Page 29 of Killer Confections
Addison seems reluctant to drop the subject, but she doesn’t push further as she takes the blanket and pillow from Loxley. She situates herself on the sofa before the lights are turned out and the apartment settles into a quiet hum.
I wait a few hours for both of them to sleep. I know that after discovering a stalker, slumber won’t find them easy. It isn’t until around three in the morning that Addison’s phone falls from her hands, smacking into her face as she snores loudly, that I decide to make my move.
I pull my balaclava up before heading up the fire exitstairs and peering into the third floor. When the coast is clear, I dismantle the security system before using a lock picking set to open the door silently.
I bypass the woman on the sofa, heading straight for the main bedroom. I press an ear to the door, listening to the sounds as closely as I can. When I hear nothing that may suggest Loxley is awake, I turn the knob and push it open slowly.
The sound of even breathing reaches me and I know she can’t hear me. She sounds like she’s in NREM, which indicates she’s only been asleep for about twenty to thirty minutes. Any sooner and I would have fucked up.
I step into the room, my footfalls so light that hearing a pin drop would be louder. I move to the bed, standing directly over my girl as she sleeps slightly turned on her stomach, one arm crammed under the pillow and the other beside her face. Her mouth is slightly ajar, a trail of drool dripping onto the pillow’s casing.
I hold back my snort before cautiously lifting a hand to the outline of her hip under the covers.
I can’t leave without touching her. She’s like a fucking drug and I’m the addict, needing my next fix of her. I haven’t had a hit in years and I’m aching for it.
My fingertips dip, grazing her curves with feather light touches. I picture my gloved hands grabbing at her waist, fingers digging into the supple, pale flesh as I leave bruises everywhere I touch.
I’ve wanted ownership of her for years. I’ve wanted to leave my mark on her body, warning against any others who would dare to think of touching what’s mine.
I move higher, the duvet shifting and I get a glimpse of her cream colored side. I pull my mouth cover down, leaning into her before my lips press gently to the heated flesh. I trail them further along her curves, smiling against her skin when I see goosebumps pebble her arms.
So responsive to my touch even in sleep.
She makes a low sound in her throat, her head moving against the pillow. I give her one last kiss on her rib cage before pulling the covers up her body and tucking her in. I take the note from my pocket, tossing it on the nightstand before I spot Loxley’s phone next to her lamp.
I smirk, grabbing it and typing in my number before leaving.
Chapter Thirteen
Loxley
I should be excited, chipper even, to begin my day. The grand opening of Sweet Haven is something I’ve been looking forward to for years, but last night’s incident has me on edge.
Who am I kidding? That’s no incident. Some sick fuck is stalking me, and they’re damn good at it.
I shouldn’t be intrigued by whoever has full access to everything in my life, my home included. But I can’t seem to help it. How is any of this possible? How are they so good at getting past me without raising any suspicion?
Getting into the bakery with the door wide open was my fault, but I should have heard or seen them before they got to the second entrance. And now my home? I have a security system. Whoever this is, they’ve been very busy and observant.
I’m still terrified of this mystery person’s intentions, but if they were really trying to hurt me, they’ve had every opportunity. I mean, they left me flowers, for Christ’s sake!
My mind is a jumbled mess as I move around my room, pulling my uniform on. When I spot my reflection in the body mirror next to my bed, I stop to appreciate my attire. The pastel pink v-neck is adorable with the bakery’s white logo stamped over the breast. I paired it with some light colored jeans and a pair of worn-out shoes I can’t seem to part with.
I had matching aprons made for everyone last week, waiting at the shop for us. It all feels so official, and I smile for the first time since I dejectedly shuffled out of bed.
Once my teeth are brushed and my hair is clicked back into a bun, I go to my bedside table for my keys, but halt when I see a note sitting atop the mahogany.
My brow furrows as I grab it, unfolding it. My eyes skim the lines, anger sizzling hotter and hotter in my veins.
Call the police, and your ass will be so bruised you can’t sit for a fucking week, beautiful. See you at the grand opening.
Love,
Your Stalker
Oh, this asshole!
Who do they think they are? They can’t just come into my fucking apartment and get away with this. This isn’t some game!
