You Can’t Run

Chapter 1

One

Zee

Anxiety is a ruthless bitch.

It defies logic.

Ignites fear.

Persistent. Reckless. All-consuming. It’s the most invasive motherfucker I know.

And the timing is the worst part of it all.

The moonlight shines through the large arched windows, hardly guiding my naked stumble to the vintage sofa. All the money in the world, and Daddy Warbucks couldn’t spring for curtains. Add that to the long list of things he didn’t want, including me.

The velvet cushions catch my hard fall, the old springs creaking beneath me. Drey’s snores fill the air. A twisted reminder of my mistake.

Don’t sleep with your ex. I know better than that. But there was that motherfucking anxiety. And it was loud.

You’re wrong.

You’re broken.

This time will be different.

This time, he won’t fall asleep like a selfish sack of shit the second he gets off.

Mixing pills and alcohol didn’t help, but that’s the thing about me. I make stupid decisions.

Pulling on my headphones, I hit ‘play’ on the newest track by VEIL.

A dark synth melody drowns out Drey’s snoring, my muscles softening as I sink further into the cushion.

The grainy taste of cheap vodka sticks to my tongue as I stretch my legs across the sofa and slide my hands up my bare thighs.

They’re thicker now than I’m used to. Wider.

Is that why Drey fell asleep? My changing body?

Fuck him. Focus.

Closing my eyes, I slide my hands higher, drifting over my bare stomach.

I ignore the unfamiliar fullness, focusing instead on the warmth of my skin.

It’s cold as fuck in my father’s living room.

My living room. Until I can afford heating, it’ll stay that way.

At least Mo supplies me with enough data from her job to find some semblance of comfort in this empty, old place.

A shiver crawls through me.

Think horny thoughts. Think horny thoughts.

My hands glide over my chest, feeling the extra weight from my breasts. They’re bigger, too, and that’s hard to hate. Still, my mouth twists when my fingers graze over my peaks, like my own touch is foreign.

Along with pills, alcohol and my anxiety cocktail, there’s another reason I slept with my ex. I’d tell you, but I’m too embarrassed.

Shaking my head, I forgo this sad display of foreplay and slide my hand between my thighs.

Thud!

My body stills.

Cree-eak!

“Drey?” Lifting my headphones, I wait for a response.

I get one. More snores from upstairs.

Rolling my eyes, I settle back into the sofa.

It’s hard to ignore that sinking feeling as I pull my panties to the side, my fingers brushing my sensitive skin. I’d kill for Drey to watch me show off for him. To have him crave me. Savour me. But he’s not interested.

Dragging my two fingers over my slit, my mind drifts, latching onto things I’d rather forget.

Think horny thoughts.

Think horny thoughts.

You can’t. You’re broken.

My hand slams into the space next to me, dust flying up from the cushion. Pathetic.

Thud!

My head shifts to my right, squinting through the darkness.

Nothing’s there.

This is just the old house, Zee.

Don’t be dramatic.

Don’t stop. You deserve to feel good.

With another breath, I keep going.

I focus on what it felt like to have Drey’s muscled body on mine. His looks aren’t the problem: tall, inked, a scar across his eyebrow screaming danger. He’s the poster boy for bad decisions and everything I shouldn’t fall for. Yet, I did.

CREE-EEAK!

Pushing up on my elbows, my eyes narrow into the darkness again.

The dining room stretches between me and the kitchen, but the only thing I can make out are vague shapes and deep shadows.

“Hello?” My hand comes to my chest, my heartbeat picking up.

I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m much more afraid of what happens within it.

A shadow shifts quickly.

My head snaps to it.

The fuck?

I jerk up some more, my sudden movement pushing my phone off the cushion before it clatters to the floor. The noise cracks through the silence, loud enough to make my heart pound. My gaze stays focused on the far end of the room.

How high am I?

Blinking, a large dark figure takes shape, right by the dining room table.

I can’t make out a face.

It’s definitely not Drey, the fucker’s still snoring.

You’re losing it.

New home. New neighbourhood. New anxieties.

“Chill out, Zee,” I mutter to myself. “Don’t prove to him you’re crazy.”

