Chapter Thirteen #2
I built the walls higher. Fortified the lake border too, the one that runs into the Callaghan estate. Cameras are on every corner and guards posted on every side.
It’s a fortress, my own personal dead zone.
Walking in, I clock how much they’ve done in just three weeks. Fully decorated, furnished with dark wood, red silks, gold accents here and there. Not really my taste. I prefer green. Darker. Earthier. That’ll change. Eventually.
For now? Fuck it.
Upstairs, I hit the bedroom. Quick shower. One glass of whisky in hand.
I’m ready to relax.
The screens in the main living room flicker to life, and there she is. Autumn.
I’m not a pervert; I told Kaden not to put a camera in her bathroom.
No one knows about them but us.
I keep telling myself it’s for her safety. That’s how it started, but now that the fire’s been ruled an accident? The lie’s harder to swallow.
Truth is… I watch her because I need to understand why a twenty-four-year-old photographer with her fairy lights and rain playlists makes me feel this fucking feral.
This obsessive.
She’s curled up on her couch, a blanket draped over her legs, scrolling through her phone while sipping something from a mug.
She was right about what she said; she isn’t the kind of girl I’d usually want, and yet she is.
That innocence, the blush that climbs her throat when she looks at me. The way she snaps when she’s upset, trying to stand her ground. Every part of her drives me insane.
She jolts upright suddenly, eyes wide as she stares at her screen. Then she runs to the windows.
I lean closer to the monitor.
Is she… locking them?
She darts to the door next. I switch cameras; she’s checking every bolt, then drags a chair and wedges it under the handle.
What the hell?
Is she in danger?
I scan the external feeds; nothing unusual. People walking their dogs, cars pulling into driveways.
Then she slides down to the floor beside the couch, rocking back and forth like she’s trying to stay calm.
Something’s wrong.
I grab my phone and type,
“What are you doing, trouble?”
She jumps when the message arrives. Her shoulders tremble. When she sees it’s me, her fingers start moving fast.
Autumn: “Nothing, just reading.”
Reading, huh?
More like fighting a panic attack.
She’s staring at her phone now; her hands are shaking so badly the phone almost falls.
I text again.
“I’m coming over.”
She presses the phone to her chest after reading it, eyes closed, breath uneven. Then that nervous little smile appears before she types again.
My phone vibrates.
“If you want to read, sure.”
Didn’t say no.
Good enough.
I snatch my keys from the counter. It’s raining hard, and I need to reach her fast and in one piece.
On the screen, she stands again, moves to the mirror above her couch, tries to fix her hair. Her eyes flutter shut, chest rising and falling as she takes slow breaths.
I kill the feed.
Lock the system and walk out into the storm.
It usually takes me forty minutes to get here.
Tonight? Twenty-eight.
Her panic makes me push the speed limits and cut every red light.
When I reach her door, it flies open, and she crashes into my arms like she’s been holding her breath for days.
She pulls me down hard, lips slamming against mine; the kiss is messy, rough and desperate, not like her. I pull back, but she fights me.
I grab her wrists, spin her fast, and her back presses to my chest as I kick the door shut with my boot.
“What’s wrong, trouble?” I whisper against her ear, locking my arms around her, and I notice how much she’s trembling.
“Isn’t this why you came?” she snaps, her voice breaking. “To fuck me?”
If this were anyone else, she might be right, but I didn’t come for sex. I came because I saw her.
She needed someone.
She needed me.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur, holding her tighter.
“It’s cold.”
“Liar.” I graze my lips against her throat.
“You keep calling me that,” she breathes, voice trembling.
“You keep lying.” I answer with a kiss, slower this time.
Then—
CRACK.
Glass shatters in the bedroom, and she screams.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up, and I shove her behind me, one arm out to block her, the other reaching under my jacket.
Gun drawn. Safety off, I scan the hallway. My heart’s not racing; it’s slowing. Controlled. Focused.
“You have a gun?” she whispers behind me, voice small.
“Stay here,” I order. “If you hear shots, run. Get outside and wave to the cameras.”
I take a step toward the hall, but she grabs a fistful of my jacket, tugging hard.
“Flynn, don’t. He’s dangerous.” Her voice is barely there.
I glance back; she’s staring at me, eyes huge, lip bitten raw.
“He?” I taste the shift in her; she has this guilty look on her face.
“Please… let me call the police.” Her tears spill fast now, streaking down her cheeks.
“Go outside. Wave to the camera.”
She hesitates. “What if no one’s watching the feed?”
“They’re always watching.” The second I say it, I freeze.
I just fucked up.
Her face twists. “How the hell do you know—” Then she slaps my arm, hard. “Oh my fucking God, Flynn! You own the damn apartment, don’t you?”
I hiss, “Shhh,” and move forward, gun up.
The front clicks open; at least she’s listening.
I step into the hallway, every muscle wound tight, if someone’s in that bedroom, they won’t make it out.
My steps are quiet as I move down the hall. A draught slides through the air, carrying the sharp scent of rain. When I reach her bedroom door, I lean just enough to see inside. Shattered glass carpets the floor, glittering under the light. The window is blown open, the curtain twisting in the wind.
I enter carefully, gun raised, every sense awake. A brick lies on the floor, wrapped in tape and paper. I crouch, pull the note free, and read the words scrawled in thick black ink.
I told you to stop seeing him. You are mine.
“Flynn?” Her voice trembles from the doorway.
“I told you to stay in front of the cameras,” I answer, still staring at the note, my hand tightening around the paper until it crumples.
“Who is he, Autumn?” The question comes out low, rough, anger already climbing my throat. She’s hiding something. My little liar.
“No one. You don’t have to worry.” She turns as if to leave, but I catch her arm before she can take a step away; she flinches, and for a second I feel her pulse jump beneath my fingers.
“Who the hell wants to hurt you?” I pull her closer. She struggles, but it’s useless against my weight and grip.
“I don’t know!” she cries, voice cracking.
“What the hell does that mean?” My arm slides around her waist, gun still in my other hand.
“I have a stalker, okay?” The words fall out as if she’s said them a hundred times before.
A stalker. The word hangs between us like smoke.
Before I can reply, heavy boots slam against the wooden floor in the hallway. I spin her behind me and raise the gun again, every muscle coiled for the shot until Kaden appears with two of my men, weapons drawn.
“It’s us, Brady,” Kaden says quickly.
“Christ.” I lower the gun, pulse still thrumming in my ears.
“You all have guns?” Autumn’s voice shakes behind me.
Kaden steps closer, eyes scanning her from head to toe, making sure she’s unhurt. “What the hell happened?”
“Someone threw a brick through the window,” I tell him, lifting the crumpled note. “Check the cameras. See if we caught anything.”
The men move past us, still on guard. I cross to the window and look out. Rain pounds the street. More of my guards are arriving, scanning every shadow.
I turn back to her. “You and I are going to have a chat.”
She folds her arms, defensive, trying to build a wall I’ll happily break down.
“Cross them tighter if you want,” I murmur, stepping closer. “You’re going to tell me everything. One way or another.”