Chapter 7
ANNIE
The door of my apartment clicked shut behind me. I needed wine.
“Dawn? You home?” I called out.
Nothing. No upbeat music filtering from the living room.
No laughter. No Dawn ambushing me in the hallway to recount the latest chapter in the epic romance of her and Hunter.
Their relationship had escalated from casually dating to selecting china patterns in approximately four seconds.
That was definitely concerning for my hope that she’d drop him fast.
I tossed my blazer onto my bed and headed straight for the kitchen.
My hands shook as I grabbed a bottle of merlot from the rack.
It was a residual tremor from another twelve hours of managing Super-powered egos and presenting myself as the perfect Keeper.
I fumbled the metal spiral against the foil.
A botched attempt and a near-stabbing of my palm later, the cork finally popped with a hollow thud.
I bypassed the standard pour, filling the glass to the absolute brim, and carried the dark liquid to my bedroom.
The wine burned on the way down as I flopped onto my mattress and stared up at the ceiling.
It had been seven full days since the Aegis and the Syndicate had handed down my sentence: fake a public relationship with Cipher.
Seven days of radio silence from both organizations about when we’d make our first appearance.
The anticipation was slowly eating at me.
My phone burned in my pocket. I wanted to check ShadowSnap. I should definitely not check ShadowSnap.
There were probably hundreds of new MaskedTemptations posts. A blurry photo of his broad shoulders. A video clip of him brutalizing some low-tier Hero.
Cipher. The man I was supposed to fake date. The man I had been fantasizing about while...
I squeezed my eyes shut, but the humiliation of my morning shower immediately flooded my brain. The hot water beating down on my shoulders, the desperate, pathetic need to prove I was still in control of my own body.
I had worked to force an orgasm under the spray, conjuring up the image of the barista with the nice forearms. Then the delivery guy with the dimples. Safe men. Normal men. Men who didn’t pin me against walls and make my pussy clench with a single whispered threat.
Nothing had happened. Just dry, aching frustration.
My vibrator had been nothing more than cold plastic against my clit, a dead thing incapable of touching my desire. I was broken. That was the only logical explanation left. Clinically, call-a-doctor, broken.
I took another massive gulp of the merlot, staring at the dark wine in my glass. It looked like blood in the low light.
Maybe I was just exhausted. Maybe I just needed the Syndicate to call so I could get this assignment over with.
I eyed my phone. It was still silent, the screen black.
Call me.
I drained the glass. The alcohol burned, but not enough to numb the restlessness inside me as I grabbed my laptop. I knew I shouldn’t look. I was just picking at a scab, but I couldn’t resist the urge. Just a peek. Just a taste.
The Villain Watch forum was buzzing with activity and right there, dominating the feed, “Who is Cipher’s Mystery Woman?” The comments were a frenzy of shipping names and links to fanfics tagged with Non-Con, Breeding, and Punishment.
My pulse kicked up and I felt the drop in my stomach that happened whenever I got too close to the edge.
I scrolled down until my cursor hovered over a new thread. Cipher’s Mystery Woman: What We Know So Far. My finger trembled against the surface of the trackpad. I already knew that my identity was safe, but I was still curious about what fans thought they knew.
My phone vibrated against my thigh with a text from an unknown number.
Unknown
Don’t open that post. Don’t read the comments. Trust me on this one.
I stared at the phone then shifted my gaze to the laptop screen.
“What the fuck?”
Who knew my exact browser activity? Who could watch my cursor move in real time? Only one person possessed that specific brand of invasive, terrifying arrogance.
The skin on the back of my neck prickled, the tiny hairs standing on end. Predator. Close.
I whipped my head toward my windows but all that met me was the neon bleed of Chroma Bay painting the night sky in artificial shades of magenta and electric blue.
The windows offered a view that had seemed like a luxury just moments ago.
Now it felt like they were offering a view of a brightly lit stage, and I was the main attraction.
I dashed across the room and grabbed the edge of the heavy blackout curtains. The metal rings shrieked against the rod as the fabric swooshed shut, obliterating the neon city, blotting out the invisible eyes.
I backed away, my chest heaving.
My laptop still sat on the mattress, the screen illuminating the tangled sheets in a pale glow. The tiny webcam lens stared blindly at me. Was the green indicator light flickering?
I lunged forward and slammed it shut.
Had he been watching me this entire time?
