CHAPTER TEN #2
“You’re just digging your own grave!” I bellow, sprinting after her, adrenaline pounding in my veins. I’m furious—more than that, I’m fucking livid. How dare she trick me? How dare she think she can slip through my fingers after everything I did to claim her?
I can hear her panting, see the way she stumbles, the cut on her hand leaving a trail of blood on the cracked pavement. She’s wearing out—good. I’ll drag her back by her hair if I have to.
I take a shortcut through the side path, trying to cut her off, but when I round the corner, she’s not there. I freeze, ears straining, listening for any sign of movement.
Silence.
I grind my teeth, fists clenching. “You can’t hide from me!” I call, my voice reverberating between the buildings. “You’re mine, Raven. You’ll always be mine. Come out, and I might not hurt you as much.”
Nothing. Just the wind rattling loose metal.
I slam my fist against the brick wall, trying to bleed out the rage, but it just makes it worse. I pace, scanning every shadow, waiting for her to make a mistake.
She’s smart. Clever little thing. But I know her now—I know her patterns, her thoughts. She’s trying to double back, find a place to hide where she can catch her breath.
Fine. I’ll let her think she’s safe. I’ll give her that illusion just long enough to let her guard down.
But when I find her—and I will find her—I’ll make her pay for this. I’ll make sure she knows there’s no escaping me, no tricking me.
I lean against the wall, catching my breath, eyes narrowed. My hands shake—not from exhaustion, but from barely controlled fury.
She wants to make this a game again? Fine. I’ll play. But this time, when I catch her, I will not be gentle. I’m going to make her scream until she forgets what it feels like to run.
I close my eyes, listening, calculating. She couldn’t have gone far. She’s smart, but she’s still scared. And fear makes people predictable.
When I find her, I’ll remind her who she belongs to and I’ll make sure she never even thinks about leaving me again.
I stand there, fists clenched, the wind biting at my face, but I don’t feel the cold. All I feel is rage—hot, thick, suffocating. It crawls up my throat like bile, burning my skin from the inside out.
She ran.
Again.
After everything I did. After everything I fucking gave her.
I can’t believe it. My teeth grind so hard my jaw aches, and I have to force myself to breathe before I punch something—someone. I look around, half-expecting her to be hiding in the shadows, waiting for me to storm past so she can slip out behind me.
“You ungrateful little bitch,” I snarl under my breath, pacing the length of the alley, dragging my fingers through my hair. She actually thought she could leave after the way she screamed my name, the way she begged me to take her.
It doesn’t make sense. I did everything right. I gave her what she needed, pushed her to the edge, made her feel something real for once in her miserable, lonely life. I was gentle—well, gentler than I wanted to be. I didn’t hurt her as much as I could have. I gave her exactly what she needed.
And she fucking ran.
I slam my fist against the brick wall, the skin splitting, blood trickling down my knuckles. The pain barely registers. I want to break something—rip this entire building apart brick by brick.
“Stupid, reckless girl,” I mutter, kicking a dented trash can so hard it skids into the opposite wall. I pace, every muscle coiled tight, my mind spinning out of control.
She was perfect—so fucking perfect, all laid out and vulnerable, mine for the taking. And I made her come apart, piece by piece. I saw the way she broke, the way her body betrayed her even as her mind fought it. She fucking liked it. She loved it.
I press my bloody hand to my forehead, trying to slow my breathing, but it doesn’t work. Images flash through my mind—her crying, begging, clawing at me like she couldn’t get enough. I did that. I made her feel like that. I ruined her, just like I promised.
And then she had the nerve to run.
A vicious snarl rips from my throat, and I kick the wall, the impact reverberating through my leg. I feel like I’m losing it, like my head’s splitting open with the sheer, maddening frustration of it all.
“You don’t get to fucking leave me,” I growl, voice ragged. “After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve given you.”
