CHAPTER FIVE
DAMIEN
Iwatch her run.
It’s almost too easy—the way she bolts down the alley like a rabbit with a wolf on her tail. I lean against the edge of the warehouse, half-hidden by shadows, a cigarette dangling from my lips. The smoke curls around me, masking the scent of cold metal and wet concrete.
She’s beautiful like this—wild and panicked, her hair a tangled mess from the wind, eyes wide and terrified. I can see the exhaustion in every step, the way her legs almost give out when she turns the corner. She’s not used to running.
I flick the cigarette to the ground, grind it under my boot, and slip out of the shadows, moving at an unhurried pace. I’m in no rush. Let her think she’s escaping. Let her believe the city can swallow her up.
My phone buzzes. A text from my guy at the coffee shop.
She looked fucking terrified. You’re pushing her too hard.
I smirk, fingers tapping out a reply.
That’s the point.
I pocket the phone and keep walking, tracing her steps through the maze of warehouses. She’s predictable—always running toward the light, never the dark. She always chooses the safer path, even though safety is the last thing she will find.
I hum softly under my breath, a melody that wraps around me like a second skin. Incy wincy spider…
My pulse thrums, and I can almost feel her fear, taste it on the air. She fights to hide her fears and to appear strong.
But tonight, she’s unravelling.
I follow the trail she left behind—a dropped hair tie, the faint scrape of her boot against the concrete. She thinks she’s clever, ducking into that warehouse, but I know every inch of this place. I used to come here to think, to let the noise of the city fade.
When I slip inside, the air is thick with dust and rust, the faint echo of her footsteps bouncing off the metal walls. I stay in the shadows, eyes adjusting to the dim light. I spot her immediately—curled up behind a rusted machine, trying to make herself invisible.
I lean against a support beam, pull out my phone. The photo I take of her huddled there is almost too perfect—like prey caught in a trap. I send it, waiting for her reaction.
When the phone pings with her sob, it sends a jolt of satisfaction straight through me. I savour it, letting it curl through my veins like smoke.
She doesn’t move for a long time. I watch her breath, chest heaving, like she’s trying to hold herself together. I tilt my head, imagining how she’ll look when I finally step out of the dark and wrap my hands around her throat—not to hurt, just to remind her who’s in control.
Another buzz. This time, she’s begging.
What do you want? Please just tell me what you want!
I smile, thumbs flying over the screen.
You. I want you to stop running. Stop hiding. Let me catch you. I’ll make it feel so good when you finally give in.
She doesn’t reply, but I don’t need her to. I already know how she’ll react—curling in tighter, like that will make her disappear. It’s adorable. It makes me want to peel back every layer until there’s nothing left but the raw, trembling truth of her.
I send the next voice message, letting the words roll out, soft and sinister.
“Little spider, little spider, why are you so shy?
You know I’m right behind you—can’t you feel me breathe and sigh?
I love the way you tremble, love the way you fear,
And when you whisper for me to stop, that’s when I draw near.
Come closer, little spider, let me touch your skin.
I’ll weave my web around your heart, and that’s how I’ll get in.”
I see the way her shoulders shake, the way her hands cover her ears, trying to block me out. It’s almost too much. I want to close the distance, yank her up by the hood of that pathetic hoodie, and pin her against the wall.
But not yet.
I stay rooted in the dark, watching as she finally bolts—pushing through the back door, stumbling into the next alley like a wounded animal. I follow, my footsteps soft and calculated. She’s moving slower now, losing steam.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the black glove I kept in reserve, letting it dangle from my fingers as I follow her trail. When she collapses against the side of the bus stop, I pause, just out of sight, listening to the way she gasps for breath.
I could end this now. I could let her see me—let her eyes widen as realisation hits, let her understand it was always me, always this close.
But where’s the fun in that?
I send one more message, letting my voice drop lower, almost tender.
Be a good girl, Raven. Go home. Lock the door. I’ll come to you. We’ll play properly this time.
I see her shoulders tense, and I know she’s reading it. I know she’s breaking. The thrill of it thrums through me, and I bite back a groan.
I slip back into the shadows, knowing she’ll take the next bus anywhere but home. She’s predictable like that. She is always running, always trying to escape the one thing that catches her.
