Chapter Four
Oh, my.
Oh, my my my.
I clamp my hand over my mouth, barely trapping the squeal that bubbles up when I spot a folded piece of paper on his porch step, ‘To my little shadow’ scrawled across it.
My chest flutters wildly, breath hitching as my feet drum against the damp earth. I squirm in the dirt, every nerve alive with a single, electric thought.
He left me a note.
Oh, my god.
He left a freaking note.
A rush of heat floods me, leaving my head spinning. What could this possibly mean? He’s never done anything like this. My excitement stabs so sharply it almost aches.
I still.
The world goes silent as I stare at the note.
Oh.
Oh, no.
My stomach plunges, the ground yawning open beneath me. Maybe this isn’t good at all. He’s not supposed to write me back. That’s not how our relationship works. I watch from the shadows, and he pretends not to notice. That’s the rule. That’s the balance.
Why is he changing things now?
A cold shiver snakes down my spine. What if the note tells me to stay away?
My lip trembles, breath snagging sharp in my throat. Never watching him again? The thought knots something inside me, tight and wrong.
It’s blasphemy.
Tomcat’s never written me a letter before. Not stalker me, but Marigold me.
A streak of fire slices through my stomach, fierce and possessive, coiling tighter as it spreads. Am I…jealous?
I giggle softly, the sound muffled against my hand. How silly to be envious of myself.
My fingers drum restlessly against my leg, betraying my urge to snake my hand through the porch slats, snatch the note, press it to my chest, and drink in his scent.
That probably wouldn’t be smart.
My eyes dart through the darkness, the house looming close overhead. My pulse hammers in my ears. I force my hand to stay put, muscles quivering with restraint.
Right?
But…
He did write it for me.
So, that means it’s mine.
The thought lands possessively in my chest, anchoring me even as my pulse races. Before I leave my hiding place beneath the porch, I go still and listen. The wind is calm. The animals are silent. Nothing stirs. Nothing breathes.
Except me.
My heart pounds so violently against my ribs that I am sure it echoes through the night, giving me away to anyone listening. I flatten my palm over my chest, desperate to quiet it.
It doesn’t.
Something furry crawls over my hand.
My breath freezes. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, fighting a scream that claws at my throat. My muscles coil, every instinct shrieking move, move, move.
Staring down a monster intent on killing me? A walk in the park. Facing down an eight-legged creature trying to eat my face off for dinner? Nope. Absolutely not.
Torch the house. Problem solved.
When I was little, Dad always took care of them for me. He’d remind me that fear was natural, but cruelty was not. Respect their lives, he’d say. They have their world, I have mine. I’m cool with that. We can share the same air, just not the same corners.
I only let myself breathe when the spider finally decides I’m not worth its trouble and scurries off. My shoulders slump, the tension leaving me in a trembling wave.
Just to be sure, I slip my phone from my hoodie pocket and open the secret app. Four camera feeds blossom across the screen, washing my face in a chill blue glow.
Living room.
Kitchen.
Guest room.
Bedroom.
Each room sits empty, so I swipe to the next set of feeds, hungry for more angles, more proof.
Back.
Front.
Garage.
Nothing stirs. No eyes catch me as I watch his place.
It took years to master slipping into Tomcat’s security system without leaving a trace. The club’s people are freaking smart, which makes it almost laughable that I’ve stayed invisible this long.
The thought makes something delicate and breakable twist tight inside my chest.
I don’t know who I’d be without this. Watching him fills a hollow I can't name.
Satisfied, I close the app and tuck my phone away. I pull the balaclava into place, adjust my hood, and pull my gloves tight until the pressure steadies me. The fence panel I carved out years ago slides aside with barely a whisper, and I army crawl through.
This isn’t my favorite hiding place. It’s cramped, damp, and achingly lonely, but it’s the nearest I can get to him without shattering the boundary we both pretend is real.
My eyes fall to the note again, and my feet move before I can stop them, pulling me closer. A shiver races up my arm as my gloved fingers close around the folded paper.
Too much fabric.
Too much distance.
The barrier makes my jaw clench. I scowl, tempted for a heartbeat to rip off the gloves and feel it for real.
Stupid.
Tomcat’s watched me work often enough that he’d recognize my hands anywhere.
