Chapter 23
ISABELLA
Slade is out getting groceries while I’m reading.
It’s the weekend and usually on the weekends I write but since I finished writing the book, I’m reading one of Becky’s books that she released a few months ago.
I’ve been meaning to finish one of her new books but every time there is a scene where the main characters have a steamy moment I can’t stop thinking about Slade.
We had sex for the first time a week ago and since then, that’s all we’ve been doing it seems.
Right when I walk through the door of our apartment, he grabs me by the waist and starts making me cum by his fingers before bending me over and thrusting inside me.
We’ve had sex in the shower before he cleans every inch of my body, on the island in the kitchen, the couch when he distracts me from outlining or reading, in my bed all the time, even when I’m sleeping he thrusts into me by surprise.
We’ve had sex everywhere but his bedroom.
I still haven’t stepped foot in there but every day I’m itching to just take a peek.
I told Grams about him.
She said that I sound happy and that she would love to meet him one of these days over dinner. I tried telling her that it’s not really serious between us yet, to which she told me to give her his number so she can talk some sense into him.
I did talk to Slade about what we were doing a few days ago.
“Slade,” I say and he turns his attention away from his book and towards me. “What are we doing?”
We’re in the living room, laying next to each other on the couch just relaxing.
“What do you mean?” He furrows his eyebrows at me and puts his book down, bookmarking it.
“I mean what are we doing? The sex, the touching, the dinner, the motorcycle rides? I just want to know where we stand with each other.”
“You stand with me. You’re mine.”
“Okay but what does that mean? What do you mean when you say that?”
He turns so he can fully face me. “I mean, no one else can touch you and be with you besides me. Same goes for me.”
I smile at him and bring my hand to his face so that I can touch him. I always feel close whenever I feel his skin on mine.
“So we’re together?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Ty moy,” he whispers, looking down at my lips and then meeting my eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“You’re mine.”
“Ty moy,” I repeat and he nods with a sweet smile that makes his dimples appear.
He leans in and captures my lips in his, and we forget about both of our books.
The next day when I came home from work, Slade had cooked us a steak dinner and put a candle in the middle of the island to make it romantic and he’d gotten me a 200 rose bouquet with a note saying “Ty moy.”
The night was romantic and he knows me so well, probably better than Becky even though I’ve known her longer.
I trust Slade.
I trust him enough to protect me, not hurt me intentionally, and just be patient with me like I am trying to be with him.
We’re still trying to figure each other out.
I’ve never been in a relationship and from what I’ve gathered, neither has he so we both are going into whatever we are doing blindly.
We’re both trying to be patient with one another.
My phone rings beside me on my side table. I pick it up and see there is no caller ID.
“Hello?” I answer.
Usually I don’t answer calls from unknown numbers but I’m waiting on a call from a lawyer.
It’s for research purposes.
I’m not suing anyone but I need help on outlining my book since I will be including a lawsuit and I want to write that whole part of the book as accurately as possible.
The lawyer I’m trying to get a hold of is a young female criminal defense lawyer who is based in New York.
Her name is Maddie Walker and I heard she is one of the best.
“Hello?” I say again, not hearing anything.
I’m about to hang up when they finally answer.
“Little Rossi,” he says, in a low and almost deadly tone.
“Who’s this?” I ask as my heart starts racing.
“You know exactly who I am.”
A flash of blue eyes and a black hood appear in my mind.
“I told you I was coming for you didn’t I?”
“How did you get my number? Who are you?” I ask while anxiety creeps up my neck.
“Your little boyfriend knows who I am. I’m surprised you don’t.”
I feel the butterflies in my stomach when he mentions, I assume, Slade being my boyfriend. I mean we are together but we haven’t said the ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’ word. Even though Slade says I’m his and that’s basically the same thing.
“You killed my family. That’s all I need to know.”
“Tsk tsk tsk. You don’t even know half of the story, little Rossi. But that will be told another time. I need your boyfriend off my back.”
A tear slides down my face. “What do you want from me?”
