He hasn’t come out yet, but I imagine he will.

Heart racing and hands shaking, I perch myself on the edge of the rocking chair, sealing my fate.

ME: Quit being a pussy and come out then.

The second the message shoots off, I regret it. I want to snatch it back.

Footsteps sound from above me. I swallow and look up as if I’ll be able to see through the ceiling and spot him. The footsteps travel further away from me, towards my room.

My phone buzzes.

UNKNOWN: Come find me.

At this exact moment, I’m questioning my sanity. Without thought, my ass lifts off the seat and I take a single step towards the staircase. My instincts are to run towards the danger, not away.

God? Me again. We really need to talk about your life decisions when you made me.

I’m not even sure I believe in Her, but if She is real, then someone needs to smack Her hand for making me the way that I am.

Thankfully, common sense kicks in, and I stop myself from going up and finding a crazed man in my house. The smart thing would be to call the police.

There’s no way he’d be able to get out without being seen. The only way out of this house is down the steps. He can’t hide forever. At this point, I don’t even care if the officer can’t catch him. As long as someone else has proof that they saw him, too, that’ll be enough for them to take me seriously.

Another buzz.

UNKNOWN: Too scared, little mouse?

As if challenging me, a door slams shut. I startle from the noise, my heart jumping up into my throat. Even if I wanted to scream, I wouldn’t have been able to make a sound.

My chest pumps erratically as the fear grows more potent.

ME: I’m calling the police.

I can feel the judgment through the walls. Here I am, calling him a pussy and challenging him to come out. Then when the tables turn, I threaten to call the police.

Because that’s the smart thing to do, dumbass.

Then why the fuck do I feel so stupid for saying it? How is that possible?

UNKNOWN: Do you remember what I said last time?

How could I forget? The more I disobey him, the harder the punishment. I bite my lip, seriously contemplating going upstairs and finding him. I release a shaky breath.

I have a choice to make, and I already know I’m going to make the wrong one.

I resign myself and start typing.

ME: Here I come, asshole.

I keep my phone clutched in one hand and the knife in the other. No way am I going to be an idiot again and drop the knife. It’s staying firmly planted in my grip, just like it’ll be firmly planted in this dude’s face once I find him.

I make my way up the steps quietly. Though I’m not sure it really matters if he hears me coming or not. I have a dreadful feeling that even though I’m coming to find him, he’s going to find me first.

That familiar heady feeling settles in my gut. It churns like alcohol in an empty stomach. Sweat breaks across my forehead, and my mouth feels like I swallowed sand.

I’m fucking terrified.

A row of sconces on each side of the hallway provides just enough light to see that no one is there. I click the flashlight on my phone and start in the first room.

 I slowly make my way into each room, checking immediately to my left and right before entering any further. I check behind the doors and in every corner of the room.

The closet is the worst part. Opening the door and knowing that I may come face to face with a man.

A man that wants to punish me.

Tears gather in my eyes when I discover the first closet empty. My poor heart is suffering from extreme palpitations right now. I don’t think this amount of fear in my bloodstream is healthy.

Still, I forge on, finding the following two rooms completely empty as well.

There are only two more rooms and a bathroom left in this hallway. And lastly, a door at the very end of the hall that leads to the attic.

If he’s up there, he can stay there. There’s no way I’m going up in the fucking attic to find him. I will gladly admit defeat.

Sucking in a deep breath, I face my bedroom. Aside from the attic, it’s the only room left in this hallway with a closed door.

What is he feeling right now? Standing on the other side, waiting for me to enter. Our roles are reversed, this time with me lingering outside the door. Still, I’m the one left terrified while he calmly awaits me. Anticipating all the things he’s going to say to me. Do to me.

How he’s going to hurt me. Punish me.

Steeling my spine, I turn the knob and push open the door. When it swings open, a scream climbs up my throat.

He didn’t even try to hide.

My balcony doors are wide open, the moonlight spilling in. And there, a dark figure shrouded in white light, is my shadow. Staring at me with a wicked smile on his face and a blade in his hand.

Chapter 15

The Manipulator

I ’m completely immobilized beneath his stare. I can only imagine the look on my face when I see him standing there, waiting for me.

The sconces behind my bed are lit, offering dim lighting. Enough for me to get a clear view of him. He’s clad in all black. Leather boots, jeans that wrap tightly around broad thighs, and a matching hoodie that looks a size too small with the way he fills it out.

Still, I can’t see much of his face—that damn hood.

My tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips.

“Take off your hood,” I say, a slight tremor in my voice. He doesn’t. Nor does he speak.

Anger begins to build beneath the fear.

“You wanted me to come find you, kitty cat. I did. So take off your fucking hood and show me your face,” I demand, my voice rising alongside my anger.

A sinful smirk tugs at his lips when he hears his new nickname. He thinks this is a game of cat and mouse. If he wants to debase me with a nickname, it’s only fair I return the favor.

Slowly, he reaches up and slides the hood off his head, the knife glinting as if to mock me. I have my own knife, too.

Any triumph I felt over my little jab dissipates like butter in a hot skillet.

And all the fear I’ve been feeling triples. His face is… unlike anything I’ve seen. But that’s the thing—I have seen him before. The mismatched eyes give him away.

In the bookstore, I only saw portions of his face. At the time, he seemed mildly attractive. But now that I see those pieces as a whole, he’s devastating.

His right eye darker than the midnight sky, and the other the exact opposite. His left eye is so bleached of color, it’s nearly white. The scar starting from the middle of his forehead, slashing straight down through his white eye and to the middle of his cheek, is something I haven’t been able to forget since I saw him in the bookstore.

Despite the ugly scar, it only serves to heighten his utter beauty. A jawline so sharp, he could cut diamonds with it. A straight, aristocratic nose. Full lips. And short black hair, just long enough to run your hands through.

This is wrong. So wrong.

I shouldn’t be attracted to a stalker.

His presence is so overwhelming, it feels as if he’s ten feet tall with a shadow crawling up the ceiling, slithering toward me. This room feels tiny with him in it. I feel tiny with him in it.

He takes a step toward me, a hint of that smirk remaining on his face—just the slightest curl in his lips.

I take a step back. Finally, my instincts aren’t completely jacked sideways, and I make my first smart move of the night.

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?”

Briefly, I close my eyes. His voice washes over me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The sound is as deep as his black eye.