My phone buzzed again.
Your curtains are crooked. The left panel.
Slowly, I turned. The curtains were crooked. A gap no wider than a finger sliced through the fabric. I launched myself at the window and clawed them together, overlapping the fabric and sealing the gap with trembling fingers.
I spun around, my eyes darted from the smoke detector to the vent, from the mirror to the lamp base, any place a camera might have been hidden.
I dropped to my hands and knees, checking the underside of the nightstand. I ran my fingers along the frame of the bed. I tore my room apart, looking for the bug, the lens, the wire.
I flinched when my phone buzzed again.
Stop looking, Annie. There are no cameras inside.
Yet.
I stared at the screen. I knew I shouldn’t engage. I should not respond under any circumstances.
Then how do you know what I’m doing?
Because I know you. You’re sweeping the room. You’re checking the vents. You’re wondering if I’m under the bed.
Is this Cipher?
I knew it was a waste of pixels to ask.
Do you really have to ask?
You’re stalking me.
I’m observing a person of interest.
It’s a felony.
And?
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my heart hammering. But beneath the panic and outrage, something else was uncoiling. The wine had left a trail of heat in my throat that spread downward, settling low.
He’s watching me.
I looked at the curtains. They were closed now, but the weight of his gaze still felt heavy. He was out there, in the dark, his attention focused on me.
“This is sick,” I whispered to the silence. “You are sick, Bishop.” But my body didn’t care about the diagnosis. I pressed my thighs together, shocked at how wet I was.
I glared at the curtains I had just frantically yanked shut.
Hiding in the dark pulled me right back to being a terrified ten-year-old girl.
I refused to be that trembling woman anymore.
If Cipher wanted to violate my privacy, if he wanted to watch me unravel from afar, he was going to have to look me dead in the eye while he did it.
I marched over and grabbed the edges of the fabric, ripping the curtains wide open.
I raised my hand and extended my middle finger toward the glass. “I see you, motherfucker.”
My phone buzzed instantly.
Brat.
I’m not playing with you. You need to stop stalking me right now.
Interesting request from someone who’s been stalking me for months
My fingers froze over the keyboard. What?
I’m just returning the favor, Annie. NotAKeeperJustACasualObserver. That’s you, isn’t it?
My phone almost slipped from my numb fingers.
And on the VillainVixen forum... User: KeeperOfRules
The blood drained from my face and the room spun.
I’ve read your comment history, Annie. Specifically the thread about what you’d let Cipher do to you if he caught you.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I was flayed open, my darkest, filthiest secrets laid out on a screen.
Stop
You want me to stop?
Please
Strange. That’s not what you said on the forums. You said you wanted me to, what was the phrase? “Ruin you so thoroughly you’d never be able to go back to a normal life.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed, shaking. He knew. He knew everything.
Your browser history is very educational, Annie.
Delete it. Delete whatever you have on my computer right now.
I stared at the screen. He knew everything. Every late-night scroll, every saved photo, every goddamn fan fiction I’d bookmarked in the darkest hours of the night.
No.
You have no right
I have every right. You gave it to me the moment you typed my name into that search bar.
DELETE. IT.
I can’t do that, Annie.
Why not?
Because it’s a map
I stared at the words, confusion warring with dread.
A map to what?
To you. To the things you want but won’t ask for.
I just stared at the screen, unsure of what to say.
If we’re going to do this, if you’re going to be mine, even for a little while, I need to know exactly where your lines are.
So I can cross them.
A wave of warmth spread across my body. My brain supplied unhelpful, high-definition images of exactly what “crossing the line” might look like with him.
We are PRETENDING. As in not real. As in for show
I don’t pretend, Annie. And judging by your reading list, neither do you.
You are sick
And you’re obsessed. We’re a perfect match.
I wanted to throw the phone out the window and run away, but I was rooted to the spot, captivated by the disaster unfolding in my hand.
Think about it. If we’re going to convince the world you belong to me, I need to look at you like I know your secrets. Like I know exactly what you sound like when you beg.
Is this how you talk to all the women you stalk?
I was desperate to regain some ground.
Only the ones who have read “Villain’s Captive” fourteen times.
My stomach dropped through the floor.
Chapter twelve specifically.
Oh god. Chapter twelve.
I am going to find you and murder you in your sleep
Kinky. But that’s more chapter fifteen material.
Delete whatever is on my computer. Now.