That’s Drey’s conclusion to everything I do. I’ll admit he has good reason, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I’m about to sink back into the cushion when the shadow moves an inch towards me.

I freeze.

The room slows, the heat on my neck crawling down my spine.

A car passes by the window, its headlights illuminating the room.

Oh, fuck.

My stomach twists, my hands turning to fists.

It’s human.

A man.

An intruder.

It’s quick, but I see it.

A sharp jaw. Eyes set on me like I’m a painting in a gallery. Like he’s stood there for minutes trying to figure me out. Steady. Unwavering. Focused.

The light disappears, and so does his face.

He moves an inch closer.

Move, Zee!

When I push off the sofa, quick thuds slam against the old wooden floor. Heavy. Strong.

Determined.

“Oomph!”

And I run right into it.

Into him.

Leather and cedar enter my nose as his cold jacket cools my sweaty skin. It’s both familiar and foreign. Warm and fresh. I don’t know what I was expecting from an intruder, but it wasn’t this.

“Breathe.”

The voice that comes from this stranger stiffens my muscles and rolls right through me. Low, growly and demanding.

Smooth. Stern. Steady.

Heat curls low in my stomach.

“You have five seconds to get the fuck out,” I say, forcing a steady voice. This house was willed to me and me only. “My boyfriend’s upstairs. He has a gun.”

“No. He doesn’t.”

He steps forward, his chest colliding with mine.

I stumble back, a shiver weaving down my spine. “Get out. Or I’ll call the cops.”

“That’s jailtime.” He points his leather-covered thumb behind him. “For you.”

My eyes follow his thumb to the stack of drugs on the large dining table, faintly illuminated by the moonlight. Weed, cocaine, pills of all kinds in baggies or wrapped in plastic.

My chest sinks.

Drey is literally going to be the death of me.

My body buzzes, my heart a pattering mess.

This is it.

He’s going to kill you.

He’s going to kill you with your deadbeat ex-boyfriend sleeping upstairs.

“Breathe.” His gloved hand presses flat against my bare chest, firm enough that my breath escapes me.

He steps forward, pushing me back.

Another step. Then another, until the back of my knees hit the edge of the sofa.

With one small, effortless push, air leaves my lungs as I fall back onto the cushion.

My hands grip the edge of the sofa as I try to steady my breath. But I can’t. Either he kills me, or I stop breathing from panic.

He steps away. A cold wave passes over me.

I turn my head to follow him.

The moonlight shines into the room enough that I can still see his large, broad outline as he settles into the chair. He leans back, crossing his legs as if he owns the room.

Was this a lie?

Is this house really mine?

Did I walk into a trap?

Am I about to die?

“Tell me three things you can hear.”

What?!

My eyes move towards the front door.

It’s far, but if I run fast enough, I’ll outrun him. Maybe.

My eyes shift towards the stairs.

I can only make out the railing in the darkness, but it’s closer.

“Tell me,” the intruder urges, his voice closer.

There’s an extra grit to the way he speaks, like he’s putting it on. Like he’s Batman protecting his Bruce Wayne.

“Don’t move. Don’t scream. It won’t be good. Three. Things.”

Just do what he says, Zee.

“Sn-snoring,” I say, hating how my voice shakes.

“Again.”

Another car passes the window, shining more light into the room. It’s enough for me to catch another glimpse.

I still can’t see his face, but I can see how he fills up the entire chair. He’s so tall that the chair looks as small as I feel.

“Again,” he repeats. Firmer.

“A-a car.”

“One more.”

“Your voice.”

“Good girl.” His praise lands low in my stomach, heat spreading on my skin. “Now, continue.”

VEIL’s song still comes from my headphones, the melody distant and muffled.

My breathing slows. “Music.”

“No. Continue to touch yourself.”

Heat stings my neck, my cheeks on fire.

Wh—Was he watching me?

I don’t move.

He doesn’t either.

I don’t speak, and he stays silent.

He settles into his seat some more, the springs squeaking under his weight.

I can’t fully see them, but I can feel his eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.

