The way Tommy is looking at me can only be described one way.
Predatory.
His eyes track my every move, burning into me with an intensity that feels like too much and not enough all at once, and it takes some of the sting out of not being able to go home.
Rationally I know he’s right. It’s dangerous to be at my apartment right now. My father got in last night and there’s no telling if he’d been there before. But I’m not going to be the one to tell him he’s right. I may not have had a lot of experience with men, particularly in recent years, but there’s one thing I absolutely know to be true. You never tell them they were right because that’s just a recipe for gloating, something I’m ill-equipped to deal with right now.
I walk farther into the studio apartment and drag my eyes over the space. Everything is clean, not one item out of place from its perfect composition. There’s artwork on the walls, decorative skulls and things you would perhaps expect to find in a killer’s apartment, but just…nicer.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says as he crosses to the large kitchen on the other side of the studio.
Not only is it a lot nicer than I would have thought, but it’s also huge for a studio. The kitchen is black, just like everything else, and fitted with brand-new appliances.
“How long have you been here?”
“A few years.”
I nod and move toward the living area. There’s a large television mounted to a dark-gray concrete wall and a huge couch that fills the space in front of it. Beside that is a desk with several computer screens covering the dark wood. Perhaps what I’m most impressed by is how cohesively the design works together. I’ve become addicted to home renovation shows over the last few years. That’ll happen when you refuse to make friends and have watched every sitcom ever made thirty times, and I’ve found that sometimes dark designs make a space look small and closed in. That is certainly not the case here. It looks every bit as large as it actually is.
I guess torturing and killing people for the Mafia pays well.
My eyes track around the other side of the huge space and notice what seems to be a bedroom setup. A large black wrought iron four-poster bed sits in the middle of the space. The sheets are as dark as midnight, just like the man who owns them.
“I’m going to go to your apartment to get you some stuff. Is there anything in particular you need? I’ll arrange for the rest of your stuff to be packed up and brought here tomorrow, so just whatever you need to get you through the next twenty-four hours.”
I stare at him for long seconds, trying to make sense of the words that have just come out of his mouth. “My stuff is perfectly fine in my apartment where I live.” I cross my arms across my chest defiantly.
Tommy huffs out a sigh and prowls toward me, his eyes dark with annoyance and heat. “Fawn,” he growls as he backs me up until my legs hit the edge of the couch and I have nowhere to go. “It seems I haven’t made myself clear enough, and that’s my fault.”
He crouches down until his face is level with mine and each breath whispers across my cheeks. His scent almost knocks me off my feet, the intoxicating mixture of sandalwood and vanilla making it hard to breathe.
“You are mine. I’ve tried to stay away from you. I’ve tried to allow you to live a life without the devil beside you, but I can’t do it. I will keep you safe. I will neutralize any threat that may come for you. And you will do as you’re told to allow me to do that. Do I make myself clear?”
He does, but it doesn’t make it make any more sense. His lips are just a whisper from mine, and I’m overcome with the need to kiss him. But I won’t. I’m not bold. Not anymore, at least. Perhaps when I ran from my family, bloody and broken but full of hope for a life I wanted to lead. But not now. I’ve settled into my boring life. My little apartment where I’ve spent every day I’m not at work. My comfortable routine. The job I love. It’s taken that part of me away, and I’ve never wished it didn’t more than I do right now.
“Do I make myself clear?” he repeats on a rumble.
I nod slowly because even though I disagree with every word he just said, I’m too shocked to argue. There will be time. I’ll be able to talk to Wynter and get out of this, but right now, he’s right. I need his protection. My father will stop at nothing to get to me because whatever he wants, he needs me for it. He wouldn’t bother tracking me down if it wasn’t important to him. And dread settles in my stomach at that thought.
“Good girl.” The corners of his mouth tip up into a smile. “I’ll be back.”
He turns away from me for a second before turning back and pressing the gentlest kiss to my cheek. His lips are soft and warm, and I can’t help but think about what they’d feel like everywhere else.
I’m so shocked by the gesture I don’t move as I watch him retreat, the door slamming and locking behind him.
What the fuck just happened?
Tommy’s been gone twenty minutes. It shouldn’t take that long to get whatever he deems I need for the next day or two until he can get my stuff moved here, which means I don’t have much time to snoop. During that time, I pace around the apartment, open a few drawers without really knowing what I’m looking for, and come across far too many weapons. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, and yet every time my fingers brush across a gun strapped to the bottom of a shelf, my heart stutters in my chest.
I’m rummaging through one of the drawers beside the bed when a ding fills the apartment, dragging my attention back toward the living room area.
I stare in the direction it came for long seconds, waiting to see if I hear the sound again. Best-case scenario, there’s a phone around here somewhere I can use to contact someone. Who, I’m not sure yet, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
The ding sounds again, and this time, I pinpoint where it’s coming from. The computer. It’s not the ideal place to try and contact someone, especially because there’s the possibility of a password, but my feet are carrying me toward it before I can really think through the consequences of my actions.
I don’t think Tommy will kill me, but I also wouldn’t put money on it. He’s a cold, ruthless killer and I’ve tried to make a habit of not getting on the wrong side of people like him since I got to Chicago.
But I move forward through my worries, not stopping until my hips hit the edge of the desk. My hand shakes when I reach for the mouse. I should have enough time left that the screen will go back to sleep before he returns.
The screen comes to life, and at first, I’m confused by what I’m looking at. It seems to be a security system of some kind, but it takes long moments for me to realize what it is I’m looking at in the feed. In fact, it’s not until Tommy walks across the feed and the computer dings again that I realize.
That’s my apartment.
Tommy has cameras in my apartment, and I have no idea how long they’ve been there.
Dread settles deep in my stomach, but I can’t drag my eyes away from the murderer walking around my apartment, gathering my belongings. My workbag and laptop, clothes from my closet, even the slippers I wear as I get ready in the mornings, and something occurs to me.
Tommy isn’t just a serial killer. He’s also a stalker.
My stalker.
