Page 57 of Stalker

Yes, my Lady Butterfly was certainly an eclectic reader.

The moment was endearing something I wouldn’t forget. But I forced myself to leave the peaceful room, making my way to the second on the floor.

As soon as I turned on the light, every muscle in my body tensed.

The room in the video. I was positive of it. I moved slowly toward the headboard, brushing my fingertips across the cool metal. The color of the comforter matched and as I studied the contents of the room, I noticed a camera’s tripod placed on the dresser’s surface. I also noticed two drawers had locks on them.

And lo and behold, a key was left near the tripod.

The lovely Cassandra was truly a very bad girl, one who needed punishment. That would only come from me. No one else would ever touch her again.

How strange that the realization felt natural in my mind, as if she’d been hand delivered to me to defile and shape. Almost like a protégé to my dark needs. Together we could be a formidable couple.

Only she still walked the right side of the law where playing in the gray was my forte.

Perhaps I could indoctrinate her.

After taking three long strides, I grabbed the key, easily opening the first drawer. My beautiful vixen had a collection of sex toys that would rival a dominatrix. She even had a sturdy looking tawse that intrigued me.

As I rubbed my finger across the collection, I felt even closer to her than before.

Another primal moment rose up inside of me, the intensity more severe than before. She was showing off her body to others. Was she giving her body to them as well?

I reminded myself that jealousy didn’t look good on me and closed the drawer. However, my need to learn everything possible about her also increased. In the other drawer was a stunning if not avant-garde collection of lingerie.

I brought a pair of thongs to my nose, drinking in her sweet essence. Even washed, I easily gathered a whiff of her natural scent. I was forced to adjust my cock, the ache almost blinding at this point.

I’d need relief soon either in the form of sex or blood. At this point, I didn’t care which.

Without thinking, I shoved them into my back pocket. Maybe I was a freak after all, the beast inside of me needing a souvenir. When the room was exactly as I’d found it, I returned downstairs, resisting the strong urge to invade her privacy once again.

I hadn’t realized before in my hurry to enjoy spending time with her that the table where her laptop remained was also covered in papers, a notebook and pen placed just off to the side. This time, I wouldn’t risk turning on a light, but I didn’t need to. As soon as I hit the spacebar, the light of the brightly lit screen allowed me to see what she was working on.

It was easy to distinguish her handwriting from another, the loops and hearts used dotting i’s a cute representation of her more innocent personality. But her strokes were bold, exclamation points used as well.

My possessive nature began to take over, my mind spinning with possibilities.

The notes were almost cryptic, both sets of handwriting in cursive and not meant for others to read. But I was able to decipher enough that my blood ran cold.

My Lady Butterfly was investigating not only the Blackwell Group and the three men who owned it, but she’d also listed pointed questions regarding the Obsidian Society.

But there was more.

I pulled a single piece of paper into my hand, almost crumpling it as soon as I did.

A name on the top dragged me straight into hell.

Cain Demarco.

AKA our biological father.

The bastard who’d killed our mother.

The worthless piece of shit who’d taken the lives of more than a dozen women.

Spots of blood trickled into my vision, flashes of images that I knew had been repressed.

In the next few seconds, I relived the horrible night when my entire life had changed.

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