years." A mirthless laugh escapes my lips, and I turn away toward the living room. There's so much emotion in me that I can't help but to pace, walking back and forth as I try to read between these shitty lines. "You… so are you the reason I couldn't keep a date?"
"I didn't hurt them," he admits quickly, flatly, staring through the floor.
"Oh, great! That makes it better," I say sarcastically. "Go on, since you're answering questions. I want to hear it all."
I watch his jaw tense, like he's biting down the words. But then he tells me. Or reminds me, rather. He reminds me of when we first met, when he was a cocky little shit in the cafeteria, hassling me between classes. Then he followed me for the first time to the clearing behind the college. Following me is how he kept me within reach, exerted some kind of illusory control over me.
I stop pacing as he tells me about myself, what he witnessed, what he learned—and more importantly, what he couldn't learn. And what that made him do.
He watched me, as much as he could, kept his eyes on me, wanting to learn more, looked at me when I didn't want anyone else to. He admits this all without glancing once at me. And when he couldn't watch me without risking getting caught, he found a way to watch me without anyone knowing.
Companion.
Sam designed Companion for me. Sam learned everything he needed to know to be successful in that position, rocketed to success and became a billionaire. Just to keep me under his thumb, just to market Companion directly to me.
And then he bided his time, waited for just the right opportunity to step into my life—again.
He set not one, but many traps for me, all to manipulate me into being with him.
Sam did that.
Sam… is obsessed with me.
Revulsion makes it difficult to hold my ground. Just the air of his penthouse feels thick and heavy on my skin. I want to get out, get away. This is all a facade—especially the loft, the perfect writer's paradise.
And if he's been presenting the side of him he thinks I'll like best, then what's really inside him?
"Who even are you?" I blurt out, fear rising in my chest.
"I'm the man you fell in love with!" Sam roars, blazing to life. His eyes have been dim and dull since he got here, but now, they're bright with emotion as he closes the distance between us.
I'm frozen, shocked that he raised his voice so suddenly. Or maybe it's everything he's told me. I feel like I'm dreaming. How can this be happening?
"I'm the man you fell in love with," he repeats. "Deny it. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me right now."
I can't find the words he's demanding to hear. I stumble backward, but he's still coming toward me, bearing down on me all too soon. It doesn't make sense. How could I love a man I don't know?
"I gave you everything you wanted, Bree. I became the man you wanted, and I satisfied you, even the needs you didn't know you had. I woke that up in you, didn't I? And you loved being under my control. Tell me you didn't."
I keep backing away, but he keeps advancing, and I don't know where I'm going. My eyes are locked to his—I can't look away.
"Who am I? I'm the man who wants you more than anything else, more than anyone else. It's just been you, Bree. I haven't taken my eyes off you since the day I first saw you. Don't you know what that means?"
I shake my head, tears springing to my eyes. I don't know what any of this means.
"What have you had to complain about since I learned everything about you, Bree? I learned your mannerisms, your minute preferences. I opened you up like a book and read you every night. I still want more. I still want all of you."
Sam wraps his hand around my neck, and my eyes widen further. Tears slip down my cheeks. He doesn't squeeze like I think he will. Instead, the soft warmth of him seeps into my skin, and my heart leaps. His thumb brushes at my tears.
"You have no idea what you do to me." Sam's voice drops lower, and I can't help but notice his eyes on my lips.
Instinctively, I start backing away, but there's nowhere left to go. I fall backward and land on the couch with a gasp. Sam leans down toward me, trapping me, filling the space between us with his scent, his presence. I want to breathe him in.
"But I know what I do to you. I know that I drive you crazy when I'm inside you. I woke up that craving in you, and you know I'm the only one who can satisfy it now. We've only had two scenes, but you're hooked. Aren't you?"
He grips my chin, and suddenly, I'm aware of how hard I'm breathing. In one moment, Sam was repulsing me with his disgusting history of us. And now? I can't understand it, but he's intoxicating me, making my mind drift to memories of us together, of him inside me, of him taking me and controlling me, how good it felt, how I begged him.
I squeeze my eyes shut against those thoughts, sending more tears flowing down my cheeks. What does it mean to have these desires and yet feel so betrayed? I feel like nothing is real—except when we're holding each other tightly together, trying to get closer than close. I know that was real.
I feel Sam lean in closer, and I sniffle and whimper.
"You liked when I controlled you, Bree, when I took away all your worries and left you with a blank mind. I stripped you, bound you. And only then could you be who you really wanted to be. That felt so good. I gave you that."
His breath fans my face, and I try not to breathe it in between sniffles. I know just a taste of him will drive me wild, drive me back into his arms, where it feels safe, where I feel seen.
If only for a little while.
"I'll let you walk away," Sam goes on.
My eyes fly open, and I look up at him through my tears.
"I can let you walk away. You don't have to look back, and I won't follow you. I'll believe you when you say you don't love me, that what we share is meaningless to you."
"Y-you will?" I ask, voice quavering.
"Yes, if you do one thing for me."
I wait for him to continue, my throat aching from the tears I'm holding back.
"Tell me your pussy isn't wet right now."