Chapter 37
Tracy
Blake drops me off at my apartment the next afternoon. Despite our air mattress blowing up, last night was probably the best night of my life.
I’m not sure Blake would agree, though. I substituted him as my own personal mattress since ours was destroyed, and the poor guy seemed rather stiff this morning from taking the brunt of the hard ground.
Although he did perk up after I let him come down my throat as payment for being my mattress.
Making my way across the lobby and into the elevator, I punch in my floor number and am grateful that no one else joins me before the doors close.
I’ve got sex hair for days, hickeys all over my neck and chest from Blake’s idea of ‘chilling around the campfire’ after we fucked, and I’m wearing nothing but his t-shirt, my heels in my hand and my feet bare.
Since he destroyed all of my clothes—a trend, I’m noticing, though he at least always replaces them—I stole his shirt, forcing him to be the one to resort to rummaging through his gym bag this time.
I can’t say I hate the feel of his shirt on my skin.
Grabbing the collar, I pull it to my nose and sniff. It smells like him, which is just another reminder of last night. Heat creeps into my cheeks and my stomach flutters just thinking about it.
He said he loves me.
A big smile slips onto my face.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, I can’t help but do a little skip down the hall, giddiness coursing through my body and seeking a way out. Pulling my keys from my purse, I stick them in the door, and the smile falls from my face.
It’s unlocked.
I never leave it unlocked.
My grip on the door handle becomes sweaty as my hand remains frozen in place. Blood rushes to my ears and the fluttering I felt just moments ago in my stomach turns into a churning, sick feeling. Something isn’t right. Some gut instinct tells me not to go in there.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn the handle and push the door open.
Oh my god.
My heels fall to the floor and I stumble back a step, tripping over myself as I fall into the wall behind me. Bracing a hand against it, I steady myself, then run down the hall, pulling out my phone in the process.
“Please pick up. Please pick up,” I chant as I pull up Blake’s number and frantically jab at the elevator button.
When the doors slide open, I practically fall in, hitting the door close button with a shaky finger just as my call connects.
“Miss me already, sunshine?”
“Are you still here?” I rush out.
“What’s wrong?” Blake asks, an edge to his voice.
“Someone was in my apartment.” The elevator reaches the ground level and I step into the lobby on wobbly legs, my mind frantically trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“I’m turning around,” he says. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Wait in the front lobby for me. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice barely a whisper as I fight to stay calm. What the hell is going on?
He must sense my unease, because he says gently, “I’m a block away, sweetheart. Don’t move.”
“Okay,” I repeat, my mind in such a whirl I can barely string together a sentence. Who would do this? Was it a random break in?
Our call disconnects suddenly, dead air filling my ear, and I glance down to find my phone dead. I never charged it last night because of our impromptu camping trip.
The walls start to close in as I stare at my dead phone, the only sound my own heartbeat and the blood rushing to my ears. My veins pulse as adrenaline and panic course through my body.
I need air. I need air. I need air.
Sprinting for the front doors, I push out into the hot, humid day, the cement burning my feet as I step into the sunlight, and that’s when I see it—the blacked out SUV parked along the curb.
The window tint doesn’t allow me to see who’s inside, but I don’t need to. I can feel them watching me. I can feel their eyes sliding over my bare legs. I can feel their gaze piercing my flesh, pinpricks breaking out across my skin.
It’s only when Blake pulls up, parking haphazardly in the loading zone right in front of the entrance, that the SUV pulls away, its tires screeching as it tears down the street.
I don’t catch their plate number. I never catch a glimpse of the person inside, but I know who it was.
Lucas.
I barely notice Blake approaching me. I don’t even feel him pull me into his arms, holding me tight against his strong chest. I can’t focus on anything other than that SUV disappearing down the road.
“Trace.” Blake grabs my face, forcing me to look up at him. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“Lucas,” I mumble. “He was in my apartment.”
Blake’s face instantly darkens, a tremor running through his hands. “How do you know it was him?”
“He was parked there.” I point to the empty spot on the curb.
Blake’s eyes flick to the vacant spot, then focus back on me. “You saw him?”
“No.” I grab his wrists, pulling them from my face. “But it was his vehicle.”
“Sweetheart, how would he know where you live? You’re sure it was him?” he presses.
“Yes! He followed me home one night.” I freeze as the words leave my lips.
Oh, God, I was foolish. So fucking foolish.
This was a setup.
This whole thing was some sick, twisted attempt to hurt Blake through me. To get back at him for choosing me over his friendship with Lucas. For standing up for me and firing him.
My hands start to shake again. Lucas was in my apartment. I welcomed him into my home, thinking he was trying to help me.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes and I gulp down air, my chest tightening.
“What the fuck do you mean, he followed you home?” Blake growls, snapping me out of my panic.
“H-he followed me home from a cafe one day. He said I had a brake light out.” I let out a shuddering breath.