“First, get rid of that fucking lunatic boyfriend of yours. Then maybe we can strike a deal. I’d rather be alive than waste my breath killing you.”
“Why would you want to kill me?”
“Because your dad fucked everything up for me! It’s payback time, little Rossi,” he yells and I try to muffle my cry.
Visions of the car crash hit me all at once.
My father’s head against the steering wheel, the upper half of my mother’s body, lying halfway out of the car, practically disfigured, and then, his bright blue eyes staring straight at me with the intent to hurt and destroy.
“But one thing at a time. We first need to fix this issue with that fucking Russian boyfriend of yours.”
My heart races thinking about Slade.
“What do you want?”
“The news has been crazy lately. Haven’t you heard? All of these people dying and no suspect yet? He for sure knows how to hide his tracks but I’m thinking a certain author knows all about these crimes since she did write them all in her book, right?”
“How do you-“
He cuts me off. “Your boyfriend isn’t the only one who was stalking you, little Rossi.”
Slade.
The murders on TV.
The book with all the crimes that were all just a coincidence.
Nothing’s making sense.
It’s all too much.
“What are you even saying?” I cry, my mind going in circles.
“I’m saying your boyfriend’s a fucking murderer. Either send him to jail or I’ll fucking slit his throat in front of you,” he says before hanging up the phone.
My phone drops from my trembling hand and all I can do is cry.
I scream and cry and have a panic attack, stressing about what this all means.
My heart is racing. Everything is suddenly too bright, too close. I need more room.
Everything is wrong.
Slade can’t be a murder.
He can’t.
He’s not that type of person.
He’s the type of person that cares for me and is gentle with me.
He buys me flowers and cooks me food and takes me to work.
He does so much for me.
“The victim has skid marks all over his body.”
“His tongue was dismembered and shoved down his throat.”
“The victim’s penis was shoved in his gluteal region.”
“Body parts were found scattered around the victim.”
“Yea, I would include some torture scenes but I have no idea how to write a good one or any ideas for torture.”
Slade shrugs and tilts his head lightly. “Cutting off his dick and shoving it up the ass is a creative one.”
The tears all of a sudden stop and I look at my door, waiting, trying to convince myself why going into Slade’s room would be a good idea.
How going into his room would make all of this thinking go away.
It can’t be true.
Slade wouldn’t do that.
He wouldn’t keep this from me.
I don’t think as I get out of bed with robotic movements and go straight for his room.
My whole body shakes and my vision is impaired as I try to focus and stay calm.
I stare at the door knob, my hand hesitating before I just say fuck it and twist the knob, pushing the door open.
It’s dark in his room.
Everything is black.
His bed is in the center of the room with black silk sheets and a black comforter.
He has a desk and a bookshelf on one side. I walk towards it, seeing if I can find anything.
His desk has his laptop, pens, paper, and other supplies, all neatly put together like he’s some sort of psychopath.
My eyes go to his bookshelf and all of my books are there. I furrow my eyebrows and grab one of the books.
Why would he have my books here even though he has them on the bookshelf in the living room?
I flip through the pages and find all kinds of notes.
Notes on every single page, trying to connect the stories I write to me.
As I’m flipping through, I find a photograph.
I pluck it out and it’s a picture of me on the street.
I’m walking home from work while reading.
The book drops from my hand and a tear falls from my eye.
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
What the actual fuck?
I back away and stare at the other side of his room.
One of the doors leads to the bathroom and the other, I’m assuming, is his closet.
I open the door to his clothes and find an average closet. He has all of his clothes neatly organized by colors, mainly black, white, and gray, some blue shirts.
He has a dresser in the middle of his closet.
The drawers are filled with regular stuff like underwear, socks, belts, and very expensive watches.
When I get to the last drawer it’s locked with a passcode.
I try random numbers but none of them work. I put in the numbers of my birthday and my heart drops when it pops open.
I open the drawer and I see everything he’s hiding from me.
He’s a liar.
All he did was lie.
And he did it so well.