Chapter Ten
The bell over the door tinkles in the cute little coffee shop on Stemple Street.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I left my apartment and never looked back.
Two weeks of constantly changing hotels night after night.
Two weeks of huddling in my room, afraid to leave.
I started delaying my room check-ins until late at night. It’s partly because it means less time for Wick to find me but also because being cooped up in my room is driving me up the wall.
I miss my routines. I miss Marni’s coffee. I miss the relief of predictability.
One thing that has become predictable, I guess, is my daily morning call with Wick. It started as him checking on me when I first wake up—how he knows my wake up time is a question I don’t want the answer to—and has escalated into perfectly harmless daily adult time between us.
He’s where he is. I’m where I am. There’s no danger in it. None at all.
Cafe Fleur’s two-top tables dot the interior, and a bar with stools runs along the front windows. I order a latte and pain au chocolate and head to a table at the back of the cafe.
If Wick follows Violet here, I’ll have exits both out the front and out the back to escape with.
A mere three minutes after me, Violet flings the door open and rushes into the cafe.
“Annie!” she shouts.
“ Shhhh , Violet!”
“No one here knows you,” she says with a laugh.
“They will if you announce my name. What happens if Wick followed you or figures out you’ve come here? They’ll ask at the register, and everyone will talk about the unhinged woman who screamed my name.”
“Babes, I hate to break it to you, but it’s a miracle you’ve survived as long as you have. He’s going to find you eventually, and then you’ll get that hot dragon lovin.’ ”
She accentuates the statement with a few hip thrusts.
“Do me a favor and pretend we’ve never met.”
“I’ve already called out your name. People know we know each other.”
“No, I mean that was horrible, and I’m embarrassed to stand next to you.”
She chuckles. “I guess I can keep all this then?”
Out of her purse, she teases me with a thick manila envelope. I snatch the packet and shove it into my own purse. I had to buy a cheap cross-body bag after failing to take something other than my duffel from my apartment. I’m also going to need to do laundry soon.
“I should go. I can’t stay in one place for long. Thanks, Vi,” I reply and pull her into a tight hug.
“Don’t thank me; I still think you should be trying to work it out with him. How do you not want to be a mate to a wealthy, accomplished shifter?”
“I’m my own woman. Wick doesn’t understand that and he never will. He wants me hidden away where I’ll wither.”
“Didn’t he buy your apartment and Marni’s cafe?”
“Yes. And other things, I’m sure.”
“If he wanted to lock you in the basement, why would he buy things you have to leave the basement to visit?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
“Food for thought, hon. Stay safe, okay?”
The route back to tonight’s hotel is an agonizing detour through paranoia. At every turn and shadow, I worry I’ll find him there.
It was a major risk meeting up with Violet, but I needed a new influx of cash. For the thousandth time in the last two weeks, I’m grateful I went through a serial killer documentary phase in college.
Because I seem to have made it out unscathed.
Not that Wick is a serial killer. Stalker, maybe. Likely kidnapper. Definitely a control freak.
In the latest room, I drop my bag on the bed and sigh at the bland space. More beige and white. Another abstract painting on the wall.
My purse is placed by the door for easy access, the shoes lined up there as well, and I dig my spare prepaid card out from between the mattresses to add to my wallet.
My go-bag, with my few clean clothes neatly folded and the dirty ones in an overstuffed plastic shopping bag, is open but ready to run at a moment’s notice.
When my phone immediately chirps, I debate moving rooms again, even though I’m confident that the backtracking and circles would’ve lost anyone following me.
Plus my feet are fucking killing me. I’m wearing sneakers, but between the circuitous route to Violet’s car and then again from the parking garage to here, I’m getting way too many steps in.
Picking up the phone, I prepare for another exchange with Wickham Barrett.
The man is a conundrum. He has his choice of women. Hell, he had his choice of me before he went feral. Had he left it at the one night stand, I’d have fondly remembered the night for the rest of my life.
As it is, Wick is a liability. Utterly unpredictable except in his obsession. It has the feel of a child so excited to receive a toy they break it.
I do not want to be broken, thank you very much.
His text takes me aback, though.
That’s new. Normally, the texts are all I’ll find you , and you’re mine , and come bounce on my cock . Sure, he pokes around for information, but he doesn’t get emotional. He’s said he wants me with him, but he’s never told me he misses me.
Whatever this new tactic is, it’s best to view it skeptically. I settle into the desk chair and rest my feet on the corner of the bed.
