Chapter 10
Nadia
An eerie stillness settles over the office as I turn off the music blasting from the speakers of my laptop, ready to head home for the day.
My nerves are all jittery, much like they’ve been since that night.
It’s been exactly a month since Halloween, the night everything turned upside down once more.
The cops still have no leads on who the killer is, and no one has been arrested.
I’ve had so many chances to tell them the details of his appearance.
Give them what they need. But every time I think of doing it, that sense of betrayal slams into me, coming at me with the force of a train at full speed.
Which is absurd. He showed no remorse when he killed those two people at the haunted fair last month.
I drag my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots, and exhale in frustration.
I could have told them. Could have helped them catch him and throw him in prison, but I didn’t. I have no plans of doing it, either. Because a part of me can’t forget how alive he made me feel. The sex, intimacy, and orgasms were the best ones in my entire life.
Fuck, this makes me as complicit as him.
He could be anywhere right now. Probably already out of the country, if he’s smart. Or he might be here, ready to stalk more people into terrorizing dreams of horror.
The last of November brings with it snow rapidly falling like raindrops outside the windows, covering the entire wall of the office, painting the world in an otherworldly glow of whiteness that reminds me of Christmas.
It’s funny how trauma works.
I haven’t been able to stay home more than a few hours in a row. My schedule of working two days a week has transformed into full-time at five days a week. It’s good for me, my therapist agreed, to do healthy things to keep my mind occupied so long as I don’t overwork myself.
I close the lid of my laptop right after saving the document of the article I’ve been working on, getting ready to head home for the night. That’s when I hear a loud bang outside my office door. Loud and clear, like metal hitting metal echoing in the hallway outside.
My body freezes, certain I misheard it.
When nothing else sounds, I resume packing my bag again, tucking my notebook and laptop into their secured places in my bag.
Then it comes again. A dull, heavy thud against the laminated floor outside, sending adrenaline rushing through my body.
It’s eight on a Friday night. No one is supposed to be in the building at this hour, the editorial paper having officially closed for the day three hours ago.
I shove the last of my things into my bag, eager to just go home and soak in a hot tub with a good book in hand.
As I approach the door to my office, a chill ripples down my spine. One of the lamps in the hallway furthest away flickers off.
It stays turned off, and I tell myself it’s only an electrical issue. Might need to call maintenance first thing Monday.
A soft, metallic whine cuts through the silence, and my mouth turns dry. One by one, the hallway lights go out. A slow torture, until only a black void remains beyond my door.
I turn around to the surveillance camera in the corner, its lens aimed directly at the door.
Nerves gnaw under my ribs, and I force my breath to follow the four-count which my therapist taught me.
If things feel overwhelming, find three things in the room that make you feel safe.
Her voice echoes in my mind, and I take notice of my phone. I can use it to call someone if something happens.
The quill in my drawer, perfect as a makeshift weapon.
The surveillance camera in the corner records everything going on, offering another layer of security.
I look back at the camera, making sure it is indeed recording. But when I don’t see the red light blinking, an obvious sign of it being turned off, my stomach drops like a stone.
I quickly move to the drawer, fingers fumbling until they close around the cold metal of the quill. I tuck it into my pocket, the weight of it there instantly sending a blanket of security around me.
The office lights go out completely then.
My fingers clutch the strap of my bag so tightly, it hurts, nails digging into my palms.
Breathe, Nadia. It’s just a power outage.
But in the darkness, the window’s faint reflection lets me see a silhouette joining mine in the glass.
A shriek tears its way from my throat as I whirl around, swinging my handbag like a desperate, clumsy weapon in the hopes of hitting the intruder. He’s too fast.
Within milliseconds, my bag is on the floor, my laptop sliding across it. An unknown hand clamps over my mouth, pushing me back against the cold glass of the windows.
“Don’t scream. You’ll alert someone.”
My eyes widen when I realize who it is. His intoxicating smell hits me, sharp and poisonous, like a hammer, taking all the oxygen in my lungs with him.
It’s…him.
My eyes widen in fear, a palpable freezing taking over my entire frame and I’m not sure I would be able to move or scream even if I wanted to.
“If I let go, will you stay silent?”
His voice is low and gravelly, sending a heat of arousal plummeting inside me. That’s the moment I know I’m screwed. I debate screaming anyway, but then I find myself nodding. Slowly, he lets go, taking a step backward. Cocking an eyebrow, it’s as if he expects me to scream.
I don’t, and that only spurs him on.
“Fuck,” he groans. I swear I can hear a crack in his otherwise strong voice. “I’ve missed you.”
Uncertainty and hesitation flicker inside me. Fear of having him this close to me after knowing what he’s done. The sins he has committed.
I push myself as hard as I can against the glass, somehow hoping to escape him.
“W-what are you doing here?” My voice comes out low, breathy. Scared.
“What do you mean? I came back for you.”
I shake my head. “No. You shouldn’t have come back. Y-you should leave. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you.”
His eyes flare. “I already told you at the haunted fair that I don’t need to know you to know that as soon as I saw you, I fucking snapped. I already know your soul and you know mine. What else is there to know?”
He’s unbelievable. I stay silent.
