13. He’s Coming
~ brIDGET ~
It wasn’t until I’d gotten all the way back to my room that I realized he’d taken my phone.
Fucker!
But it made me smile. I wondered whether he’d be able to crack my phone and figure out that had been a dummy number. It was one of those information lines that had a message that looped infinitely, so the line would stay open. I’d named it EMERGENCY CALL in my phone for purposes just like this—to intimidate people who needed a wake up call. But all he’d have to do was look at the contact in the call log to see that it was a 1-800 number.
That car coming up the street at that time had been such a stroke of luck, I decided maybe God did have a sense of humor. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a guy move so fast.
Definitely ex-military. Or some kind of training. He’d moved like a cat—so smooth and quick. No hesitation.
And now he was gone.
That thought made me sigh.
But my entire body still hummed with the adrenaline he’d set coursing through me. I was on a high because he was everything I’d hoped—strong, intelligent, sneaky and… well, I didn’t know if he was handsome, but he certainly felt like it.
I closed my eyes, remembering the feeling of his body pressed against mine, hard and unrelenting as steel, pinning me to the car.
My breath got faster.
Yanking my heels off, I began to pace the floor of my room, reliving each moment in my mind—that scuffle at the bar, fleeing home in the car and being disappointed because I thought he hadn’t come after me. I’d only set up the phone on pure hope.
Then, when he jumped me, it was such a rush, I got shaky remembering it.
I couldn’t stop seeing that moment in my mind when he’d cursed and thrown himself away from me to dive and roll under the lowering garage door—straight to his feet on the other side and sprinting away.
I shivered just thinking about it.
I needed more.
I didn’t know how far away Cain was from his home and his computer, but I was going to try and make contact—after all, he had my phone.
So, after a quick shower and change into sleep-shorts and a t-shirt, I ran to my office and turned on the computer, praying that he didn’t live far away and would be online already. It had been half an hour since he left and my adrenaline was fading.
My heart spun in my chest when I logged into the forum and the first notification was a DM from him, but then it sank when I realized he’d sent it before he came for me.
It was a list of after-care instructions, along with detailed lists of which of the things to use in any given situation.
There were even links to video tutorials that showed things like how to properly clean a scrape, how to wrap a wrist, or ankle, how to properly set a sling.
I was oddly touched.
Then my adrenaline skyrocketed again, because the little green circle over his profile picture suddenly blinked alive, which meant he was online. I grabbed for the mouse to hit message so fast I almost knocked my keyboard off the desk.
---
***SYSTEM NOTE: CHAT ENCRYPTED END-TO-END. ENSURE ALL ACCOUNTS ARE LOGGED OFF BEFORE DISCONNECTING.***
DeadGirlWalking: You have something that belongs to me.
SleepingBeast: You’ll get it back.
DeadGirlWalking: When? My life is on there.
SleepingBeast: I know. And soon. Don’t worry.
DeadGirlWalking: People are going to try and contact me.
SleepingBeast: Relax. I’ve got all your calls and texts diverting to the burner phone—so it better be charged like the instructions said.
DeadGirlWalking: Well, aren’t you clever. That was quick.
SleepingBeast: This isn’t my first rodeo.
DeadGirlWalking: I always thought that saying was odd—like, how many rodeos *should* a person have ridden? Because if this is only number two or three, I’m still not trusting your process.
SleepingBeast: Change subject.
SleepingBeast: From this point forward, any time we meet and you’re injured and I’m forced to leave before we’re done, you send me pictures of the wound, and how you treated it. Every time, D. Including now.
DeadGirlWalking: I mean, sure. If you want harm porn, I’ll help you out. It’s the least I can do. But I’m not hurt right now. A couple sore spots that might bruise, I suppose.
SleepingBeast: You sure?
DeadGirlWalking: I’m sure. You were just so gentle.
SleepingBeast: I’ll make sure and correct that next time.
DeadGirlWalking: Yes, please.
~ CAIN ~
I clawed a hand through my hair and cursed.
My marks were always consenting participants in our little game—they always came looking for me, not the other way around. They were always thrill seekers, and sometimes masochists. But Bridget’s eagerness had a unique edge that was fascinating to me. And a very bright red flag. She wasn’t frightened of me. At all.
The others came to be because they were scared. They wanted to be scared. In their fear, they found the thrill.
I’d hunted many different women. Some were trying to face a fear to overcome it. Some were drawn to violent men and wanted to take control by inviting it in, instead of having it inflicted on them. All were self-destructive and taking control of their own destinies.
At first I’d thought Bridget was just one of the latter. But now I wasn’t so sure.
I was beginning to think that she was truly dark like me.
And I couldn’t decide if that was the best thing that had ever happened to me, or was going to be my downfall. Because I didn’t usually chat with a mark.
I’d told myself I was only getting on here to make sure she took care of herself in case I’d hurt her, carting her around and shoving her up against the car.
But we’d covered that in a few lines, and yet… here we were.
---
DeadGirlWalking: So how long until I see you again?
SleepingBeast: This isn’t a date, D. We won’t be syncing schedules.
DeadGirlWalking: I know. But still. How long?
SleepingBeast: The whole point is that you don’t know when I’m coming for you. That’s what makes it fun. I’ll never tell you when I’m coming.
DeadGirlWalking: Ah, the luxury of being a man—no one has to question if you’ll come. It’s only ever a matter of time.
---
I was just taking a drink of coffee and almost spat it over my keyboard.
---
SleepingBeast: You have trouble coming, D?
DeadGirlWalking: Sometimes.
SleepingBeast: Challenge accepted.
DeadGirlWalking: I didn’t realize you were a sweet-talker.
SleepingBeast: No, just a giver.
DeadGirlWalking: A primal dom with manners? That seems counter-productive.
---
I caught myself grinning at the screen like an idiot and stopped typing.
This was sick what we were doing—what we planned. Why was she so engaged in this? With me? And why did I love it?
Why was I this way? And why was she?
I started to type, “What happened to you?” but caught myself halfway through and deleted it.
---
SleepingBeast: I gotta go.
DeadGirlWalking: Wait! No! We were just getting somewhere!
SleepingBeast: Sorry, D, but I got work in the morning.
DeadGirlWalking: Wait, you work?
SleepingBeast: We aren’t all independently wealthy. Some of us have to make an honest wage so we have the resources for our very dishonest pastimes. Hunting isn’t a cheap hobby.
DeadGirlWalking: So, I’m a hobby now?
SleepingBeast: Goodnight, D. Picture tomorrow if there are bruises. And use the Arnica.
DeadGirlWalking: I will, but wait!
[DeadGirlWalking is typing…]
---
I swallowed hard and almost gave in, but the first trickle of sweat started down my spine. I quickly logged out, then got off the computer, shaking my head at myself the whole time.
She was dangerous. So dangerous to me.
But maybe that was the point, I realized. She wasn’t the only one who needed the risk to feel alive.
I did too.
I just never confused the hunt with feelings before. I’d always sworn I wouldn’t.
But she was hilarious, and smart, and bold, and fearless and…
When the screen went black and the computer’s hum stopped, I rubbed both hands over my face, asking myself if it was worth it—if she was worth it. Because I was breaking all my own rules. And that meant I had to have an honest conversation with myself.
Was she worth it, if she was the one that brought me down?
My soul answered without hesitation that she was.
I looked at the clock on my phone and cursed. Almost 2am.
I wasn’t lying to her. I had work in the morning. I needed to get some sleep.
But first, I had a phone to mirror.
Digging around in my bag, I drew out her phone and took it to the little workbench in the corner where I already had another, brand new phone in the same make, model, and year as hers.
And then I went to work.