I can’t fucking think straight. My vision blurs, and I lean against the wall, trying to force myself to calm down, but it’s impossible. She’s in my head, twisting me up, making me question everything.
Why would she leave after that? After I proved to her she’s mine, that she needs me? Is she that goddamn stupid? Does she really think I’ll just let her slip away like she doesn’t belong to me?
I can’t stand it. The thought of her out there, wandering the city alone, thinking she’s free. Thinking she got away. The anger coils tighter, and I feel like I might snap, like my hands are itching to grab something—someone—and break it in half.
“You don’t get to leave me,” I mutter again, running my tongue over my teeth, tasting the metallic tang of blood. “I’ve put too much into you. Spent too much time—too much fucking effort. You’re mine.”
She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t see how much I’ve invested in her. I spent so much time watching, planning, waiting for the perfect moment to make her see she belongs to me. She doesn’t get to throw that away.
My fists clench, and I force myself to breathe.
I’m not just pissed—I’m insulted. She thinks I’m just a fleeting obsession she can shake off.
Like she doesn’t realise I’ve been planning this for months—fuck, she thinks its only been months, like I’m some tragic character in a cheesy romance novel who saw her and decided she was mine.
I sneer at the absurdity, my obsession has been years in the making.
All the girls before her were merely just a test before I was ready for her, she thinks my obsession started since that first night I saw her sitting alone, looking like a lost little thing begging to be claimed.
She thinks it’s just a game. That if she runs far enough, I’ll get bored and move on. As if I haven’t already mapped out every inch of her life, memorised her habits, made her the centre of my entire world.
I can’t let her do this. I can’t let her think she can just walk away after I’ve finally got what I wanted.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I rip it out, hoping it’s a location ping, something to lead me to her. Nothing. Just a stupid spam message. I crush the phone in my grip, the screen cracking, but I don’t care. I’ll get a new one. I’ve already memorised her route patterns, anyway.
She’s going to realise soon enough that there’s nowhere she can go I won’t follow. No corner she can hide in where I won’t find her. I’ll drag her back by her hair if I have to. I’ll tie her to the fucking bed and keep her there until she understands she doesn’t get to leave me.
My heart pounds, and I force myself to think. If she’s smart—and I know she’s smart—she’ll head somewhere crowded, somewhere she thinks I won’t follow. But I know all her hiding places. I’ve watched her long enough to know where she goes when she’s scared.
I’ll track her down. I’ll catch her. And when I do, I’ll make her realise exactly what happens when she runs from me.
My fists are still shaking, and I wipe the blood on my jeans, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
When I get my hands on her, I’m going to make her understand. Make her feel every ounce of my anger. I’ll remind her who owns her. Who spent all this time building her up just to watch her break.
She’s not getting away.
Not now.
Not ever.
I let out a breath, forcing myself to calm down, because rage won’t help me think.
I have to be smarter than she is. Cunning.
Patient. She’ll slip up. She’ll get tired, or desperate, or scared.
And when she does, I’ll be right there, ready to pull her back into my arms and make her see there’s no running from this.
No running from me.
I step back into the shadows, forcing my heartbeat to slow. I’ll find her. I always do.
And when I do, I’ll make sure she never tries to leave me again.
I can’t breathe.
The air feels like it’s squeezing my lungs, suffocating me from the inside. I lean against the wall, trying to steady myself, but it doesn’t work. My hands won’t stop shaking, and my vision blurs with red.
She’s gone. She fucking left me.
It doesn’t make sense. After everything we shared last night—after I showed her how it felt to be mine, how I could make her break apart and come undone—she just slipped out like it meant nothing. Like I’m nothing.
My chest aches, tight and raw, and I want to tear the world apart just to find her. How could she do this to me? How could she leave after all the time I put into her, all the effort, all the patience?
“You needed me,” I whisper to the empty alley. “You fucking needed me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to replay every moment from last night, grasping for something I missed, something I did wrong.
