Page 64 of Ruthless Prince
My chest tightened with a mixture of fright and confusion as a battle between the logical and emotional parts of me raged deep within. I wanted to tear my eyes away, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop watching as the man tied me up with my stockings and jabbed a syringe in my neck. He stood up straight and headed over to my tallboy to take something from my purse. Then he waved to the camera before exiting the frame, leaving me hogtied on thecarpet.
The screen went black. I kept staring at it while the room spun around me, pitching and rolling like I was in the midst of astorm.
“I’m not crazy,” I whispered, shaking myhead.
My stalker actually existed. The threatening messages I’d received for months were real, and the night of terror I endured wasn’t the product of a psychoticepisode.
It was allreal.
The masked man had been out there the whole time, watching my every move and scaring the life out of me whenever he could. To add insult to my terror, he made everyone doubt me and my mental state by removing any proof of his existence. He even convincedmethat I was losing mymind.
It was unbelievable how well it had worked. For the last several weeks, I genuinely believed I was suffering from a condition with psychotic symptoms, and whenever I felt that skin-prickling sensation of being watched when no one was around, I disregarded my gut instincts and told myself it was anxiety-induced delusion. After all, that was the bitter truth I’d been forced toswallow.
“You fucking asshole!” I screamed, assuming my stalker was somewherenearby.
When the door on the right began to creak open, I cursed myself for shouting. What the hell was I thinking? Why would I draw attention to myself in such a stupidway?
To be fair, my captor obviously knew I was awake already. Why else would he play that recording on the TV? He wanted me to see it. He wanted me to know that he’d been in complete control of my life for the last few months. He wanted me to understand that he could’ve taken me at anytime.
Now he wanted me to know who hewas.
I pulled the duvet back over my legs, as if it would actually protect me from the danger. I was like a child hiding from an imaginary monster under the bed, refusing to let their hands or legs dangle over the edge. Only now, the lurking monster wasn’t imaginary atall.
When the door finally swung all the way open, a coldness struck at my core. Logan was standing on thethreshold.
“You,” Iwhispered.
I couldn’t believe my own eyes. How could it be him? Monsters shouldn’t be young and attractive. They were supposed to be ugly, hulking creatures with twisted features and scarredskin.
He smirked and strode inside. “Happy birthday,Willow.”
Something in his deep voice sparked an electric current between my legs. It was gone in a flash, replaced by stomach-roilingconfusion.
I didn’t know whether to be afraid or angry. I knew Logan, and that made it impossible for me to feel the same stark terror I would experience if a total stranger had stepped inside and revealed himself to be the monster. Some inexplicable part of me even felt somewhat safe with him despite thecircumstances.
Better the devil you know, Isuppose.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, heart thumping painfully fast. “Is this some sort ofjoke?”
Logan’s dark brows rose. “Not atall.”
I gestured at the TV. “Was that you? Are you the one who’s been stalkingme?”
“Yes.”
Heat flushed through my body. “Why?” I asked, curling my hands into fists. “And why have you brought mehere?”
“You’llsee.”
Prick.I rolled my eyes and jerked my left leg, making the chain jangle. “Take these cuffs offme.”
“No.”
“Do it! This isn’t funny!” I shouted, face growinghotter.
Logan tilted his chin to one side. “Good. Like I said, this isn’t ajoke.”
Despite his casual demeanor and carelessly-ruffled hair, an undeniable air of danger and darkness lingered around him. I blinked rapidly as adrenaline flooded my veins, blunting my anger and amplifying the earlier fear until my chestached.
