Page 93 of Stalker

By then, I hadn’t known what to believe. I’d driven the brutal images away, silencing them with shadows. I’d allowed darkness to become my friend.

When I was older, finding them just hadn’t had the same appeal. Maybe that had been selfish of me, but I’d finally found a place in the world, one that I controlled.

But the memory and the horrible deed continued to haunt all three of us, tethering us with long claws that ultimately belonged to our father.

He’d chained us to his memory as much as he’d done so with his brutality.

Now I’d come to believe we were indeed exactly like him.

Our blood tainted.

Our minds fractured.

We were nothing but the products of a monster so naturally, we were as well. I knew I might as well accept it and move on.

But not before ensuring my Lady Butterfly’s life was protected. That much I owed to her after shutting down.

Perhaps one day I’d regret my decision, but at least the decent side of me had finally risen past the sludge of rage and indecency to do the right thing. Was this the part where eventually she’d thank me?

I closed my eyes, envisioning her face as she smiled and when she’d acted coyly. Then an image of her luscious and very naked body quickly replaced it.

Fuck.

She was light to my darkness, but they were always in conflict. They could never coincide, never be allowed to come together because if they were, there was always a violent storm.

My hand was shaking from adrenaline as I raked it through my hair. Last night had been worse than the one before, the nightmares extremely vivid. Maybe because all I’d wanted to do was to go to her house, demanding entrance. Then I’d fuck her over and over again.

But I’d maintained self-control.

Only when the morning light had final drifted in through the blinds, I’d come to the realization that control wouldn’t last forever.

I was biding time and it wouldn’t last.

What I wanted to do right now was to gut David Foster, but I couldn’t risk bringing any harm to Cassandra. Instead, I’d spent half the night digging up dirt on the man. By the time he walked into work this morning, his entire world would crumble around him. Doing so had been completely unsatisfying.

I clenched my fist around the mug, hearing the damn piece of ceramic crack. Disgusted, I moved to the sink, pouring out the rest and tossing it into the trash can. I’d need to go hunting very soon or I’d spiral into revenge-based madness.

Maybe that’s why I’d made a phone call as soon as the timing had been right. I wasn’t certain if doing so was in my best interest or that of my brothers, but at this point, I was well aware I couldn’t continue living this way.

Ten minutes passed.

Another fifteen.

All I could think about was Cassandra and that she hadn’t budged with either her insistence I wasn’t such a bad man or her refusal to admit she was investigating me. My possessive side was right there, crushing the thin layer that I’d cemented around myself.

Fuck.

Maybe a shower would break me away from my lurid thoughts. Just as I started to head out of the room, my phone rang.

I expected Zach or Xander, but the number on the screen provided me with a strange sense of anger that had no place at the moment. It was an inquiry and nothing more.

I bristled as soon as I recognized it.

“Wilder Blackwell.”

“Yes, Mr. Blackwell. This is Warden Thomas Carter of the Red Onion State Prison. I got your message.”

There was not enough air in the room. I moved to the back door leading from the kitchen to the patio. “Yes, Warden Carter. Thank you for returning my call.”

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