22. Hades
Hades
Her words have been echoing inside my head for the last twenty minutes.
“No. Don’t—”
Two words that hit harder than they have any fucking right to, even without her finishing the thought.
She didn’t need to. I already knew what she wanted.
I grip the steering wheel and stare through the windshield at the dark road ahead.
Presley didn’t want me to leave.
A laugh slips out of me.
Fucking hell.
Last night, she looked at me through her bedroom window like I was something dragged straight out of one of her horror movies.
Tonight, she asked me to walk with her.
Not Hades, the man who pulled her out of the storage room and held her while she shook.
The masked man.
Which is also me.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
I shouldn't enjoy that as much as I do.
But we've already established I'm not particularly bothered by the things I should be.
After all, I killed a man.
Well, tortured and then killed him.
Doesn’t matter.
The end result was the same.
My morality is skewed.
Enjoying the fact that Presley Bailey wants her stalker around barely makes the list.
My smile fades as I think about the reason why she wanted me with her—the asshole from the festival.
Caleb.
I heard his name while he sat across from her for most of the night.
Watched him make her laugh.
Watched him lean toward her.
Watched Presley smile back.
I hated every damn minute of it.
But I stayed where I was. Mostly.
There may have been a few moments when I considered walking over, taking the carving knife out of her hand, and showing Caleb exactly how much better I could use it.
But I didn't.
I have some morals.
Then Presley left, and Caleb followed.
It could’ve been a coincidence. Maybe he was heading to his vehicle.
But then she told him she didn't want him walking with her.
He chose stupidity.
He didn’t listen.
And when Presley started running and ducked into the alley, that’s when I stopped finding him irritating.
That's when I wanted to hurt him.
I don't want Presley to be afraid because some asshole refuses to listen when she tells him no. Afraid to walk alone and hear footsteps gaining on her. Afraid someone will hurt her.
That fear isn't his.
It's mine.
The thought should probably concern me.
It doesn't.
I want Presley safe from everyone else.
And just a little afraid of me.
Well, maybe more than a little.
But tonight, something changed. She collided with me and nearly screamed.
Then she realized who I was.
She tried to pull away... and I let her.
Something shifted in her eyes. I saw it happen.
When Caleb appeared in that alley, I stood in front of her, protecting her from him.
But more importantly, she stayed at my back.
Mine.
I fucking liked that, too.
When he ran off like a little bitch, I barely noticed.
I was too focused on her.
But nothing compares to what happened afterward.
She asked, “Are you coming with me?”
I exhale slowly.
Jesus Christ.
She asked her stalker to walk her to safety.
There's something deeply wrong with both of us.
I think I like that most of all.
Wilder looks up from the couch. “Why do you look happy?”
I stop. “I don't.”
“You do. It's disturbing.”
“Fuck off.”
His eyes drop to the mask in my hand.
I put it behind my back, but it’s too late. He already saw it.
“Oh, Jesus Christ. This is about that woman.”
I sigh and toss the mask onto the table. “Go to bed, Wilder.”
“You wore the mask around her, didn't you?”
Silence.
“Holy shit.” He sits forward. “You are stalking her.”
“We've already discussed this.”
“No. We discussed you watching her. Apparently, you've advanced to fucking community theater.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
Wilder starts laughing, his hand slapping the couch. “This is better than fucking TV.”
I stare at him. “I’m gonna throw your ass out the window.”
He laughs harder.
I fold my arms over my chest.
“No you won’t, big bro.” He smirks at me, barely holding in his laughter. “You wouldn’t do me like that.”
He’s right—and he fucking knows it.
After Dad died, I became more than just his brother.
I became his protector.
His mentor.
The one who looked out for him when no one else did.
And we’ve been thick as thieves ever since.
Wilder’s smile slowly fades.
I tense, bracing myself for whatever he’s going to say next, knowing I won’t like it.
“Does she know it’s you?”
“No.”
“Does she know you know where she lives?”
“No.”
“Does she know you've been inside her house?”
“How the hell do you know—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Hades.” He stares at me, eyes round with shock. “You’re really gone for this woman, aren’t you?”
I don’t say a word.
Instead, I spin on my heel, grab a beer from the fridge, and snatch the mask from the table as I head toward my bedroom.
“Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
I slam the bedroom door behind me and toss the mask onto the bed.
Wilder doesn't understand.
Presley doesn't either. Not yet.
She thinks the masked man appeared outside her house last night.
She doesn't know I watched her before I ever put it on.
Doesn't know I've stood inside her house while she slept.
Doesn't know I knew which bedroom was hers before she ever told me her name.
And she sure as hell doesn't know the man she wanted beside her tonight is the same man she ran to inside The Crooked Spine.
I stare at the mask.
Two versions of me.
And Presley trusts one while she's becoming curious about the other.
Except they're getting harder to keep separate.
Especially after tonight.
She looked for the mask and asked me to walk with her. Almost asked me not to leave.
My mouth curves.
The first night I wore it, I wanted to see how she'd react.
Now I know.
She's still afraid.
But she didn't run.
I'm starting to wonder what she'll let the masked man do next.