Chapter 10
Aimee
I sprawled on Rhett and Troy’s couch, too exhausted to even keep my eyes open but too wired to sleep. My body felt like it had been hollowed out, scraped clean of everything but fear and fatigue.
We’d spent most of the day answering police questions, filing reports, and gathering evidence. Between giving them access to all my devices so they could trace the digital footprint of my internet bully and searching every inch of my apartment for snakes, no part of my life had gone untouched.
And my phone had shattered completely when I saw the snakes inside the box and chucked it at them.
Someone had targeted me, had found my safe space and deliberately turned it into a nightmare. I couldn’t go back there. Not tonight. Not even with assurances that every single snake had been captured and removed by animal control.
“Water or whiskey?” Troy asked, hovering over me with two glasses, one in each hand.
His dark eyes were soft with concern, though I could still see the lingering tension in his shoulders.
He’d been jumpy all day, checking corners and under furniture like he expected serpents to materialize from thin air.
“Both?” I managed a weak smile. “Mix them.”
“That’s disgusting,” Rhett called from the kitchen, where he was aggressively chopping vegetables, the rhythmic thunk of his knife against the cutting board comforting. “Get her the good whiskey, at least. The one we’ve been saving.”
Troy set both glasses on the coffee table and disappeared into their liquor cabinet, returning with an amber bottle that looked expensive. “One finger or two?”
“The whole hand,” I muttered, and was rewarded with Rhett’s burst of laughter from the kitchen.
“That’s our girl,” he said. Something warm bloomed in my chest at the casual claim of possession. Our girl. It was stupid how good that felt, especially today when everything else felt like shit.
Troy poured a generous amount and handed it to me. I took a sip, wincing at the burn but appreciating the immediate warmth that spread through my chest. For a minute, I let myself daydream about what it would be like to give in and let these two take care of me.
It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Two men in my life always fixing things, always showing up with food, holding me, running their big firefighter hands all over my body. I took another sip of the whiskey, letting the burn chase away the filthy thoughts.
There was a soft knock on the door, and I watched from my seat as Troy answered it, talking to the officer from animal control.
“You’re sure you got all of them? I don’t want one trying to murder me when we take Aimee back to her apartment.”
“We’re sure,” the officer said. “And I don’t think any of them were trying to murder anyone. They were just scared. But once we realized two of the snakes were venomous, we searched thoroughly. We think they came from a small reptile zoo in Colorado Springs.”
“Fuck. See, I told you guys!” Troy yelled over his shoulder at us. “Poisonous death noodles!”
I stood and walked over to stand next to Troy. “So what does that mean for the case?”
“The fact that the snakes he sent were dangerous makes this a more serious crime. We have some good people tracing his digital footprint right now, and they took the box back to evidence to analyze it. We’ll find this guy, ma’am.
” “Jordan, the guy from the apartment downstairs, mentioned some zoo guy when he was ranting in the hall,” Troy said.
“Do you think he saw the stalker?” The officer pulled out a little notepad and wrote that down.
“I’ll make sure Detective Joyce knows about that.
We’ll be questioning people who may have seen the suspect. ”
“Thanks, officer,” I said, smiling at him. “And thanks for making sure my apartment is safe to return to.”
He nodded, gave me a little salute, and headed toward the elevator. As we watched the last of the policemen clear out, I eyed the door to my apartment, not sure yet that I wanted to go back.
The snake sender was still out there.
There was one small relief. The guy who’d been pounding on my door had been arrested—not because there was any evidence that he was the stalker. They’d found enough drugs in his apartment to make it clear that he was more than just using.
Troy closed the door and turned back to Rhett. “I KNEW IT,” Troy said, eyes wide. “I told you they were death machines! But no, everyone’s like, ‘Oh, they’re more afraid of us than we are of them.’”
“I think that still applies,” Rhett corrected absently from the kitchen. “Most snakes only attack when they feel threatened.”
“Thank you, Wikipedia,” Troy rolled his eyes, but there was fondness in his voice. “The point is, they were danger pasta and I was right to be terrified.”
Despite everything, I felt a laugh bubble up in my throat. “Danger pasta? Really?”
“Venomous legless hate worms?” Troy offered. “Evil floor ropes? Pick your poison.”
“Venom,” Rhett corrected with a grin.
“You’re ridiculous,” I said, but my smile felt more genuine than it had all day.
