Page 23 of No, You Hang Up

I swear I can hear the grin on his face as he says, “That’s okay. I’ll make do somehow, pretty girl.So, favorite scary movie?”

“I sort of prefer action movies. Marvel over DC, though. Personal preference.”

“God, you’re so bad at this.”

“Maybe I’m just too good at this for you.”

His surprised laugh meets my ears and, for some reason, it makes me want to smile. But I bite my lip, as if that’ll be some kind of deterrent. It’s not like he can see it, so I don’t know why I care what expression I’m making.

“You’re really asking for it, you know? And I think this time I’ll come prepared to shut you up so I don’t have to drug you. Don’t get me wrong,”he adds sweetly. “Fucking your pretty pussy while you drifted in and out of consciousness and begged me so sweetly for anything you could think of really made my week. I loved seeing you all messy and relaxed for me. But I think I’d like you to be awake next time so you know that fighting me is pointless. You like me too much.”

“Funny,” I breathe, my chest tight at his words.Fuck,it’s hard to think straight with those ideas dancing around in my head. “Here I am pretty sure I hate you.”

“Nah.You don’t hate me. You’re afraid of me, Kai. But you don’t hate me.” It’s unfair of him to sound so confident and sure of himself. I want to grind my teeth together in irritation or hang up on him, for all the good it would do me.

If I hang up, I’m half convinced he’ll be here banging on my door within the next hour, and I think I’d rather deal with him over the phone right now.

“Do you want to hang up on me?”He’s goading me now, and it’s so hard not to do exactly that. “You don’t like this game? We can change it, if you want. Why don’t you ask me something, hmm? Ask me what my favorite scary movie is, or?—”

“What are you wearing?” I snap instead, turning his words on him challengingly, trying to throw him off his game. He can’t be expecting?—

“Not a damn thing.”The words absolutely make my brain go blank, and my ears seem to ring at the easy admission. “I’m done with work today, and I’m at home just thinking of my favorite little bunny. Wishing I was there to pin her in the mud of her yard. Is your shed clean, Kai? Could I drag you in there and have my way with you? Pin you down with my teeth in your throat and ruin you for anyone else?”He lets out a groan, and suddenly it hits me what he’s doing.

“You’re getting off on this!” I accuse.

He snorts, and I can almost hear Huxley roll his eyes. “Well, duh. That’s the point of phone sex. I deserve a little after work treat, don’t you think?”

“I think you need therapy.”

“Yeah, probably.” He definitely doesn’t sound put out by it. “Are you going to hang up on me?”

“You hang up.”

“No, you hang up. Hang up, Kai, or you’ll get to listen to me moan your name and wish I could sink into that soft, greedy little pussy. You begged me for it last night, you know. Begged me to fill you up and make you come. You begged for me to play with your clit and your tits. Do you know, you make the prettiest noises when you come? Did you know?—”

I hang up on him without listening to another word. I know he’s expecting it. He was goading me into it, after all. So when he doesn’t call back in the few minutes that I stare at my phone, I’m not at all surprised.

And I’m certainly not disappointed. Not even the slightest bit.

eleven

Iexpect him to show up that night.

Every time I walk around a corner or close a door, I expect him to be there. Sometimes I swear I see the glowing red lines of his mask out of the corner of my eye, and I jump as I glance to the side, ready to do something drastic.

But he’s never there.

Part of me even considers calling him to demand to know what he’s doing or if he plans to show up again. But that part of me is clearly insane, because it’s one of the dumbest ideas I’ve ever had. Easily top ten, in fact.

I’m jumpy all night, always expecting him to just pop up from somewhere he shouldn’t or to rise out of the floor like some kind of demon.

And I’m definitely not disappointed when he doesn’t. I refuse to be anything but grateful that he’s possibly lost interest in me, or in bothering me at the very least.

It’s a good thing. I can get some damn peace and quiet and some real sleep on my newly washed sheets that smell like fabric softener, and under my comforter that’s still so warm from the dryer. I tell myself I’m fine, and that he’s probably off doing the thing I was so afraid he’d do to me.

Huxley is a killer.

I don’t want him anywhere near me—whether I’m asleep or awake—and I’ll tell myself that until I believe it, if I need to.

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