Chapter 4 #3
You’re all big talk for someone hiding behind a screen
His response is immediate.
Bratvabloodline
What if I weren’t? What if none of these were props and I wasn’t hiding?
This stops me cold.
The image of him stepping out of the shadows, commanding the space around him, is so vivid it makes me shiver.
God help me. I think I want him to prove it.
You’re overconfident. Arrogant. Guys like you are all the same
His reply comes so fast that I barely have time to breathe.
Bratvabloodline
And girls like you always pretend they don’t want to submit, that it’s all just a fantasy, until they’re on their knees, shaking, begging… it’s only arrogance if you can’t back it up, beautiful.
Oh god.
My breath catches. Damn him.
You’ve got quite the ego. Shame you don’t have the balls to prove it.
What am I doinggggggg? My mouth is dry, and my hands are shaking.
Bratvabloodline
Careful, little queen. That’s not a challenge you want to make. You’re making me very eager to prove how serious I am
There’s an ache between my legs I refuse to acknowledge as my fingers fly over the screen.
Oh, I’m shaking, I’m so scared. You, behind your phone, hiding in the shadows? Going to stop me? Please.
That’s it. I’m leaving him on read. I refuse to let him win this little…
game, or whatever it is he’s playing. I grab my phone, pick up the book I’m reading without showing the cover, and do a quick little video asking my readers if they are as impatient as I am to get to the real meat of the story, or is it just my mood?
I don’t even edit it this time. I usually like to edit the hell out of them.
I post, comment on the responses I got from my last post, and, against my wildly better judgment, make a few comments on the thirst trap he’s trying to bait me with.
Little do you know what I really wish for. But nice start. Color me intrigued...
I grin to myself and throw caution to the wind like an idiot, baiting him publicly.
How much of this is posing and how much could you actually deliver? Are you into the “touch her and die” vibes or is that only for fiction. “My wife?” or meh? Would you actually put your woman on a pedestal and treat her like a queen, or are you just here for the attention?
I bite my lip, toss my phone down, and go to make another cup of hot cocoa. My phone buzzes and buzzes, notification after notification coming through.
I really need to change those settings.
I hesitate. I know I should stop. Block him. Shut this down. But instead, I press deeper, unable to resist the pull.
I can’t help it. I click his last message.
Bratvabloodline
Do you really want to find out how wrong you are?
Maybe I do.
The pause stretches long enough to make my chest tighten, anticipation building like a live wire. Then his response lands, lethal and dripping with dominance.
Bratvabloodline
Good. Because when I’m done with you, you won’t remember what it felt like to ever be in control.
My heart thunders in my chest. I know I’m walking a dangerous line, but the way his words sink into me makes me crave what’s on the other side.
No. I’m going to find out this is all fake, he’ll reveal his endgame, and I’ll feel all dejected and bereft.
Whatever. I am so over posers who think they can flirt with a needy woman online and stroke their own ego. He’s probably banging one off in his mother’s basement while he—
In our message line, another post pops up, directly embedded in our conversation.
I stare, my eyes narrowing. It’s… I know this place. Cold washes over me as I recognize a shadowy corner of my latest shoot and the caption beneath it. He hasn’t posted it though… this is only for my eyes.
Caught the little photographer queen dreaming of her own anti-hero.
I recognize myself immediately, camera in hand, pointed at fading poinsettias outside a local cathedral after they discarded them at the end of the Christmas season.
He’s… this is… that’s me.
I should block him.
I should call the cops and report stalking like a reasonable, rational person… like I should have long ago when my stepbrother hurt me. I know what happens when you ignore your instincts.
But I don’t trust cops. I don’t trust men.
I’m suddenly filled with a blinding rage. My fingers shake on the screen.
Who the fuck are you and what are you doing?
Bratvabloodline
I’m calling your bluff, little queen. And I already told you who I am.
My bluff? Dude you’ve got one thick head if you think for one minute that I’m actually entertaining any of this. It’s for show. In real life, you can fuck off
Bratvabloodline
Is that so? After everything, you’re upset now? I told you what my life is, and you kept playing your little games. What did you think this was?
What I think is that you are out of your goddamn mind
Bratvabloodline
Maybe. But I think you’ll love your little present, little queen
My jaw drops. He did not.
The buzzer to my apartment building makes me jump a mile. What the actual fuck is going on? My heart is racing.
With shaky hands, I hit the buzzer, half expecting his deep voice and the Russian accent on the other end.
“Hel-lo?” I stammer.