“That’s why you like me,” Troy winked, then glanced over at Rhett. “Both of you.”
Rhett looked at us as he dished the food onto plates, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, well, it’s a close thing sometimes.”
I sat at the table, letting them dote on me, listening to their easy banter. They’d been like this all day—keeping things light, making jokes, distracting me from the horror of what had happened. From the realization that someone who hated me enough to send me venomous snakes knew where I lived.
“The cops will find him,” Rhett said as he took a seat across from me, nudging my foot with his under the table. “They’ve got your laptop, they’re tracing the package, they’ve got the note. This psycho isn’t exactly subtle.”
“I know,” I said, stirring my food around on my plate, suddenly not so hungry. “I just keep thinking about how he found my address. Like, did he follow me home? Has he been watching me?”
Troy stopped with his fork an inch from his mouth and made a noise low in his throat, almost a growl. “If I ever get my hands on him…”
“You’ll hold him down while I beat the shit out of him,” Rhett finished, reaching over to squeeze Troy’s knee.
“My big strong protectors,” I said, trying for teasing but landing somewhere closer to grateful.
“Damn right,” Troy nodded. “And since we’ve established that we were right all along about you needing us—”
“Did I say that?”
“You’re staying here until they catch this guy.”
“It’s my choice, Troy.” But the thought of going back there, of sleeping in the apartment where those creatures had been slithering just hours ago, made my stomach churn.
Rhett set his fork down and reached for my hand. “Aims, you’ll be doing us a favor. If you go back to your place, neither of us will sleep a wink imagining some asshole showing up at your apartment with more snakes. Or worse.”
I shivered. “Fine, just for tonight. While the adrenaline wears off.”
“You can have my room,” Troy said as he wolfed down the rest of his meal. “I’ve got clean sheets and everything.”
“I can’t kick you out of your bed,” I protested. “I’ll take the couch.”
Rhett shoveled a huge forkful of food into his mouth, shaking his head. “Troy wants to be in my bed, anyway. He’s determined to fight with me over who is the little spoon.”
Troy laughed, stealing a dinner roll off Rhett’s plate and eating that, too. “You’re just jealous because I’m better at it than you.”
“I’m six-foot-three, you dick. I’m not built to be the little spoon,” Rhett said, as if Troy wasn’t nearly the same height.
“Yet you whine until I let you be it anyway,” Troy shot back, and Rhett’s face split into a grin.
“True. Because my boyfriend is accommodating like that.” Rhett’s voice was casual, but I didn’t miss the way Troy’s eyes widened slightly at the label, or the pleased flush that spread across his face before he quickly masked it.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a saint,” Troy said, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the hallway. “Come see your five-star accommodations.”
“She barely ate her food!” Rhett protested.
“It was delicious, but I’m not that hungry. Nervous stomach, I guess. Sorry to waste it.”
Rhett snorted. “With Troy in the house, food is never wasted.”
“He’s lying. He eats even more than me. Your leftovers will be gone before you even come back into the kitchen.”
I let myself be led through their apartment, feeling oddly light despite the weight of the day. There was something so normal about their bickering, so comforting about the way they moved around each other with easy familiarity.
Troy’s room was neater than I’d expected, with a queen-sized bed covered in a dark blue comforter. A few framed photos sat on the dresser—most featuring Troy with various combinations of his enormous family, a couple with him and Rhett at what looked like fire department events.
“I’m putting clean sheets on,” Troy announced, stripping the bed with efficient movements. “These are probably fine, but you deserve the good sheets.”
“The ones with the really high thread count,” Rhett agreed, appearing in the doorway with Cheeto in his arms. The orange kitten was purring loudly, little paws kneading at Rhett’s forearm. “I’ll bring Olive in too. Kittens are scientifically proven to be the best therapy.”
“Is that so?” I asked, unable to stop my smile as Cheeto wiggled free and bounded over to investigate my feet.
“Absolutely,” Rhett nodded seriously. “I read an article on some website.”
I bent down to scoop up the kitten, who immediately started exploring my shoulder with curious paws. “Well, if some website says so.”
Troy reappeared with fresh sheets and proceeded to make the bed with military precision, smoothing out every wrinkle with exaggerated care. “Hospital corners,” he explained when he caught me watching. “My mom was serious about bed-making.”
“One of ten kids and she still had time to teach you that?” I asked, genuinely impressed.