“My age? Done. I’m thirty-one. My favorite color? Red. My name? Done again,” he speaks without pausing, eyes searing into me, trailing over my entire frame. “Maddox.”
I blink my eyes open, surprise flicking across my face. Even his name fits his entire aura. Dangerous yet insanely hot.
“I already know your name is Nadia. Your favorite colors are black and red, considering your entire outfit on Halloween night and tonight. I know you have some underlying trauma, as do I, and I know you’re as fucked as me considering your attraction. It’s a match made in heaven.”
He assesses me for a second longer, eyes flaring with arousal for a brief moment before it’s quickly masked, but long enough for me to perceive it.
Then, his eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“Are you scared of me?”
“Of course I’m fucking scared of you!” I manage to push him further away from me, catching him by surprise, and quickly grab the quill I left in my pants pocket.
I hold it out toward him, my hands trembling. This wouldn’t work as a goddamned weapon even if I manifested for it to, and he knows it, considering how he’s trying to stop his lips from twitching.
“You’re here to finish the job, aren’t you?”
I shouldn’t give him any ideas.
“If you mean finishing the job by finishing you, then yes. I can think of a thing or two to do with you.” Lazy eyes drawl over me shamelessly.
My breath hitches. “You’re not here to kill me?”
He sighs, as if I’m being unreasonable, and not him—the guy who literally broke into my office only to scare me and press me against the glass wall.
“I already told you at the haunted fair that I would have done so already if I’d planned to.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and despite the darkness, I make out the shape of his muscular arms that only seem to have grown more muscular in the month apart.
“So you’re not here to kill me?”
I don’t know why I’m asking again.
He pushes me up against the wall, making me drop the quill to the floor with a soft thud.
His arm circles my waist, his hard body pressing against mine until I can barely breathe again.
His other hand comes up to brush the skin of my neck, brushing away the hair there, before leaning down to press a kiss to a sensitive spot.
Goosebumps spread all over me, and I can feel the heat from his body, which is a toxin all in itself.
“I can call the police on you after you did,” I breathe, a whimper escaping me when his fingers circle the fabric of my shirt, nipples tickling.
“You can, but you won’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re enjoying this,” he whispers against my ear, biting my earlobe.
His hand travels lower, reaching the hem of my pants. Without being able to do anything about it, I grind against it, seeking pleasure.
“I’m sure you’re already wet, little fangs.”
I purse my lips.
I don’t stop him when he crouches down and removes my pants and panties, nor do I stop him when he lifts me so my legs straddle his waist, my back still pushed against the window.
“I really should call the cops. This is insane.”
“Perhaps. But it’s our insanity.” His fingers brush over my clit, forcing a whimper out of me. “And you know I would never hurt you.”
Somewhere deep inside, I know the truth.
He pushes a finger inside me, stretching me open and preparing me for him.
“Those people I ended were very bad people.”
A moan escapes me. It shouldn’t, considering our conversation.
Lining himself up against me, he locks eye contact with me. He must see the approval in my gaze, because it’s not long until he buries himself deep inside.
“Does that even matter?” I breathe out.
He’s slick against me, yet still oddly gentle when he lets me adjust to his overwhelming size. This man is thick and big, and he’s splitting me open from the inside out. He knows it, too.
“Of course it matters.” Thrust. “The man in the circus tried to hurt you. For that, he suffered. I didn’t regret it in the least when I saw his phone full of pictures of young women.”
He slides in and out of me, hands holding my body weight up by my ass. I throw my head back, hitting the window. My back is slick against the glass, and I refuse to look back, fear keeping me paralyzed.
“The farmer’s someone I’ve been looking for for a very long time. A fraud. Someone posing as a parent but is anything but.”
He grits out his last words, growing rougher in his thrusting. I don’t complain, listening intently to whatever it is he’s sharing with me. It makes my heart ache like no other.
“One of my foster parents growing up who neglected me. I got my revenge.”
My heart aches for this unknown man.
“I know you feel it, too. This connection between us.” Another thrust, but there’s a pleading expression on his face, begging me to listen. “I didn’t intend on meeting you, but it just happened, and I fucking snapped. But I will leave, if that’s what you want.”
My heart soars and aches at the mere thought of that, and I shake my head without a second’s hesitation. I know that I should take a moment to think about it all, but my heart already knows the truth.
“You sparked something to life within me,” I mutter, heart clenching at the confession.
Instead of fucking me, he starts making love to me. Slow and careful against the glass window. Our breaths intermingle, our clammy bodies plastered against each other’s, and my back against the glass.
The overwhelming sensation of it filters through me, making me almost cry. This is absolute insanity, but like he said, it’s our insanity.
“This will lead to whatever it leads to, but live in the moment with me. Embrace life.” His voice is pleading. I’ve never had a man beg me before.
I bite my lip, suddenly doing something reckless and capturing his lips in mine, until our mouths and tongues tangle with each other in grazes of teeth. I kiss him like my life depends on it, and he fucks me like I’m the sole reason for his existence.
We both come simultaneously, pleasure wracking havoc until I don’t know where he ends and I begin.
“Mine,” he growls. Something possessive is taking over his being that makes my heart soar.
“Yours. But if you dare hurt me, I’ll cut off your cock.”
He smirks at me. “Deal.”