“Hey, Ember. There’s a delivery here for you. Would you like me to bring it up? I’m heading to your floor to do a security sweep anyway.”
I blow out a breath and glare. “Who’s it from? What is it?”
“I can’t tell. It’s all wrapped up, and there’s no card.”
It could be a bomb. Could be a weapon. Could be—
Okay, alright, I’m getting way ahead of myself here.
“Bring it up. Please,” I tack on.
I pace my apartment for the two whole minutes it takes for him to get there. It’s not out of the ordinary for me to get packages. In the past year, since my job as an influencer has taken off, I’ve gotten branded merch, books from authors, and sponsored deals. It’s been sweet, really. Who knew?
But the message he left… it’s just so… personal.
I hold my phone in hand when I realize he’s replied to my comment on his post.
“Touch her and die” isn’t a vibe… it’s a promise.
A real man doesn’t need to make speeches about his devotion.
He shows it. As far as “my wife” – My wife wouldn’t need to wonder where she stands because she’d feel it every second of the day—in the way I protect her, the way I’d learn every part of her.
Well then. My mouth is dry, my heart hammering. I can’t help it.
I’m melting a little.
You don’t put a woman on a pedestal to admire her from a distance. You put here there as a reminder of how much she’s worth, so she knows she’s the one calling the shots—even when it might feel like she isn’t.
I swallow hard.
He’s good.
Too good.
But god help me… I think I’m starting to believe him.
The knock sounds at my door so loudly I jump.
“Who is it?”
“Reggie. At the door, Ember. Did you forget already?”
I laugh nervously. “Just force of habit, Reg. Thanks.” I open the door to find Reggie with a box. This place is cheap, and Reggie likely makes minimum wage, but he takes his job seriously, and I’m thankful he does.
“Thanks,” I say confidently. I still have no idea who this is from, though I wonder…
Reggie salutes me then turns to leave as I discreetly begin opening the box. I stare at the contents, my cheeks coloring, as I quickly slide the top on the box and feign normalcy.
“Ember, you expecting a guest?”
I shake my head. “No, why?”
He frowns. “Thought I heard someone moving around up on the roof. Figured maybe you had company. I know that’s one of your favorite places to go.” He scratches his nose and shrugs. “Call me if you need anything.”
My heart beats so fast I feel dizzy. It is one of my favorite places to go. The roof is private, locked off. No one should be up there.
“Probably just a bird,” I say, even though the excuse sounds lame as fuck even to my own ears. That’s no fucking bird, but if this man is really who he says he is, poor Reggie doesn’t stand a chance. I can’t take that risk.
My heart is hammering, and I feel a little shaky. I wish I could be reasonable about this, but a part of me… the dangerous side of me, the part of me that’s drawn to antiheroes… wonders.
Surely, my imagination has gotten the better of me.
Hasn’t it?
“Could be. Sounded heavier than that. Want me to check it out?”
I shake my head. “No, no, I’m sure it’s nothing.” My grip tightens on the box. He nods and walks off, waving his fingers at me, leaving me alone with the weight of unease on my chest and the box in my hand.
Now that he’s gone, I open the box again, my mind whirring. I stare. This… it can’t be.
One of the most gorgeous, still-functioning vintage cameras on the market, the exact one I’ve been eying for months. Way out of my price range.
I drop the box as if it’s on fire when the lights go out.
My heart beats faster.
It’s just the lights.
Just lights.
It happens all the time. We don’t have a generator here, and wind speeds get out of control sometimes.
I swing my flashlight beam from my phone around the apartment. A smart, logical person would call the cops, but the last time I did that, I lived to regret it.
It’s why I work out so hard. It’s why I carry pepper spray in my bag and have memorized every self-defense move on the planet.
I don’t need someone to come and rescue me. I can do that for my own damn self.
I look at my phone, but there’s no new message from my stalker poser—whatever he is—so I toss it on the coffee table and stare at the stairs to the roof.
There’s no fucking way I’m going up there. Nope. Not gonna do it. Either this is all coincidence, or something’s gone terribly wrong. In either case, I’ll call a lawyer or whatever, but I need to have an actual story to tell them.
An online stranger flirted with me?
Someone I don’t know sent me a gift, when I get gifts daily from various sources, often not identifying the sender?
My security guy heard someone on the roof earlier?
Every fear is legitimate but sounds stupid. I need more to go on; I really do.
But isn’t this the type of logic that talks people out of making logical, reasonable decisions?
I send my online stalker a message.
What did you do?
No response.