Preys. Plural.

I bound along the pavement, no longer avoiding the light from lampposts. I have to push myself harder. He’s fast—probably hearing me behind him—but I’m surprised Bella’s even faster. I’d put that to being chased by two people.

When I near him, I crouch lower, and with a burst of energy, I tackle him to the ground. There’s no one around to witness the fight. His hood falls back during his attempt to push me off him, and I kick my leg out, knocking his hand out from under him. Gripping his hair, I use the force of his fall to slam his face into the concrete.

I’m mildly disappointed by how easy it is. Why does no one put up a decent fight?

He groans, and I shut him up by slamming him again. Straddling him around his midsection, I lean down to wrap my arms around his throat. He gasps for breath and wiggles as I move closer to him to put him in a headlock.

This was easy. Too easy.

I don’t notice his leg move until I’m thrown onto my back with a huff. My hold on his neck doesn’t let up until his elbow makes contact with my ribs. Pain thunders through my side, loosening my hold on him. He takes advantage of the opening and breaks out of my grip.

“Fucking cunt,” he growls as he turns, lifting his fist.

I laugh and lunge for him before he can punch me, and we both roll around on the ground like prepubescent children trying to get the upper hand. I manage to get him under me once more, laying hit after hit. If his face was bloody before, red is the only color on his skin now.

He doesn’t stop trying to block me or push me off. Still, my attacks keep coming, one fist right after the other. Fury fuels each of my movements until his body goes limp, and he stops breathing.

I hiss from the pain in my side as I pull myself onto my feet. “Dickhead,” I mutter and kick him in the ribs as payback. Looking around, I try to find a place to stash his body. The last thing I need is a bunch of cops snooping around the area because of him. That would put a kink in my plans.

I spot a rose bush behind us belonging to the nicest property on the block, shrugging to myself. I guess that’s good enough.

Keeping an eye out for witnesses, I drag him by his hoodie into the shadows behind the roses. I made a mistake once about not checking for witnesses. I won’t do it again. Shoving him under the rose bushes, I try to cover his body as much as possible. Whoever’s grandma lives here better not look out the window tomorrow morning. Let’s hope someone else finds his body first; if not… Rest in peace, Grandma.

A light layer of sweat clings to my back by the time I have him hidden away, and I’m itching to get back to staring at Bella. I crack my neck and head toward her house. She doesn’t realize how long I’ve been waiting to make her all mine. I stop in my tracks right where I pummeled the guy into the concrete with a sudden thought:

Roses. Bella likes roses.

With the minimal light of a singular streetlamp, I pick the first flower I can somewhat see. I move closer to the lamppost and use my sleeve to wipe the man’s blood off the petal. My feet automatically keep taking me in the direction I want to go while I focus on breaking off all the thorns.

I reach my car first, laying the flower on the backseat in exchange for my bag of supplies. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a skip in my step as I make the short trip to Bella’s house, where I plant myself across the street.

And now I wait.

I tap my fingers in no particular rhythm on my leg, then bounce my foot on the ground. Bella’s going to regret ignoring me, Marcus will regret touching her, and Greg will regret being a useless, perverted piece of shit.

As I stand and wait, the light from the TV flashes behind the curtains downstairs. Right above it, the lamp in Marcus’s room is on. Excitement burns beneath my skin and grows the second the lights in Bella’s room go off.

What I should do is wait for another half an hour until I’m sure she’s asleep. Again, that’s what I should do. Without a second thought, I cross the street. In a matter of seconds, my feet are on the porch railing, and I’m pulling myself up onto the awning. Her window is wide open; there’s no way she won’t hear me.

Quietly, I crawl up the side of the house, closer to her room. I’m counting the seconds until she sticks her head out and catches me, but it never happens. I frown, thinking she isn’t in there. Peeking inside, I relax when I hear the sound of her steady breaths.

It’s too early for her to be asleep. The thought that she worked herself to the bone today and fell asleep an hour earlier than usual unsettles me. From now on, that’s going to change. She’ll never have to work again if she doesn’t want to. If being a trophy wife is the life she wants, then being a trophy wife is the life she’ll have.

I help myself inside while keeping my footsteps light once my boots hit the floor. Her face is hidden beneath the covers, so I can’t stare at her as I wait for the rest of the neighborhood to go to sleep.

Pulling out an empty duffle bag, I start piling her things into it. I pause after each sound I make, but she doesn’t stir. With the bag nearly full, I leave it behind the door and make my way to the empty space next to her.

I don’t take my eyes off the back of her head as I unlace my boots and slip beneath the sheets. The single bed creaks and barely manages to fit us both. For the first time, she actually stirs from her sleep. Just not how I expected her to. She turns over and settles herself up against my chest. The top of her head brushes the bottom of my chin as she cuddles into my shoulder. I smile to myself and wrap my arms around my sleeping princess. Her body still knows who I am.

I press my lips against her forehead, whispering, "Happy birthday, Bella."

Over the months, I’ve touched her face and her arms, but I’ve denied myself this. First, it was just soft brushes on her arm and stroking her hair. I was worried about waking her up, but I have become more bold over time. It's like she's dead to the world.

If I hold her, I won’t stop wanting more. Even now, keeping my hands to myself is impossible when she feels like pure temptation, a sin of the highest power.

I keep asking myself why she didn’t respond to any of my letters. Even at the risk of having Greg or Marcus open her mail, I sent them all here. She’s not the type to ignore me, so why did she? Did she even try looking for me?

We stay like that even when Marcus starts snoring. I don’t peel myself away from her until it’s well into the early hours of the morning, ensuring there wouldn’t be a soul around that’s awake. She follows me as I pull away, and I have to stop myself from lying back down and putting my plans off for another day.

Thinking it’ll help me with my resolve, I force myself to turn my back on her and put my shoes back on. My plan backfires when I realize her intoxicating scent is everywhere, making me breathe through my mouth like a goddamn animal. It’d be so easy to crawl back under the blanket and feel her little body pressed against mine. She does something to my head even when she isn’t doing anything.

I move through the room so I don’t get caught up again, fastening my mask and gloves and throwing the bag over my shoulder. Bella’s makeshift barricade scrapes against the floor, instigating a cringe from the sound. I keep pulling on the door until everything she piled up is out of the way. Now the door’s open, and there’s nothing left to stop me.

It’s showtime.

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Chapter 16

ROMAN

The Day of the Incident

I’m in the master bedroom in seconds. Millie is fast asleep, just like I knew she’d be. She doesn’t even flinch when the damp cloth goes over her mouth and nose. She’ll wake up tomorrow none the wiser, if not a little disoriented, with a splitting headache.