Page 16 of Don't Speak
There really is nothing like the smell of a book. The earthy scent of the pages is so calming, and the smoothness of the paper is like holding magic in your hands. I’ve always loved books. I mean, what could be better than escaping into another character’s problems and avoiding your own? I found solace in stories growing up. I went on adventures in my mind to escape the reality I was living in. Books were my saving grace, and they still are. I guess you could call them my only constant in life. There was a time I stopped reading, thinking that getting a job and attempting to put myself through school was the only thing I needed to focus on. My mental health suffered, and when I found reading again after several years, I realized that I’d never give it up again.
I’m perusing through the romance section when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. I look up to find Dean perusing the mystery section, seemingly unaware of my presence. This can’t be a coincidence, can it? He doesn’t look like the type to be caught dead in a bookstore, but I guess I don’t really know him. Placing the book in my hands back on the table, I stroll over to where I’m hidden behind a shelf, able to keep an eye on him without him seeing me. He picks up another mystery book, turning it over to read the back before placing it back down again. He continues his stroll, stopping to pick up a thriller and doing the same thing. This one apparently piques his interest because he keeps it in his hand before continuing. I move slowly behind him, quiet enough to not get caught and maintain my distance. He stops at one last table before turning and walking behind a row of shelves. I can’t see him from here, so I pad my way over and turn the corner. When I do, I’m faced with nothing. He’s nowhere in sight. I stand frozen and confused before I’msuddenly grabbed by the arm, spun around, and pushed up against the bookshelf.
“What the—” I screech before a hand covers my mouth.
“Are you following me, little lioness?” he hums, his mouth centimeters from my ear.
With his hand still covering my mouth, all I can do is shake my head.
“No? Are you sure about that?”
I stare into his eyes, still unable to speak. My breathing quickens, and that’s all he needs for confirmation. He leans back down, whispering, “Naughty, little lioness. Don’t you know you shouldn’t follow predators? You may just end up becoming their prey.” Suddenly, I hear him inhale deeply as though he is taking in the scent of me. “Mmm. My prey smells delicious.”
It’s good that he’s supporting my weight because I would have buckled to the floor immediately.
“See you at work, little lioness,” he says before he lets me go and walks away without another word.
I’m left an utter mess. My heart is still racing, and I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. My panties aredrenched. I am utterly speechless. His dominance isintoxicating, and I can’t help but crave more. I shouldn’t. I should end this now before it goes any further, but I want him. I want himso bad.
After I compose myself, I finish perusing the bookstore. Every so often, I pass by the spot where he held me, playing the encounter over and over in my head. I can’t help but smile.You can’t get attached. You will never know love. He just wants sex, and then he will leave you like everyone else.
My smile quickly fades, and I turn to leave the store, leaving the books I was going to purchase behind. I just want to get home.
My brain is a real bitch sometimes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
My cock was rock hard leaving the bookstore. The feeling of my little lioness submitting beneath my hands was so fucking hot. I would have taken her right then and there, but toying with her was too much fun. Besides, I want her to beg for it before I give it to her.
After I left, I sat in my car across the street, waiting for her to leave. I watched her walk to her car, heat having crept up her neck, making it bright red. Leaving my little lioness all hot and bothered gives me extreme pleasure.
Now, I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment, waiting for her to get home. I live close to the bar, which is close to thebookstore, so it took me less time to get home than Nikki. I have my laptop open to her living room camera as I go through file after file on Sean and James. I still haven’t been able to make the connection between the two, and the bastard hasn’t returned to his apartment. David hasn’t been able to find anything either. Things are starting to get really suspicious.
Suddenly, the camera notifies me that it has detected motion in the living room. I drop the files, pick up the laptop, and bring it closer to me. Nikki stands in the living room, staring at something in her hand. Her back is facing the view I’m currently looking from, so I change it to another. Once the new angle is loaded, I see what she’s staring at. It’s another manila envelope.
My blood boils, and rage begins to overwhelm my body. I grab the glass vase on the table next to me and throw it against the wall, shattering it upon impact. My body is vibrating with anger. Why didn’t the front door camera pick up anything?
Slowly, Nikki undoes the envelope and slides the photo out. I zoom in, trying to see what it reflects. Adjusting the settings a bit, I finally catch a glimpse before Nikki drops it to the ground. The photo is of her and me at the bar when I brushed myself against her.
How is this fucker getting pictures of us when it’s just the two of us?
That can only mean one thing.
The person taking the photographs has to be an employee.
I would have noticed James in the bar.
Even while Nikki and I were behind the bar, there were other employees coming in and out of the bar area. It could have been any of them.
Looks like I have some hunting to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Seven years ago
Detective Walsh leads me into her office, closing the door behind her. I sit in the chair opposite hers, resting my elbows on my knees and placing my head in my hands. This all just feels like one huge nightmare that I’m dying to wake up from, and every time I remind myself that this is reality, the pain cuts even deeper.
“…Mr. Miller?…” Detective Walsh’s voice snaps me back from zoning out.
