Page 95 of Through the Flames
I dug through his dresser on the hunt for one of his shirts, preferably one big enough to drown in, like I was drowning in him.
Sliding the drawer open, I felt it catch halfway. I huffed, and after a hard yank, it gave way. My fingers landed on the soft cotton of his neatly folded shirts as a faint clink echoed from inside.
“Fuck.” I muttered under my breath.
Leave it to me to break his stuff the one time I looked for something myself. Peeking inside the drawer to find out if ascrew had come loose or if I’d broken it beyond repair, my eyes found a matte-black hard case instead, tucked under clothes.
Carefully picking it up, I spun it in my hands. The case felt cool and smooth. It looked sleek and expensive, except … there was a dent and a scratch on one side.
Oh God, please tell me I hadn’t just broken some kind of expensive tech gear bullshit.
Hoping only the exterior was damaged, I opened the latch and heard a soft hiss of air escaping.
With furrowed brows, I surveyed the contents, like I knew what the fuck broken high-tech equipment looked like.
A small camera lens was glinting in the glow of the monitors, and next to it sat SD cards in neat rows. Each card was labeled in tidy handwriting: timestamps, initials —E.K.
My throat went dry, and my heartbeat picked up as I set the case down again. Not to get a big head or something, but those weremyinitials. It seemed almost too much of a coincidence to be true.
Right?
Thoughtfully gazing at the camera, I gave a slow blink as a wild, unhinged notion entered my head. I turned on the spot, slowly and deliberately letting my gaze wander through the room.
I did a double take when my eyes fell on a device plugged into an outlet by the dresser. It was positioned flush against the wall, barely noticeable. But now? A tiny green dot winked at me like a secret.
Frozen to the spot, my pulse thudded in my ears. Was this what he did? Did he watch people? Or maybe justme?
“Oh my God …” I murmured, feeling a tightness in my chest — not from fear, but from something darker and heavier curling low in my insides.
Now I began actually scanning the room, my adrenaline spiking like a fever and my pulse pounding in my ears.
My eyes widened as they fell on the smoke detector, and I recognized the too-perfect lens at the center. Holy fucking shit. He was surveying this room from every possible angle.
How long had he been watching me in here? Was he keeping tabs on me or his room? Was he hoping to catch me touching myself to the thought of him?
As these thoughts took root, the initial socially acceptable emotion of slight fear, maybe even disturbance, was replaced by a deep throb of arousal.
My thighs pressed together unconsciously, my breath going shallow.
“Jesus, Ella. You should be running. Calling someone …” I put a hand to my forehead before my hands threaded into my hair, twisting a long strand in between my fingers, as I tried and failed to get a grip on myself.
I imagined him in this chair, jaw tight. Watching,alwayswatching.
With my gaze, I traced the outline of the lens, like it was alive. Heat flooded through me as I wondered if he was watching me even now. I wanted to play with fire, wanted to see what he’d do when he knew I knew.
I couldn’t stop replaying everything in my head.
Every little quirk I laughed off, every thing I thought was just Hunter being Hunter.
The way he always seemed two steps ahead, how he’d hacked into a locked drive to retrieve that tape before it ruined Hailey and Colt, and how he’d done it as easily as checking his email.
The night he’d torched Sierra’s old sorority without leaving a fingerprint, blasting their embezzlement receipts across campus without dragging her name into it.
And then, the quiet way he answered questions I never asked out loud. Like he already knew. Like he was always watching.
And now this. The cameras, the neat rows of SD cards marked with my initials.
Was it all connected? Or was I insane to even consider this?