The response comes through quickly.
I give a rueful shake of my head, then remember he can’t see me.
He’s going to laugh at that. I can practically hear his chuckle in my mind. His response chimes through.
Smiling, I tap out my answer before I can think better of it.
A long pause follows, and I worry I’ve pushed him too far. It’s only a tease, even if it’s so much fun to shove at his restraint.
A video comes through, and I hit the play button.
On the screen, Wick grins at me then sets the phone down. He’s in an office with a broad mahogany desk and two chairs on the left side. On the other end of the room, the cushions are strewn across the floor in front of an empty upholstered couch.
Wick, in black slacks that fall perfectly on his thighs and ass and black leather suspenders cutting down a white button down, stands in front of the camera.
He flicks his fingers to release the button on his right cuff and then harshly tugs the sleeve straight. He efficiently and remorselessly fold-rolls the sleeve up past his elbow then repeats the process on the left.
And he maintains perfect eye contact with the camera the entire time.
He’s so focused, it’s like he can see me on the other side of the camera. His gaze never wavers, and the smoldering irritation there has my heart rate galloping at dangerous speeds.
My alleged mate tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, then finally breaks our one-sided stare off to pivot away.
In an efficient stride, the big man takes two steps to the first cushion. He tosses it onto the couch then does the same for the other two.
Where is he going with this?
Facing the camera, he plants one hand on the armrest of the couch and reorients the cushion with the other.
His hand winds back. He smacks the cushion into place with such force that the cushion jumps, and it makes me yelp. Even though it’s foam and chenille, his hand still makes a hollow thwack on the surface.
He strikes the cushion twice more before moving on to the next.
Each time his hand lands, the impact makes my nerves jump.
On the one hand, he isn’t holding back. That would absolutely not be a tap. I’d feel it for days.
And his palm is very wide.
But also, there’s a thrill in his threat.
It’s fun to watch.
When he gets to the final cushion, he places it and runs his hand over the surface. He doesn’t lay into this one. Instead, he taps it into place and then gives it a few firmer smacks. Once it’s set between the middle seat and the arm, he gives it three firm strikes.
Smack, smack, smack.
Not as much as the first or second cushion, but there’s still this heft to it that leaves me smiling.
Wick strides up to the camera and rests his hand over his crotch at the camera’s level. The position displays the outline of the hardness in his pants.
He picks up the device, locks eyes with me again, and smirks at the phone.
“Any questions, mate?” he rumbles.
It’s so startling that I yip and drop the phone onto the floor. It’s not remotely salacious, and yet...
My face warms as I replay the video again.
And a third time.
The phone jumps between my hands, and I have to bat it back and forth before catching it. My fingers shake as I open the message and peck out a response.
Settling back into the chair once more, I roll the seat closer to the bed so I can stretch my legs out.
I replay the video one more time and debate how to respond.
He’s usually the one to initiate our spicy mutual satisfaction. I call so he doesn’t burn something down. He runs hard at my libido. I concede, and we take a few minutes relieving stress.
This doesn’t feel like that, though.
And I’m still a little turned on.
My text goes through, but I don’t regret it. There’s another long pause, but I breathe easier when he replies. He doesn’t take the bait, though.
We spend several minutes debating the plot points of the movie, then move on to A Few Good Men.
We transition to a heated argument over whether Batman & Robin was really as good as I remember. He insists it’s too campy, but there is no circumstance where that cast can be considered anything less than exceptional in their respective roles.
His question catches me off guard.
Another pause while I know he’s collecting himself.
Heh.
He texts me a link, a log in, and a password, and then I have to debate whether this is a good idea. The site could be there to track me.
But it’s one I recognize.
And then, for some reason, we spend the next two hours texting our way through the movie. His commentary under-credits Schwarzenegger’s acting, but it’s kind of fun.
Alright, fine. It’s a lot of fun.
He’s fun to banter with. He’s playful and doesn’t knock my lack of knowledge on the franchise like most guys would. It might be his age, or it could just be him.
And he doesn’t comment on how amazing Uma Thurman and Alicia Silverstone look in their spandex suits. Eight million points awarded.
It’s relaxing. Who knew Wick had downtime mode?
Longing for my old life weighs on me while I contemplate the evening as I fall asleep.
Even stronger is the idea that this Wick, the one with easy laughter who likes cheesy puns, could be someone I’m meant to be with.
It gets a little harder to remember why I’m running at all.