“He came back the next day offering to change the light for me, but I was upset. It was after the day you…” I trail off, clearing my throat.
“I was upset with you, and he took me up to my apartment and comforted me.”
“You never had a burnt out brake light,” Blake says, his voice deathly low.
“W-what do you mean?” I stammer.
“I watched you drive out of that parking lot every fucking day, Tracy. You never had a burnt out brake light.” He fists his hands, his nostrils flaring as he battles with his temper.
“He used it as an excuse to follow you. To get into your apartment.” He grabs my hand, walking me back into the lobby.
“I’m going to fucking kill him. I’m going to—”
I stop him, getting in his face and putting my hands on his chest. “No. No, you’re not.”
He’s scaring me right now. The dark look on his face. The barely controlled rage coursing out of his every pore. I’m afraid of what he’s capable of, and I won’t have him do something he’ll regret because of me.
He gently grabs my hands, though I can feel the tension rolling off him. “Come on.” He tugs me toward the elevator. “Show me what he did.”
We ride up to my apartment in silence. My heart hammers, both in fear for myself, because Lucas forced his way into my home, and for Blake. I’m afraid of what his reaction will be when he sees what Lucas did. I almost don’t want to show him.
“Maybe we should call the police,” I say quietly, trailing him down the hallway to my door.
“I’ll handle it,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument.
My body somehow starts shaking even more than it was before. “Blake, wait. Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“Fucking show me what he did, Trace!”
“Okay,” I say. “Just promise me you won’t do anything rash.” I grab his arm, forcing him to stop walking. “Please, Blake. Promise me.”
He clenches his jaw, his eyes drilling into me, and then his face softens. Grabbing my jaw, he pulls my lips to his and kisses me softly. “I won’t do anything rash, sweetheart. I promise.”
I lean into him, bringing my lips to his one more time. “Okay.”
He grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, and we continue down the hallway. When we reach my apartment, he steps in front of me, entering first, and freezes. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“You promised—”
He whirls on me. “What if you had been here, Trace? What would he have done if you were here?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, clasping my hands in front of me to hide the shaking.
“Fuck.” He runs his hands down his face, scratching at his jaw. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark stubble makes him look even more menacing. “Come on, let’s check out the rest of the apartment.”
I follow him inside. The granite countertops are cracked, some crumbling like Lucas took a sledgehammer to them.
Every kitchen drawer and cabinet is pulled open, broken dishes littering the floor.
My furniture is torn, the padding spilling out through the seams cut into it, and my walls are splattered with red paint. At least, I hope it’s paint.
Blake steps through the mess, but I pause in the entryway. “Open that closet beside you,” I tell him. “Toss me some sneakers.”
He opens it, tossing me my running shoes, and I slide my bare feet into them before following him inside. When we reach the bathroom, we find the mirror shattered and the toilet cracked.
Continuing down the hall, we get to my bedroom and Blake pauses, turning back to face me. “Don’t look in there,” he says, grabbing my elbow to pull me away.
“Why?” I twist out of his grip. “I need to see.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I deserve to know what he did, Blake. This is my home.” I try to reason with him, and at the same time convince myself that I actually do want to see what’s in there.
“Trace,” he pleads, anguish all over his face. “Trust me, you don’t want to see it.”
What could it be? How could it be worse than the rest of my demolished apartment?
“I do,” I say, putting as much confidence into my voice as I can scrape together.
“Fuck, okay. Just… know he’s going to pay for this.” His voice is eerily calm as he says the words, but there’s a look to his face, something sinister and threatening, and I find myself truly worrying about what’s on the other side of that door frame.
Stepping around Blake, I peer into my bedroom, and my knees give out.
He catches me before I fall, his arms wrapping around my waist and holding me up. He turns me back to him, cradling my face against his chest and murmuring words into my hair.
I don’t know what he’s saying. My brain can’t focus on anything other than the scene in my bedroom.
Covering my walls are enlarged pictures of me, naked and restrained in ropes last night. There are dozens, and in all of them my eyes are scratched out with X’s, the word ‘whore’ written in red across the photo.
Lucas saw me. He watched us last night, and we had no idea that he was even out there.
The reality of everything starts to sink in and my chest constricts, so much so that I can’t breathe.
“Hey,” Blake says, picking me up and carrying me back out to the hallway. He sets me down and I lean against the wall, gasping for breath. “Breathe, you’re okay.” He rubs my arms. “I’ve got you. Nothing will hurt you, Trace. I promise.”
“He watched us. He saw everything we did last night.” The tears finally break free, and it makes my breathing even more ragged. “How long has he been watching us?”
Blake pulls me into his chest, holding me tight. “I don’t know.” He kisses the top of my head. “But he won’t get away with this.”
I cling to his shirt, fisting it in my hands as though I can pull myself further into him. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call the police?” I squeak out.
“Yeah, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.” His hands run soothingly up and down my back.
While his words are meant to be a comfort—a promise—I can’t help but wonder: at what cost?