The way she trembled under my touch, begging me to push her further. The way she cried my name when I finally broke her, like I was the only thing keeping her sane. The way she kissed me back, clawing at my shoulders, desperate to feel more.
I can still feel the heat of her body, the way she arched up, hips grinding against mine, helpless and needy. I remember her voice cracking, pleading with me not to stop, eyes wide and glazed with desire.
“You don’t get to run from that,” I growl, punching the brick wall again, not caring when my knuckles split open. “You don’t get to act like it didn’t fucking happen.”
A flash of memory hits me—another place, another time. Another girl. Another night where I thought I’d finally found something real. I remember the way she smiled at me, promising she wouldn’t go anywhere.
I blink, and it’s gone, replaced by Raven’s face—her lips parted, whispering my name like a prayer. I shove the memory away, my pulse pounding too loud in my ears.
“Not again,” I mutter, forcing my legs to move, pacing like a caged animal. “You don’t get to fucking leave me. Not you. Not after I made you mine.”
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and I whirl around, heart racing—but it’s just some drunk staggering down the opposite alley. I snarl, turning away, my mind racing.
My chest is tight—too tight. I can’t breathe without her. She’s taken something from me, something I didn’t realise I’d given, and it’s clawing at my ribs, tearing me apart from the inside out.
I pull out my phone, shaking off the cracked screen, and force it to load the tracker. She’s not moving fast. She thinks she’s safe.
The ache in my chest sharpens, twisting like a knife. I can’t stand the thought of her out there, thinking she’s free. Thinking she can just slip away and leave me choking on the emptiness she left behind.
I stumble onto the main street, pushing past a group of teenagers, not caring when they shout at me. I keep moving, following the location ping, my mind spinning out of control.
How could she do this to me? I gave her everything. I spent years watching her, learning her habits, finding the perfect way to break her in just right. I didn’t rush it. I gave her time to adjust, to realise that she needed me.
“You don’t just walk away from that,” I snarl, dodging a car as I cross the street.
I spot the edge of a crowd—some kind of parade up ahead, loud music and bright colours. I push through, shoving people aside, ignoring the angry looks and curses thrown my way.
As I break through the line of spectators, I see her.
She’s on the other side of the street, moving fast, slipping between clusters of people, trying to stay out of sight. But I know her. I know the way she moves—that nervous energy, like she’s waiting for the world to cave in.
I duck into the shadows of a storefront, leaning against the brick wall, eyes fixed on her. She glances over her shoulder, and I almost smile when I see the panic in her eyes.
She knows I’m close. She can feel it.
A float goes by—some cheesy marching band blasting music—and the crowd shifts, pushing closer to the road. She hesitates, caught between moving forward and doubling back.
I hum softly to myself, the sound blending with the surrounding chaos.
“Incy wincy spider, climbed up the water spout…”
She freezes, her shoulders tensing, and I see her head whip around, eyes scanning the crowd.
I let the rhyme slip from my lips, dark and slow, just loud enough for her to hear, even over the noise.
“Down came the rain and washed the spider out…”
She knows. She knows I’m here. I see the way her hands shake, the way she clutches her coat tighter around herself.
I take a step forward, blending into the moving crowd, my eyes never leaving her.
“Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…”
Her breathing picks up, and she stumbles backward, bumping into a woman with a stroller. I smirk, watching her panic, knowing she’s trapped, even if she doesn’t realise it yet.
“And the incy wincy spider,”
I whisper, eyes blazing with fury and need,
“climbed up the spout again.”
Her head snaps in my direction, eyes wide, and I make sure she sees me—just a glimpse through the sea of people. Her face pales, and I almost laugh at how delicious her fear tastes.
She bolts, disappearing into the crowd, and my pulse surges, the thrill of the hunt flooding me.
I lick my lips, push off the wall, slip into the crowd, following the trail of her fear.
Run all you want, Little Spider.
I’ll always be right behind you.