Page 135 of Stalker

“Bullshit.”

There was no reason to be frustrated with her determined wishes, but I was, enough so I pulled away and grabbed the photograph, forcing her to take a good, hard look at the faces. “Take a good look at the man in the photograph, my sweet butterfly.”

She barely glanced, darting her gaze up to meet mine.

I grabbed her arm, squeezing more than I’d intended. “Look!”

“Fine. But you’re hurting me.”

“Which is more than this bastard will do if he manages to get his hands on you. Look at the photograph, Cassandra. Tell me what you see.”

“Jesus. Okay! I…” She took a few seconds, her chest heaving as she did what I commanded her to do. “I see him. He has cold eyes. They’re devoid of life.”

“Very good. Look at mine.”

Huffing, she tilted her head, flicking her gaze back and forth. “Intelligent. A sense of knowing. And love.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, butterfly. I don’t know how to love.”

“You’re such a liar, Wilder. Why do you do that to yourself and to me?”

“Look again. What else do you see?”

She was struggling with the answer, but when I shook her entire body, she grimaced and lifted her pretty eyes with mine. We were both locked in a harsh prison cell, one completely understanding the other, finding several lost pieces of our soul.

However, it wasn’t enough.

I’d ruin her.

“Tell me!”

“Fine. Fine! He looks just like you.”

CHAPTER32

Cassandra

“What do you mean you’re locking me in?” I demanded, pounding on the door. The sexy bastard had lied to me, telling me he would allow me to help, but he’d duped me.

Just like you’re planning on doing with him.

Okay, so maybe I’d given him an out telling him I’d wait for him, but he knew me too well. Talk about lack of trust. I almost banged my head on the door. Wilder truly believed he deserved to die.

Ugh, my inner voice was reminding me of everything I had planned.

Only at this point, I wasn’t certain I could put my plan in place.

The text he’d received had changed everything. I’d seen it in his eyes. There was no mistaking the rage I’d witnessed or the way his mood had been altered. Or the way every action he’d taken after that had been practiced.

He was doing this with only the help of his two brothers. That just couldn’t happen.

My heart ached, the thought of losing him far too painful.

“Don’t do this.” I had a feeling my plea had fallen on deaf ears.

At least he sighed in recognition.

What if Wilder noticed Cash was waiting to break me out of the luxurious prison? Was the Blackwell man capable of hurting someone who was only trying to help?

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