Page 113 of Stalker

The look in his eyes remained the same, but his entire demeanor changed. When he pulled what looked like a black hood from his back pocket, I tried to sidestep him, but he slammed his hand on the wall next to me, using his massive body to keep me in place.

I was instantly hot all over, uncertain what he had intended.

The moment he shoved the hood over my face, I latched onto his shirt. The exhilaration was incredible, yet my mind was trying desperately to process what the hell was going on. I should have the fight or flight feeling, but with him, I wanted his dominance. I’d craved being captured and taken. The realization was disturbing and thrilling. “What are you doing?” The mixture of fear and excitement was palpable. I was breathless, already lightheaded.

“Taking you somewhere safe.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Please! Who are you protecting me from? Some deranged killer?” He tossed me over his shoulder and that’s the moment I began to fight. The single savage crack against my bottom was jarring.

But I wasn’t thinking about the pain, but about the twisted, explosive, and intense rush of excitement.

“Yes, Lady Butterfly. The monster is completely deranged. There is no mistaking his intentions. For you see, the fucker is my father. He’s no longer serving his sentence for murdering my mother. Now he’s entered into the hunt. And you’re his intended next victim.”

CHAPTER27

Wilder

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Tick. Tock.

The house was quiet, other than two distinct noises, the sounds conflicting. One being the single antique I’d allowed inside the beach house.

A clock.

It wasn’t just any clock, but a creative piece designed by a Scandinavian artist. I’d thought the intricate pattern of marquetry gorgeous, the twenty-thousand-dollar price tag a mere pittance in my mind. But while the heavy wind from a building storm pushed waves of water against the shore in a hard thud, the dichotomy of nature and time ticking away kept my rapt attention. However, the thoughts the sounds fueled were potentially hazardous to anyone who crossed me.

I lifted my glass in salute to the angry, brutal images ticking against what was left of my decency. In accepting the fact I’d shifted from maintaining control to needing to act on my desire for revenge, I felt more freedom than I had in a long time.

Years.

And why?

The answer was simple.

The decent human being I’d crafted myself into wasn’t innate to my system. I’d functioned but hadn’t truly lived.

At least not in the way I had during my early twenties. Those had been the days. I’d finally embraced every dawn, almost instantly smiling because of the plans I’d orchestrated for the day.

Murder and mayhem.

Maybe the two words were far too simple for the truth behind my actions.

I allowed memories to remain firmly planted in the forefront of my mind. How I’d enjoyed the mindset needed, the planning, the stalking, and the final determination of the victim’s judgment. I’d certainly missed those days.

I’d spent my time while Cassandra had slept peacefully, calling in a favor with an old, retired police chief who’d been on duty during the years my father had been actively stalking and killing women. He’d confirmed a few pieces of the puzzle, including the fact the bastard had used a few young men to help in his endeavor. Only my father hadn’t allowed any of them to live to tell the tale. The retired detective had sent me a few pieces of information that he’d archived, the gruesome details not for the faint of heart. He’d been none too pleased I’d reminded him he owed me a favor either.

What I hadn’t shared with him was the real reason for my inquiry. That was my personal business.

With a slight celebration shoved aside, I savored the slight burn of the powerful scotch. There was nothing so exquisite as a fine liquor.

Well, almost.

A crackle of electricity brought a smile to my face.

I was no longer alone.

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