Chapter 15 #2
“He thought the streams gave Travis more material to fixate on.” The justification sounds hollow now, with Sebastian gone and Travis still sending packages. “It was supposed to be temporary until they found him.”
“They?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Sebastian said he had resources.”
Saint moves closer, looming over me. “And you believed him? You let him tell you to stop working?”
“It made sense at the time.” I drop the pillow and stand, needing to feel less vulnerable under Saint’s scrutiny. “We thought if I disappeared from view, Travis might show his hand.”
“We.” The word drips with skepticism.
“Yes, we.” I snap, temper flaring. “We were a team, Saint. Or, at least, I thought we were.”
“Right.” Saint picks up the photo again, studying the cruel words scrawled across it. “And how long has it been since your channel went dark?”
“Almost two weeks.”
“How many of these gifts did you get before you stopped streaming?”
“One.”
“And since then?”
The trap in his questions becomes clear. “Three.”
“So stopping didn’t help.” Saint places the photo back on the table. “And instead of scaring this guy off, it pissed him off enough to escalate.”
“Apparently.”
“So you gave up your income, your independence, on Sebastian’s advice,” Saint continues, “and now you’re broke, alone, and still being stalked.”
Hearing it laid out makes me feel stupid. “You think I’m not aware?”
Saint sighs, running a hand through his short hair. “Why’d you quit camming, Micah? Really? Because the stalker scared you, or because that Alpha told you to?”
The question cuts close to a truth I’ve been avoiding. “Sebastian asked me to stop.”
“And you couldn’t say no to him.” It’s not a question.
I cross my arms to shield myself from his disapproval. “As I said, it was temporary. Until Travis was caught.”
“Sure it was.” Saint paces a tight circle, boot heels striking the floor hard enough to vibrate through my soles. “And did Security Consultant Boyfriend have any luck tracking down your stalker since telling you to shut down your income?”
His bitterness scrapes my raw nerves.
“Don’t bother getting angry.” I turn away, facing the kitchen where coffee rings stain the counter. “It’s over, anyway. He disappeared five days ago.”
“What the fuck?” Saint’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, his fingers hooking into the collar of my T-shirt and yanking it down to expose the full circle of teeth marks embedded in my nape.
The air hisses between his teeth as he stares at the Mark.
“What the fuck is this?” he repeats in a frightening whisper.
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. “Saint—”
“That motherfucker Marked you?” he explodes in a roar. “I’ll fucking kill him!”
His face contorts with rage, flushing crimson as the veins in his neck stand out. He releases my shirt to pace, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides as if imagining them around Sebastian’s throat.
“You can’t kill him.” I tug the collar back into place, my palm covering the Mark. “I wanted it, Saint.”
He whirls on me. “Bullshit! You’ve known him, what, a month? And during your Heat? When you can’t consent?”
My voice rises to match his. “I invited him over for my Heat.”
“And did you consent to him fucking off right after?” Saint stalks closer, backing me into the wall. “Did you consent to him Marking you before abandoning you?”
The question hits like a physical blow. “No.”
“No,” he repeats, softening. “He claimed you like you were property, then left you alone with a stalker circling. Who does that, Micah?”
My mind flashes to the note Sebastian left, his horror-filled voice filling my memory through the haze of my Heat.
He left, yes, and I’m furious. But I know it’s because he’s blaming himself for what happened.
He thinks he took advantage of me, and he’s probably hurting even more than I am right now.
Which doesn’t make it easier to bear.
My throat tightens. “I’ll handle it.”
Saint scoffs, gesturing around the apartment with a sweeping arm. “Is this what you call handling it? Sitting here moping?”
“I’m not moping!” The defensive words burst from me.
“Oh, yeah?” Saint picks up an empty takeout container, waving it in my face. “So, what do you call this? What about those?” He points to the pile of unwashed clothes peeking from under the couch. “Or that?” The overflowing sink comes next.
“I call it a rough week,” I snap, snatching the container from his hand and crushing it in my fist. “Not everyone copes by punching walls like you do.”
“At least punching walls accomplishes something.” Saint grabs the trash bag I’d started filling and knots the top with violent efficiency. “Better than whatever this is.”
“What do you want from me?” I clench a fist over the knot in my stomach. “To stream again? With that psycho watching?”
“I want you to do something,” Saint counters. “Anything besides sitting here feeling sorry for yourself while a stalker terrorizes you and your Alpha ghosts you.”
“He’s not ghosting me.” The lie tastes sour on my tongue. “He left a note.”
Saint barks out a laugh. “A note? What are we, in high school? ‘Sorry I can’t make the dance, Jenny?’”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like?” Saint moves into my space again, forcing me to tilt my chin up. “Tell me, Micah. Explain how an Alpha claims you during your Heat, then leaves a fucking note and disappears for five days.”
My palm connects with his chest, shoving him back a step. “My Heat came early. We didn’t have time to talk through everything like we should have. It was my bad!”
“The fuck it was! You didn’t do anything wrong.” Saint catches my wrist before I can shove him again. “He did. Now what are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do?” The question burns with helplessness. “He’s logged out of the security system. He won’t answer his phone. He’s gone.”
“So that’s it?” Saint releases my wrist with a disgusted sound. “You’re giving up? Letting them both win?”
“I’m not—”
“So, what are you going to do about it?” Saint challenges again. “About him, about the stalker, about your life?”
“I don’t know!”
“Yes, you do.” Saint steps closer, his face inches from mine. “You’re Micah fucking Barnes. You’ve survived every shitty hand life’s dealt you. You built a business from nothing. You’ve tracked down stalkers before.”
His words pierce the fog of self-pity I’ve been wrapped in for days.
“So what’s it gonna be?” Saint asks, softer now. “You rolling over, or are you fighting back?”
My temper flares brighter. “I’m not rolling over.”
His eyebrow lifts in challenge. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!” I step into his space now, chest bumping his.
“So, what are you going to do about it?” The question isn’t mocking or challenging this time.
I stomp to my coat closet, pushing aside winter boots and a vacuum cleaner I’ve used maybe twice. Behind an ancient mop bucket sits a battered red toolbox Saint left after he attempted to teach me basic home repairs.
The metal handle feels cool and solid in my grip as I haul it out, the tools inside rattling. I flip open the lid, rifling through wrenches and pliers until my fingers close around a flathead screwdriver.
I hold it up, the metal catching the light. “For a start, we’re taking down all his cameras.”
Saint’s mouth curves into a slow, approving smile. “Now we’re talking.”
The screwdriver feels right in my hand, its weight an extension of my newfound determination. “Afterward, we’re paying Sebastian Rockford a visit.”
“Sebastian Rockford?” Saint repeats, his expression shifting. “As in, the Rockfords?”
I raise my chin. “Yes. And he lives at the family estate.”
Saint whistles. “You set your sights high with your Alpha.”
“I have excellent taste.” I twirl the screwdriver between my fingers. “And my Alpha just needs a little hard love.”
Stepping onto a chair, I reach for the camera mounted in the corner of my living room.
The first screw comes loose. “Grab a box. We have a delivery to make.”
If my Alpha won’t come to me, then I will go to my Alpha.