Page 45 of The Diávolos: Part One
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, my angel. You might not know who I am, but I know exactly whoyouare. And I knowwhatyou are. That’s all that matters,” I say bluntly.
“If you’re so sure about yourself, thenwhatam I?” she argues, and I can almost feel the heat of her anger through her skin.Good.
“Mine,” I growl, and I let go.
This renders her speechless. She thinks I don’t know her, but I do. I know everything there is to know about Angelica’s life, but what I’m dying to find out is what makes her truly angry, what makes her churn inside. What makes her smile. What scares her and what turns her on.Everything.
“Angelica Hera Kouvalakis. No siblings. You suffered a great loss as a child. The relationship with your father is strained, so you moved away four years ago to start a new life. You went to college at Antium City U and studied Sociology. You’re close to your maternal grandparents and your childhood best friends’ names are Aria and Gianis. You have history with him, but you never dated. You’ve had one serious relationship when you were seventeen, with the dickwad I stole you away from earlier. You do hot yoga once a week and you go to the shooting range a few times a week, but Thursdays are your favorite days. You love coffee and cheesecake. You have scars on your wrist hidden by an elastic band you rarely take off…”
Angelica’s jaw tightens as I mention all the things I know about her. “Should I keep going, angel?”
She stays silent, so I continue.
“Your three best friends in Antium might not know the truth of who you are and where you come from, but I do.” I approach her cautiously so as not to scare her, given her eyes are still covered. She begins to turn her face, sensing me getting closer, but I grab onto her chin before she can move away from me.
“Like I said, I know you. When I want something, I do my research. You might not feel it yet, Angelica, but you’re mine and that’s something you’re going to have to make peace with.” I let my fingers caress her cheeks, and I rub her bottom lip with my thumb. “And if you can’t, too fucking bad.”
Angelica’s body language is angry, but her face relaxes into my hold, anyway. Whether she likes it or not, she knows I’m going to get my way and she can’t do anything about it.
“There’s nothing this world can do to get in the way of my obsession with you,” I add.
“What do you want from me?” she asks, tears seeping through the black, silky fabric covering her eyes. A drop travels down her face and I swipe it away. More tears follow and I wish I could take the fear away. Angelica believes I’m out to hurt her. I once was. But when I saw her true colors, or the lack thereof, her darkness consumed me, drew me in, hooked me. She’ll realize soon that I’m not the true enemy.
“Everything,” I respond as I bend down to lick a stream of salty liquid rolling down her face, making her gasp.
“I have nothing to give.”
“You have exactly what I need,” I retort.
“And what is it that I have,stalker?”
“Your life.”
Angelica’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to come up with words, but I don’t need her to say anything. Sooner or later, she will understand that her life is mine to keep.
I need her for more than I initially planned. She somehow fills the void I didn’t know I had.
I want to fucking own her, body and soul. I can’t think straight from the physical pull I feel toward her. I’ve been watching her for weeks, but being this close to her is a game-changer. The sense of familiarity and comfort when she’s near messes with my head. I know I shouldn’t let my feelings get in the way, but it’s too late.
She doesn’t know who I truly am. She doesn’t even know my full name. Or that I’m going to use her and break her apart. Take the pieces of her life, the shattered bits, and assemble her back together like a puzzle.
Selfishly, I want her all to myself.
I untie the knot of her blindfold and let the scarf fall down her face. It takes a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the bright light, and when they do, I watch as her whole world turns black again.
“Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future.”
—Fulton Oursler
What the hell just happened?
I slowly open my eyes and stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. How did I end up on my back when what felt like seconds ago, I was sitting and conscious? My brain is in a fog as the memories take their own sweet time to re-appear. When I finally remember, panic sets in.
No amount of adrenaline in the world could have roused me enough to stay conscious after I saw my stalker’s face. I’d felt a deep gut sickness, a feeling of impending doom, like my body would die from the inside. Now that I’m awake, I still feel like I'm dying at the thought of who I saw when the cloth fell away. I didn’t want to believe it, but when he’d called me ‘angeloúdi mou,’ bile had risen to the back of my throat. I vividly remembered only one other person calling me that endearment in Greek, but my brain still tried to ignore the link.
Evan. My stalker. Same fucking person.
I feel violated. Evan knewexactlywho I was when we met at the range, yet he pretended he didn’t. I feel like a complete idiot, but I try to give myself some grace. How could I have guessed they were the same person? It’s not like our interactions gave anything away.He knew your name.I’m so naive.