When I’m sure she’s gone, I turn back toward the warehouse, letting the city wrap around me like a cloak. My pulse pounds, and I can’t help the slow smile spreading across my face.
She’ll be mine. She already is.
And when I finally decide to step out of the dark, to let her see me, she won’t know whether to fight or fall apart.
Either way, I’ll be there to catch her.
The night swallows me as I leave the warehouse district, the city humming with life just a few blocks away. I keep my pace steady, blending into the noise, the neon glow from the rundown bar on the corner washing me in sickly light.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I already know it’s her. I can picture her shaking hands, her wide, terrified eyes as she debates whether to respond or just block me. She won’t block me. She never will.
When I pull out the phone, it’s not from her. It’s from my guy.
You’re going too far. She’s not like the others.
I scoff, flicking the message away. He doesn’t get it. None of them do. This isn’t a mindless chase. It’s not about breaking her. It’s about peeling her open, layer by layer, seeing how much fear she can take before she cracks.
I pocket the phone and slip down a side street, hands in my pockets, keeping to the shadows. She will go to a crowded place, where she feels safe. She doesn’t understand that it doesn’t matter where she runs. I’ll always be there.
A part of me almost hates how easy it is. How predictable she is. But there’s something thrilling about it, too. Like guiding a moth closer to the flame, knowing it’s too stupid to realise it’s going to burn.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s her.
Leave me alone. Please.
I smile, slow and wicked, and text back.
You don’t really want that, do you? You like the chase. You like the fear. I can see it in your eyes every time you look for me. You’re hoping I’m there, waiting to catch you.
The way she replies almost instantly makes me shiver with satisfaction.
Stop it. You’re sick.
I can’t help but laugh, the sound low and rough. Sick? Maybe. But I know her type. I saw it that first day, when she glanced over her shoulder just to make sure I wasn’t following, a flicker of something almost like curiosity in her eyes.
She likes danger. She hates she likes it.
I send another message, taking my time to craft the words just right.
You’re mine. You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do. And I’m not done playing yet.
A car passes by, headlights briefly illuminating my face, but I don’t flinch. I’m not the one who needs to hide. I let the darkness wrap around me again, slipping into the next alley as I follow the faint trail of her scent.
I know that my actions tonight are dangerous. Pushing harder than usual. Usually, I draw it out—little hints, little nudges to make her think she’s imagining things. But tonight, I can’t help it. Seeing her so scared, so raw, has me on edge. I want to see more.
I light another cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating my face. I take a drag, savouring the burn. My phone buzzes with another message—this time a voice note from her. I almost purr as I hit play.
Her voice, cracked and desperate:
“Please… just tell me what you want. I can’t keep doing this. I’m… I’m scared. You win. Just stop.”
A thrill ripples through me, sharp and sweet. I hit record, my voice dropping to a low, almost tender rasp.
“Little Spider, don’t you see? You don’t get to decide when the game ends. I’ll stop when I’m done unravelling you. When you’re mine. And you will be. You already are.”
I know she’s crying when she hears it. I can almost feel her breath catching, the way she tries to swallow down the fear. It’s beautiful.
I push off the wall and head toward the next intersection, checking the bus schedule. I know which one she’ll take—the one that loops back around the city, giving her a chance to breathe, to feel safe.
The last bus of the night pulls up, and I slip into the back, keeping my head low. A few other passengers mumble to themselves, but none of them notices me. I settle in, phone in hand, waiting for the right moment.
When the bus lurches to a stop a few blocks away from the park, I see her. She’s hunched over in the farthest seat, hood pulled low, knees drawn up.
Perfect.
I stay where I am, watching her reflection in the dirty window. She’s shaking, wiping her face with her sleeve, trying to disappear into herself. It makes my chest ache—like I want to reach out and hold her, and at the same time, rip her apart.
I hit record again, my voice dropping to that smooth, dark timbre that I know crawls under her skin.
“You’re running again, Little Spider. But you’re not getting anywhere. I’m already here. I’m always here.”
I hit send, watching as she flinches when her phone vibrates. She doesn’t check it right away, just curls tighter, like it might protect her.
When the bus pulls up to the next stop, she stumbles off, looking over her shoulder, as if she knows. I stay on for another block, then slip out the back, keeping to the shadows.