“Guards mean they have something to hide,” I say. “They’re of no concern to me.”
It’s not cockiness, it’s just facts. My confidence in my skills is the only thing that keeps me alive.
You can’t go into a lion’s den with the confidence of a gazelle. You go in knowing that you’re going to walk back out with their blood on your hands and their heads rolling on the ground.
It’s the only way you’ll ever survive.
“They’re not,” Jay acquiesces. “It’s too soon to storm their hangouts, though. I got you access to a couple of the gentlemen’s clubs they attend. I think they’re going to be our best bet for information. Just go there, scope them out, start making more appearances there, and gain their trust. See if there’s anything amiss.”
The laughter from Addie is long gone. It almost feels like I never felt such a… happy emotion only minutes ago. Dickheads trafficking innocent children will do that to you.
“Fuck, Jay, you want me to mingle with a bunch of rapists? I can hack into their cameras.”
“Hacking into cameras only gets you so far.”
I sigh, rubbing at the tightening muscle in my shoulder. He’s right. Their cameras won’t have audio, and there’s a lot more to learn when listening in on conversations.
“And right now, we have nothing,” Jay continues, driving home his point.
I nod, though he can’t see me. Making friends with the pedos means I could be invited into the ritual. Based on the video, it’s definitely deep underground. Gaining access will be incredibly difficult, but nothing is ever impossible for me.
Not only that, but it’ll put more people on my radar to take down.
It’s a fucking network of pedophiles and once you meet one, you meet a hundred more. It’s fucking exhausting—the never-ending list of people to kill.
But I’m a very patient man.
“I know,” I agree. “I’ll make the necessary connections.”
I will find this place, and once I do, I will kill every single motherfucker associated with that hellhole.
By the time I’m done, the entire government will be dismantled.
Chapter 18
The Manipulator
U
NKNOWN: You’re so pretty when you sleep.
My heart drops when I read the text.
I already knew the fucker was in my house from the rose on my nightstand, but his lack of shame enrages me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks as fury and embarrassment rise inside of me.
I was knocked out cold last night, and I hate that while I was peacefully sleeping, a man was standing over me, watching and just being an all-around freak of nature. The thought sends cold shivers down my spine.
After Max crashed our dinner, Daya and I felt considerably on edge—the mood soured and rotted. We combated that feeling by bar-hopping. We picked a random drink off the menu for each other, and by the end of the night, we were both pretty toasted.
I tried to avoid thinking about Max the entire night, but his threats plagued me anyway. Lingering at the back of my mind, there to remind me when I had a moment to think.
And it hasn’t gotten any better.
I spent this whole day trying to write, but I barely managed over a thousand words. I’ve long since given up and have retreated to my room to watch mindless TV.
ME: You’ll look pretty after I stab you.
I don’t even know why I reply to him. I should stop and report this to the police. They’ll think I’m antagonizing him.
Jesus, I am antagonizing him.
But after Max’s threat, I don’t need any more reason to make him suspicious by reporting a stalker. And for the ones I already made after Arch’s disappearance, I hope those went missing too.
Never thought I’d wish for my only evidence against my shadow to disappear, but the threat of Max oddly frightens me more.
Maybe I’m kidding myself with a false sense of security with the former. He’s scared the absolute fuck out of me, but he hasn’t seemed inclined to physically hurt me. In fact, he’s done the exact opposite, and that knowledge makes me sick.
Max, on the other hand, I know would hurt me.
UNKNOWN: A gun wasn’t enough for you? Interesting.
I drop the phone on my bed, and then my head into my hands. But then my head snaps up when I remind myself that the fucker was watching me sleep last night. Which means he got in my house again.
All the blood in my cheeks drains like a whirlpool when I realize he could’ve been in my house before I even went to bed.
That’s what he did last time, and I was pretty out of it last night. I know I read Gigi’s diary for a little while, but I don’t think I retained a single word I read.
My gaze draws to my closet doors, like a magnet on a refrigerator. It’s a large closet with two doors that slide apart. My eyes thin, narrowing on the tiny crack between the two.
My body moves on autopilot. I’m scrambling out of my bed and storming to the closet door before I can think it through. I have no idea what I’d do if he’s standing there.
Probably shit myself.
I tear the doors open and stop short when I’m met with nothing but way too many clothes that I don’t wear.
There’s nowhere for him to hide in here. It’s not a deep closet and certainly not big enough to hide a six-foot-too-many-inches man. My hands tear through my clothes anyways, searching for him. And even when I’m positive he’s not there, I stare harder, swiping my clothes aside with heightening aggression.
Get a fucking grip, Addie. It’s like you want him to be there.
I sigh and turn away, the adrenaline rush diminishing. There’s nowhere else in this room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it’s an open concept with minimal furniture.
Now, I just feel like an idiot.
I plop on the bed, crisscrossing my legs as I stare at my phone like it’s a mousetrap with a big ass block of cheese in it. Gourmet smoked gouda fucking cheese, to be precise.
The phone lights up with an incoming text, the vibrations in the bed traveling straight up my legs.
I snatch it up. I fucking love gouda cheese, goddammit.
UNKNOWN: I’ll be seeing you tonight, little mouse.
I snarl.
ME: From outside my house, and preferably in a cop’s handcuffs.
UNKNOWN: You don’t need a cop to get me in handcuffs, baby. I’ll let you do anything you want to me.
I’m going to suffer from a heart attack with the severe directions my blood keeps rushing to. My pussy pulses from the illicit thought of him handcuffed to my bed, a smirk on his face, dripping with sin. And those goddamn mismatched eyes looking up at me the way he did when he was fucking me with his gun. Like I’m a little mouse that he wants to devour, stuck in the trap with the gouda cheese puffing up my cheeks.
Fuck.
My hands shake as I try to force the thought from my head. But it’s taken hold and I can’t get it out.
I straighten my legs, squeezing my thighs together. But it doesn’t ease the steady throb between my clenched thighs, nor the wetness pooling between them.
My heart races as another ping vibrates my phone.