Her eyes narrowed, her temper fizzing in the space. “We agreed on one night. Not one fuck. Obey and you’re free. You have my word I won’t harass Olin Moss. I’ll let you graduate. You can pretend none of this ever happened.”

Her hand trailed between her legs, spreading them, revealing exactly where she put her finger. “But if you don’t crawl on your hands and knees to me this very second, our deal is void, and I’ll call the police.” Her finger dipped inside herself. “They won’t treat you kindly, Gilbert. They won’t have any reason to doubt my claims. I have the bruises to match the accusations. You’ll never see Olin again. Never be free.” She tutted with a sad shake of her head. “Poor, innocent Gilbert Clark. What a terrible predicament you’re in.”

Her lips spread into an evil smile. Her eyelashes fluttered as she fingered herself. “Now, crawl.”

I crawled.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Thirty-Two

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

“COME ON, GIL. Pick up the damn phone.”

I cancelled the call as it dropped from ringing to his answer machine for the fourth time. I understood why he wasn’t answering. I doubted being interviewed at the police station allowed personal calls to interrupt. It had only been a couple of hours since he’d been ‘borrowed’ for questions. I was probably overreacting.

I knew all of the above, but it didn’t change the fact I desperately needed him to pick up.

Something isn’t right, Gil.

And...I’m not sure what to do.

Tossing my useless phone onto my lap, I clutched the steering wheel with both hands and focused on the road. My foot rocked on the accelerator, inching over the speed limit, testing the black van tailing me.

My heart raced as the van matched my increase, gliding like a threatening shadow about to swallow me whole.

Shit.

I should’ve stayed in my apartment.

Then again, the bastard Gil was trying to protect me from had definitely been there. I didn’t feel safe knowing his hands had touched my stuff, walked my carpets, and investigated my home.

After the police had left, I’d tiptoed through the rest of my place, doing my best to untangle superstition from fact. I’d almost managed to convince myself it was just crazy imagination, lack of rest, and Gil’s ominous ‘you’re in danger’ talk that made me second-guess the privacy of my home.

However, that false hope popped the second I entered my bedroom and found my pillows on the floor. Strange but perhaps not too strange. Gil could’ve tossed them from my bed while I made us coffee before we left. He could have a weird need to do something odd—to mess up the bed I’d slept in and not offered him to join.

I could’ve spun a tale that far-out, if it hadn’t have been for the symbolism of blood smearing the linen.

Gil was a painter, but I doubted he’d ever take a bottle of red nail varnish and dribble it over my bedding and pillows, staining them with acrid crimson, turning fluffy comfort into fabric corpses.

He wouldn’t do something that reeked so pungently of death.

Instinct had kicked in, telling me to flee.

I snatched some clothes, stuffed them into my duffel, and shot from the building. I’d hoped the cops might still loiter outside. They wanted clues to apprehending a criminal? I had clues.

Gil had an airtight alibi this time. Nothing could beat being in police custody while an obvious threat to my life was left uninvited in my apartment. I could tell them about the kidnapper—give the right license plate. I could do my part in protecting Gil for a change.

But no cruiser sat at the curb. No badges and protection were there to jot down my sudden willingness to talk. Only a young couple strolling arm in arm kept me safe as I bowled from my building and almost tripped into them.

Their eyes widened at my bright green skin then snickered as I stumbled in my haste.

My hands shook as I unlocked Gil’s hatchback, threw my bag in the back, and buckled in. My driving skills were rusty. But I shoved aside trepidation and tore into gear, my mind careening with scenarios and solutions. Gil wanted me to go to his warehouse. But the guy knew where Gil lived. He’d beaten him up and tried to kidnap me right outside—I daren’t go there on my own.

I’d driven down my street, joined the main road, and chewed my lip while contemplating answers. Then I’d looked behind me and spotted company. Company that had never left my tail since leaving my building.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

My eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror again, studying the black van. The late afternoon sun glinted on scratched paintwork, revealing a dent that matched the one I’d seen when Gil had been on his knees accepting unretaliated abuse.

It wasn’t a coincidence, and for the first time, Gil’s warnings of danger were no longer an inconvenient threat but a very real concern.

One hand dropped from the steering wheel as I once again scooped up my phone and pressed redial. I hopped into a new lane, haphazardly turning left with no indicator.

I studied my follower as frustrating ringing filled my ear.

The black van mimicked me, earning a honk from some motorist in his rush to chase me around the corner.

My heart stopped.

This was real.

He wasn’t just going in my direction. He was hunting me.

The call once again didn’t connect, and I was done being the scared mouse. It’d been a while since I’d driven—thanks to using public transport on a budget—but I didn’t let that stop me as I stomped on the accelerator and shot forward.

Veering into another lane, I overtook the blue sedan in front of me and ran the amber light while others pulled to a stop.

The van raced forward, cutting the light as it turned red.

Prickles of foreboding galloped over my skin. My eyes flickered to the fuel gauge.

Quarter tank.

How far would that get me before I ran out of ability to run? Where the hell could I go? My parents weren’t in the country. Gil was otherwise engaged. My dance friends wouldn’t know what to do with me after my vanishing act and lack of communication the past few years.

I literally had no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

I sped up, shooting down a side street that led to a quaint cobblestone lane.

Bad move.

Pedestrians clogged the space as well as food carts spilling from the curb.

Flattening my palm on the horn, I earned a few one finger salutes as I inched my way forward. The van followed, our chase turning from quick to crawl.

With my elbow, I locked the doors, grateful that this uninspiring hatchback at least had central locking. At this speed, the guy could jump from his vehicle and walk to get me.

Come on!

I honked again, ducking low from people’s glowers.

My phone slid from my thigh into the crook of my lap as I feathered my foot from brake to gas pedal. I scooped it up again, redialling for the sixth time.

Ring.

Ring.

Answer machine.

I hung up.

Reaching the end of the lane, I looked behind me. The van hugged my bumper, crowding me into traffic.

I’d run out of options, and I didn’t have the driving skills of a stunt car operator to lose him. I hadn’t wanted to turn to Justin. I hadn’t wanted to replay the past by leaning on Justin because Gil wasn’t there for me. Gil was there for me—he was just incapacitated currently.

But...I don’t really have a choice.

The van nudged me, shuttling me forward as I pulled to yet another crawl at a zebra crossing with a mum pushing a pram.

I threw him a nasty gesture, allowing my anger to hide my fear. No way would he make a murderer out of me by running her down all to save myself.