No. Safer to keep them on.
The barrier is the price I pay until I’m ready for him to know it’s me.
I bring the note to my face and breathe in, but the mask steals it all—his scent, his nearness—everything trapped behind layers meant to keep me hidden.
Disappointing.
I stall, afraid of what the note might hold. Tomcat wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me. He sees me. He likes it when I watch him. He wouldn’t tell me to stop.
Right?
My stomach knots anyway, twisting the air inside me tight.
Pull your big girl britches on, Marigold.
I would if I had any on, so I’ll just have to pretend.
I draw in a slow breath and hold it as I unfold the paper, like that might keep anything ugly from bleeding off the page and into me.
My little shadow…
Okay.
That’s not so bad.
A low, thrilling hum vibrates through my body at the claiming title, settling deep and warm in my chest. Little shadow. The words curl around me, possessive and intimate, and my shoes dig into the dirt as if I need the ground to keep me still.
I like that.
No. I absolutely adore that.
A delighted shiver runs through me, excitement crackling electric and fierce as I read on.
What a little voyeur you are.
Do you like watching me from the dark?
Yes. Yes, I do.
The answer surges, swift and shameless.
Do you like knowing everything about me while I know nothing about you?
That doesn’t seem very fair to me.
A spark of awareness races down my spine.
You say I’m yours, but you can’t claim someone without consent, little shadow.
Tell me…are you brave enough to come into the light, or will you continue to watch as I touch everyone else?
The paper crumples in my fist as rage explodes through my veins, scorching and breathless. My fingers clench, knuckles throbbing while the words echo in my mind.
He dares threaten me with other women?
My jaw locks, teeth grinding as something fierce and possessive claws up my throat. Why would he do this? Does he enjoy testing me?
My hands tremble as I jam the note into my pocket, heart pounding so hard my vision blurs. I ache to unleash chaos, to shatter rules, to do something reckless enough to finally be noticed.
Nope.
I force my fingers open, breath measured until the fire coils into a tight, controlled burn.
He won’t unmask me that easily.
Tricky little devil.
Silly man, thinking he can rile me up and not pay for it later.
I reach up to pat my head, forgetting the balaclava and hood for a moment, then tug the hem of my hoodie straight, smoothing myself back into place. Control restored. Mask secure.
I kiss two gloved fingers and press them to the porch post, leaving a silent promise in the dark.
Until next time, my love.
Tomcat asked me once why I always walk everywhere. I told him it was because I enjoy the exercise. That’s not the whole truth.
I learned a long time ago that walking is the art of vanishing. Cars are quick, but they leave trails. On foot, you dissolve into the crowd, just another note in the city’s hum. Invisible, if you know how.
What no one knows is that I keep a beat-up truck parked somewhere in the city.
Not close to home. Never close. I move it every few days, just enough that it never draws attention.
I also keep a few duffel bags stashed around Coral Cay—cash, IDs, a couple of weapons—spread out so I can move quickly if it’s needed.
It’s not just insurance. It’s preparation.
It’s survival. Maybe it’s even fear, though I’d never admit that out loud.
I haven’t seen Damon since I came here. Haven’t felt him either.
But that doesn’t mean he isn’t looking. It just means he hasn’t found me yet.
When that day comes, I need to know I’ll move without hesitation.
I want to be ready, but I’m not sure I ever will be.
Leaving all the people I love behind is unfathomable.
I’m passing Rest in Ink when an itch blooms between my shoulder blades, sharp and insistent.
My stride doesn’t change. Inconspicuously, I let my gaze skim windows, catching reflections instead of faces.
There are too many people out today. The street teems with tourists and locals, a restless tide that blurs the line between familiar and stranger.
That’s the curse of a tourist town. Anyone can disappear, but danger hides just as easily.
At the new vintage boutique, I feign interest in the display while tracking the river of bodies in the glass. The itch persists. No one lingers. No one’s gaze sticks.
Still uneasy, I slip back into motion, my steps quickening on instinct. I thread through the crowd, shifting speed and direction, until I reach Pound of Fresh. Beside the laundromat, a narrow, shadowed alley offers a discreet way to double back.
The bell tinkles as I slip inside. I lift a hand automatically when Katya calls out a greeting.
