Page 27 of Redemption

I gape at him. “You owe me the truth, Dane.”

His brow furrows, as though he’s struggling to process my declaration. It occurs to me that he probably doesn’t think he owes me anything. Judging by his puzzled expression, he’s never owed anything to anyone, in his mind.

“You’re upset,” he says after a long moment. “I don’t want to tell you when it will only make you more upset. I don’t like how you’re looking at me.”

“And how am I looking at you? Like you’re a monster who stalked and kidnapped me? Does that make you uncomfortable? Because I’m not remotely sorry.”

I fix him with the full force of my defiant glower. I won’t make this easy for him. If the way I look at him disturbs him, he’ll be eager to let me go soon enough.

8

DANE

Two Months Ago

Istraighten the painting on the freshly mounted hanger and then step back to check my work. The stormy sea is perfectly parallel with the top of the chest of drawers in my cramped little bedroom.

There’s barely space in here for my king-size bed and a few basic furnishings, but I’ve made this ramshackle house comfortable enough. I finalized the cash sale three days ago, and I’ve spent the weekend setting up the bedroom. The rest of the house doesn’t need to be furnished—it’s best if it continues to appear uninhabited.

I don’t want Abigail to get curious about her new neighbor. I plan to watch her from my garden across the street from her apartment building, and she’ll never know I’m here.

My larger, grander house across town is much more comfortable than this aged home with its peeling, powder blue exterior. It’s been vacant for some time, and the owners were all too eager to sell above market price without an inspection.

I still haven’t decided how or when I’ll approach her outside of our brief, daily meetings at the café. For now, I’m enjoying my clandestine study of my prey. Watching her is thrilling, fascinating like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Earlier this afternoon, I acquired her painting—the first one I ever saw her paint. She has a modest stall at the market, and a clueless tourist bought the stormy beach scene.

The never would’ve appreciated the piece like I do.

So, I waited for them to leave the market and then purchased it from them. They didn’t mind parting with the treasure for a measly hundred-dollar bill.

I sit back on my new bed and stare up at the painting. It deserves a far better display than the yellowing wallpaper in this dilapidated house, but for now, it will have to do.

In fact, if I acquire more of her art, I can conceal the cracks in the walls entirely.

I’ll go back to the market next weekend and buy all of the paintings she sells to the appreciative tourists. They might enjoy her artistic style, but they’re just looking for a pretty souvenir. I’m confident that my cash will be enough to convince them to hand over their purchases.

I love watching Abigail paint late into the night—especially her darker, erotic masterpieces—but the time she spends typing at her laptop is infuriating. I can’t see what she’s writing, and that’s maddening.

Untenable.

I’ve formulated a plan to satisfy my burning curiosity. It’s risky, but I can’t deny that the risk is exhilarating.

I leave the bedroom and step out into the night. The street is quiet, and Abigail’s window is dark. She’s not home. I followed her to make sure of it almost an hour ago. It’s half past nine, and she’s at the dive bar where we first met.

The meeting she doesn’t remember.

I force my tense jaw to relax. If I’d conquered Abigail in one night, I wouldn’t experience this life-changing hunt. She frustrates me, but I can’t deny that this is the most entertainment I’ve ever experienced when pursuing a beautiful woman. She doesn’t know the game we’re playing, but I’m enjoying it immensely.

When I take the first step across the empty street, all of my senses come alive in a way I’ve never known. I’m inside the ground floor breezeway of her building within seconds, tucked out of sight in the shadows.

My fingers shake slightly when I reach into my pocket, so I fist them around the lock picking kit I purchased online.

As a surgeon, I’m known for my steady hands. This anomaly is completely out of character, a novelty. Adrenaline hums through my veins, an almost giddy rush.

But there’s no one around to witness my crime.

I won’t be caught. I won’t be caged.

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