Page 128 of Stalker

Wilder walked closer, holding out his hand.

There was no need to argue with him. As long as he kept the phone in the house, there was a slight chance Cash could trace the call.

“Please let me help you, Wilder. You’re going to get yourself arrested or worse if you don’t. I don’t want that.” And I didn’t. There was no way of denying how I felt about the man, although I also couldn’t comprehend a decent reason. It wasn’t about the darker side of him or the danger oozing from every pore in his body.

Yes, he’d touched my psyche in a way no one else would ever be able to do, but that wasn’t the reason my pulse was thready, my heart aching or that there were butterflies in my stomach. My physical impairments were based solely on knowing he’d somehow already captured a portion of my heart.

It was only a matter of time before he’d claimed the rest.

“Be careful, my Lady Butterfly. I want you safe and unharmed. As I told you before, the only way for me to ensure that happens is for you to trust me. Is that something you can do?”

As soon as our fingers touched, my pulse soared. “I guess we need to trust each other.”

“You’re right. I think you’re one of the few people I can trust. My perfect butterfly. You’re also the only person who’s ever managed to see right through me.”

“Which is exactly what I wanted.”

“Just remember something. In asking for what you want, be careful you don’t create your greatest nightmare at the same time.”

CHAPTER30

“Love doesn’t end with dying. Or leave with the last breath. For someone you’ve loved deeply, love doesn’t end with death.”

-John Addey

Wilder

Death was but a product of life, an alternative form of being in which a physical entity moved into something more spiritual. At least that’s what one of my foster mothers had said. Of course that had been after she’d received a particularly brutal beating from her aggressive husband.

I’d saved a special method of death for the man. At least movies were good for something. I’d been provided with several fantastic methods of murder.

I glanced at the screen. A sixth sense had told me Xander would be calling.

“Yes?” I answered.

“You need to know something. Five women have disappeared. Five fucking women.”

As soon as he uttered the words, it was as if an icepick had been driven into my gut. Our father had continued to play a game, only this time he was fulfilling his prophecy.

“How would you know this?”

“Because they were five of our former contestants, Wilder. The bastard hired goons to use their fantasies against them. That means several other contestants could be in jeopardy. Christopher is scrambling to try and find them.”

“Two more,” I said under my breath.

“Why two?”

“He’ll need eight women. Make certain Jessica and Sara are protected.”

“They’re safe, both protected. Now, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“To him, eight was the perfect number. Eight pairs of shoes. Eight suits. I used to count them when I was little and hiding in his closet.”

“Jesus.” Xander whistled. “I don’t think I want to learn your memories. Then who is the eighth victim?” I didn’t bother answering. “Ah, fuck me. He wants the lovely prosecutor.”

“Yes. We were photographed together. The bait is too good for him to pass up.”

“Wow. Also, because you’re the newly crowned king. According to his gospel. You know what’s sick?” Xander asked. His tone was different than usual. “That was something forged in my mind. I do remember hearing him jabbering on about his rules. His gospel.”

---