“Hi. Bye. Talk later,” I chirp, already moving.
I cut through the rows of machines and push through the side door, breaking into a run the second it closes behind me. I stop at the end of the alley and wait, breathing quietly, muscles coiled, eyes scanning for any movement that doesn’t belong.
Nothing. No one slows. No one pauses, confused about where I am. No one moves wrong.
That doesn’t mean I imagined it. Just because I don’t see them now doesn’t mean someone wasn’t following me before.
I frown, unsettled. Daytime is a stupid time to tail someone. Too many witnesses. Too easy to be noticed.
That’s the point. The thrill lies in the risk, in knowing you could be caught at any moment.
With a quiet sigh, I slip from the alley into the crush of the sidewalk, letting the city’s noise engulf me. I am just another moving shape, a face lost in the blur.
My fingers find the note in my pocket. I curl it tight in my palm, anchoring myself with its weight, its promise that he is real.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
He truly is mine.
Sure. He doesn’t actually know my identity, but that’s just a small obstacle in the larger game, really.
I’m still riding that thought when I smack into something solid, the impact jarring through my shoulder and down my spine.
“Ouch,” I mutter, irritated more than injured.
“Pay better attention next time,” a catty familiar voice snaps.
I glance up and let out a sigh. “Oh. It’s just you.”
Tomcat’s parade of hookups is so endless, I stopped bothering to remember their names long ago.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the little bestie,” she says, eyes darting around eagerly, searching.
“He’s not here,” I tell her, dry and bored.
She scoffs. “Surprising. Wherever Tomcat is, you’re like this little puppy following him everywhere.”
A slow smile creeps up my mouth. “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
Her brows draw together. “What?”
“It bothers you.”
“What does?”
“That I get to be around him and you don’t.
” I tilt my head, studying her like a curiosity.
“That I could call him right now and he’d come running.
But if you called? He’ll send you straight to voicemail.
” I snap my fingers as if a thought suddenly occurred to me.
“Oh, shoot. That’s right. You don’t have his phone number. ”
Her lips thin. “I have his number.”
“Alright, here’s an idea.” I whip out my phone, grinning. “You call him first, then I’ll try. Let’s turn it into a game of He loves me, He loves me not.”
“I’ve fucked him,” she snaps.
A sharp, delighted laugh escapes me. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’ve joined the club with half the city.
” I lean in, savoring her flinch. “That doesn’t make you special.
Just another name on his discard pile.” My smile widens.
“He’s Tomcat. The scent of heat, and he’s ready to pounce.
To him, a vagina is a vagina. Do yourself a favor, babe.
Stop chasing after a man who used you to empty his balls.
You’re far too pretty to look this desperate. ”
Then I boop her nose, gentle and patronizing.
“You’re crazy,” the woman says, rubbing the spot like it burned.
I laugh. “Ε, προφαν??.”
Uh, obviously.
She scoffs again. “Whatever. I’ll be the one laughing when you’re still friends with him years from now. What’s it been? Four years now?”
The air shifts, a chill like a blade tracing my spine.
Oh. That actually hurts in a way I didn’t expect.
My fingers slip into my pocket and curl around my knife before I fully register the movement. I flip it open, then close it, the soft click loud in the space between us as I stare at her.
How dare she say something so vile?
The audacity of this bitch.
See, this is what happens when Tomcat warms his wiener in random buns. He never knows when to keep it in his pants. I mean, look at how he acted at the diner just because I didn’t fall at his feet when he flirted with me.
Did he honestly expect me to be jealous over his usual antics? His spark plug was faulty, that’s all. How tragic for him.
He’s a ho, always has been, always will be. That’s just one more reason he’s in the friend zone.
Another notch in that belt, I will not be.
Oh, no.
Nope.
I’m aiming for forever with my pretty monster.
A choked sound pulls me back. The woman is staring at the knife now, eyes wide, feet already edging away.
“Oh. Ohhhh.” I giggle, genuinely amused. “No need to look so scared. It’s just protection.” I close the blade and slide it back in my pocket, all smiles. “See? No need to look at me like I’m going to cut your tongue out or something.”
She spins on her heel and hurries away, muttering under her breath.
I watch her go, head tilted.
Huh.
Was it something I said?