Page 21 of Killer Confections
I made sure of that.
I had to send a few of them packing when things got too serious. One guy, an intense man named Zack, bought a fucking engagement ring six months into their relationship. He woke up the next morning with his car on fire and me propped up outside his apartment with a crowbar in my hands.
It was a rush to see his fear before I cracked it over his skull and shoved him into the driver’s seat before the flames engulfed further. I watched as the fire licked around him, destroying his body and taking his flesh.
I had someone from the syndicate ready to pick up the car and plant everything like he skipped town.
Loxley didn’t really care for the guy. He was a space filler, so she was more pissed off that he left without giving her the metal cookie sheet she lent him back.
But other than that, most of her boyfriends have been short term. They can’t keep up with her. She’s quick, always changing with the tide and exploring. She has a love for the unknown and they couldn’t handle it.
Her spirit drove me fucking wild. I wanted to be beside her through everything. The rush and thrill she gets from what’s coming is exhilarating and addictive for me.
Which is why I want to see just how deep that thrill goes. How would she feel to know someone is following her? Would she enjoy the hunt? Would she entice the monster lurking in the shadows out of curiosity?
There are endless possibilities and the delight of the chase is coursing through me. Pleasure and fear mix so well together and I know her surrender will be even sweeter.
I park outside of the quaint apartment building, humming a tune as I grab the security system from my bag and walk inside. There’s a code for the elevators, but that’s not a problem. Connor’s girlfriend, Alana, another tech for the syndicate, bypassed the shitty security of the building the dayafter Loxley moved in.
Typing in the four number code, I notice as someone enters the lobby. An older woman with white hair stops in her tracks, startling as she looks up at me.
I recognize her as the owner of the complex, pulling down my mask as I give her a charming smile. “Hey. How are you doing today, Mrs. Olivia?”
She blinks, her eyes squinting behind her thick glasses. “Do I know you? I’m sure I would remember you.”
The elevator dings and I hold up the security system in my hand. “No, but you know my girlfriend. Loxley just moved in and I came to set up her system while she’s at work.”
Her eyes widen in realization, “Of course! Go on up, dear!”
I give her one last smile as I squeeze into the cramped elevator. The ceiling is low and I have to duck down as I press the button for the third floor. The ride is quick and I shuffle out in search of unit thirty.
I pull the copied key from my pocket when I get to her door, still humming as I push it open. I stop in my tracks as I take in the decor. Everything in the unit screams Loxley. Her furniture is a part of a set, the maroon loveseat and reclining chair set off by the bright yellow blankets draped over them. The mustard colored pillows are placed aesthetically in the corners of the couch.
There’s a thick, fluffy yellow rug in the center of the living room. A circular coffee table littered with books and candles rests atop it.
In the kitchen, a single pink coated cast-iron pot sits on the stove, but the counters are stacked high with baking pans and utensils. There are dainty little hand towels hung over the stove’s handle, making everything seem homey.
She has a few framed pictures hanging around the living room of her and her parents. Some have random people who, I’m assuming, are friends from Manhattan.
I venture further, wanting to sate my curiosity. There’sone bedroom and I don’t hesitate as I open the door to Loxley’s room.
Her light pink duvet looks plush and soft even though the bedding is ruffled like she bounced out of it without thinking of fixing it. There are still a few boxes of unpacked clothes near the closet, but I don’t care about any of it.
As I inhale, the scent of peppermint and vanilla makes me groan. My cock hardens and I know what I want to take first.
After these years, she still uses the same body wash. I go to the connected bathroom, flicking on the light and flooding the room. I pass the fuzzy decorative toilet covering and grab a clear bottle from the tub’s edge. I turn it over in my hands, reading the label.
Winter Sugar.
The name makes no fucking sense, but I’ve dreamed of this smell for years. I’ve tried to find something similar, but none of it was the same. Everything felt slightly off and I gave up after a while, determining that only the real shit would work. No matter how fucking stupid the name of it was.
I note the brand, pulling out my phone and snapping a picture. I want this shit smeared over everything I own, but a gift basket for my future wife will also ease over the horrid stalking and breaking and entering.
I hope.
Opening the lid, I take a deep breath, my eyes rolling back into my skull as I feel like an addict getting a hit of pure fucking cocaine.
I have half a mind to steal this bottle and use it later as lube, soaking my skin with her scent, but think better of it. I don’t want our game to end quickly. She’s bound to call the cops if she notices too many changes at once.