He’s comfortable. Patient.

Heat builds in my core.

Then it begins: the onslaught of thoughts that never lead me anywhere.

He’s going to kill you.

At least stall him.

But you can’t move.

He won’t let you move.

What if he kills you?

Should you scream for Drey?

He’ll call the cops.

Touch yourself.

Another car passes by, breaking the loud silence between us. Its beams light the room a little more.

Narrowing my eyes, I try to see his face, anything to tell me if he’s familiar.

Day of the Dead.

He wears a mask painted like a sugar skull, flowers and colourful lines decorating half of a skeleton’s face. A motorcycle mask. One that’s never been so beautifully unsettling.

My eyes follow the curves of the design to his eyes.

As the light fades, so does my view.

Whoever the fuck this is isn’t leaving. Not until I do what he says.

Without wanting another moment in this heavy silence, I pull my shaky hand between my legs.

My cheeks burn when my fingers find my centre, a jolt firing up my core. A traitorous pulse comes from beneath the fabric of my panties.

“Good, good girl.”

His voice lands close as I move my fingers against my clit.

“Not so fast.” His next command is low and steady, like he’s guiding a surgery. “Circles. Slowly.”

I slow my hand, aware that he’s watching every movement. Every twitch of my body. He’s not hurting me. He’s not threatening me. He just… watches.

“Relax,” he says, his voice like velvet. “Enjoy.”

My hips move, grinding against my fingers.

Heat floods my body as my legs fall apart.

This doesn’t feel like it did earlier.

My body isn’t cold. It’s not distant.

This feels … electrifying.

“Faster,” he says.

I follow his command without thinking, a flutter in my stomach that slides between my legs. My body forces me to grind harder against my finger, my clit screaming for more.

“Mouth.”

My hand stills.

“Wet them.”

Letting out a shaky exhale, I bring my fingers to my lips.

“That’s it.”

Saliva coats my fingers, my tongue running over them.

“Circles,” he growls. “Under your panties.”

My stomach clenches as my fingers fall to my waist. I drag them along the edge of my panties before I pull the fabric to the side.

“Good,” he says, his encouragement fuelling me. “Good girl.”

A small gasp escapes me when I slide my wet fingers over my swollen clit. Heat fills every inch of me as I move my fingers in circles again.

One careless brush between my slit tells me how wet I am. I don’t know if it’s my audience or his voice, but… this shouldn’t feel so good.

“Up and down,” he says.

Heat stings my cheeks as I follow his guidance, my body responding as if I know him. My hips stir, my back arching against the sofa. The more he guides me, the less I resist.

“Faster.” He leans closer, shadows in his eyes.

He doesn’t look at what he’s making me do. Instead, his masked face stares right at mine.

I follow his words, moving my fingers faster like some hypnotized junkie. Heat swells in my gut as a moan escapes me.

“Stop.”

“N-no!” The word leaves me, my eyes squeezing shut.

Fuck. What the fuck?

Did I really just say that?

My heart’s racing, but I can’t tell if it’s fear, desire, or embarrassment.

He chuckles, the vibrations from his laughter only fuelling the desire burning in my gut. “Circles.”

I don’t hesitate, relief hitting me as I continue moving my fingers over my slick clit. My muscles tense as something builds inside me, my hips rocking more and more.

He leans in closer, enough that I can smell peppermint on his breath. “Faster.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Faster, Angel.”

My head falls back, waves of pleasure washing over me. Ecstasy. Bliss.

“That’s it. Come for me.”

“Oh, my god,” I rasp, an earthquake coursing through me. “Oh my fucking god!”

I shatter. I crumble.

I fucking break.

His leather glove slaps over my mouth as I reach my peak. He muffles my loud moans against his covered palm. The leather is softer than I expected, a contrast to my hard, rolling orgasm.

Electricity surges through me until I’m a breathless mess.

His palm moves as my body jerks, riding out this feeling some more. Warm. Tingling.

Peace.

A wave of comfort moves through me as I drift into nothingness. Until there’s just me. And the man with the sugar skull mask.

A stranger I know nothing about.

So why does it feel like I should?