Daya was right about that, too. I do have great tits.
He reaches up to tear the bra from my body—I probably would’ve smacked him if he actually ripped it—but he freezes when loud banging interrupts us from the main floor.
The sound is so sudden, so violently loud that I gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Our eyes meet in stunned silence. Someone is pounding on my front door, and they don’t sound too nice.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asks, his hand dropping to his side, seemingly frustrated by the interruption.
“No,” I breathe. I quickly tug my shirt back on—backwards—and rush down the creaky steps. Taking a moment to check outside the window next to the door, I see the front porch is vacant. My brow furrows. Letting the curtain fall, I stand in front of the door, the stillness of the night closing in on the manor.
Greyson walks up beside me and looks over at me with a confused expression.
“Uh, you gonna answer that?” he asks dumbly, pointing at the door as if I didn’t know it was right in front of me. I almost thank him for the directions just to be an ass, but refrain. Something about that knock has my instincts blaring Code Red. The knock sounded aggressive. Angry. Like someone had pounded on the door with all their strength.
A real man would offer to open the door for me after hearing such a violent sound. Especially when we’re surrounded by a mile of thick woods and a hundred-foot drop into the water.
But instead, Greyson stares at me expectantly. And a little like I’m stupid. Huffing, I unlock the door and whip it open.
Again, no one is there. I step out onto the porch, the rotting floorboards groaning beneath my weight. Cold wind stirs my cinnamon hair, the strands tickling my face and sending shivers racing across my skin. Goosebumps rise as I tuck my hair behind my ears and walk over to one end of the porch. Leaning over the rail, I look down the side of the house. No one.
No one on the other side of the house, either.
There could easily be someone watching me in the woods, but I have no way of knowing with it being so dark. Not unless I go out there and search myself.
And as much as I love horror films, I have no interest in starring in one.
Greyson joins me on the porch, his own eyes scanning the trees.
There’s someone watching me. I can feel it. I’m as sure of it as I am about the existence of gravity.
Chills run down my spine, accompanied by a burst of adrenaline. It’s the same feeling I get when I watch a scary movie. It begins with the beat of my heart, then a heavy weight settles deep in my stomach, eventually sinking to my core. I shift, not entirely comfortable with the feeling right now.
Huffing, I rush back into the house and up the steps. Greyson trails behind me. I don’t notice he’s in the middle of undressing as he walks down the hallway until he steps into my room after me. When I turn, he’s stark naked.
“Seriously?” I bite out. What a fucking idiot. Someone just banged on my door like the wood personally put a splinter in their ass, and he’s immediately ready to pick up where he left off. Slurping on my neck like one would slurp jello out of a container.
“What?” he asks incredulously, splaying his arms out to his sides.
“Did you not just hear what I heard? Someone was banging on my door, and it was kind of scary. I’m not in the mood to have sex right now.”
What happened to chivalry? I would think a normal man would ask if I’m okay. Feel out how I’m feeling. Maybe try to make sure I’m nice and relaxed before sticking their dick inside me.
You know, read the fucking room.
“You serious?” he questions, anger sparking in his brown eyes. They’re a shitty color, just like his shitty personality and even shittier stroke game. The dude gives fish a run for their money, the way he flops when he fucks. Might as well lay out naked in the fish market—he’d have a better chance of finding someone to take him home. That person is not going to be me.
“Yes, I’m serious,” I say with exasperation.
“Goddammit, Addie,” he snaps, angrily swiping up a sock and putting it on. He looks like an idiot—completely naked save for a single sock because the rest of his clothes are still thrown haphazardly in my hallway.
He storms out of my room, snatching up articles of clothing as he goes. When he gets about halfway down the long hallway, he stops and turns to me.
“You’re such a bitch, Addie. All you do is give me blue balls and I’m sick of it. I’m done with you and this creepy fucking house,” he seethes, pointing a finger at me.
“And you’re an asshole. Get the fuck out of my house, Greyson.” His eyes widen with shock first, and then narrow into thin slits, brimming with fury. He turns, cocks his arm back and sends his fist flying into the drywall.
A gasp is ripped from my throat when half of his arm disappears, my mouth parting in both shock and disbelief.
“Since I’m not getting yours, thought I’d create my own hole to get into tonight. Fix that, bitch,” he spits. Still sporting only one sock and an arm full of clothes, he storms off.
“You dick!” I rage, stomping towards the large hole in my wall he just created.
The front door slams a minute later from below.
I hope the mysterious person is still out there. Let the asshole get murdered wearing a single sock.
Chapter 2
The Shadow
T
he screams of pain bouncing around the cement walls are getting a tad annoying.
Sometimes it sucks being the hacker and the enforcer. I really fucking enjoy hurting people, but tonight, I have no goddamn patience for this whiny asshole.
And normally, I have the patience of a saint.
I know how to wait for what I want most. But when I’m trying to get some real answers and the dude’s too busy shitting his pants and crying to give me a coherent response, I get a little testy.
“This knife is about to go halfway through your eyeball,” I warn. “I’m not even going to show you any mercy and shove it all the way through to your brain.”
“Fuck, man,” he cries. “I told you that I just went to the warehouse a few times. I don’t know anything about some fuckin’ ritual.”
“So, you’re useless is what you’re saying,” I surmise, inching the blade towards his eye.
He squeezes them shut as if skin that’s no thicker than a centimeter is going to prevent the knife from going through his eye.
Fucking laughable.
“No, no, no,” he pleads. “I know someone there that might be able to give you more information.”
Sweat drips down his nose, mixing with the blood on his face. His overgrown greasy blonde hair is matted to his forehead and the back of his neck. Guess it’s not actually blonde anymore since most of it's painted red now.