It was clear what I implied. My apartment break-in. Writing on my wall. Stabbing Hunter. Sending taunting texts. Killing my bodyguards. And everything in between that I might have missed. I wanted all the answers before he died.
Tom combed his fingers through his hair, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “Why?” He pinned me with wide, angry eyes. “Why, Gabriela?” he thundered on. “You dense fucking bitch! Because I love you!”
I blinked.
To say I was flabbergasted would be an understatement.
Through my thinly concealed fury, I replayed his words.
Then I burst out laughing.
My full, belly-deep laughter triggered Tom.
“Stop laughing!” he barked, backhanding me exactly in the same spot as his previous strike. “I love you and you wanted to break up with me! You did this! You drove me to this! You’re at fucking fault!”
That sobered me, the last strains of my chuckle dying. “You love me?” I snarled incredulously. “Last I remember, you’re the one who ended things by sending me a text saying you’d found better! Withher!” I jerked my head towards Morgan’s dead body, growling, “So now I’m supposed to believe you taunted, stalked, and kidnapped me because you love me? Get a grip, you fucking gaslighting lunatic!”
He stood up with an angry roar, kicking aside the shovel on the ground like a petulant child not getting his way.
“She was just a distraction!” he screamed, the vein in his neck popping. “A way to get over you! A way to get back at you!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I spat through gritted teeth.
But Tom barely heard my question, pacing the length of the mausoleum while mumbling some bullshit to himself. He was such a different version than the smooth-talking jock I met overthe summer. The one who conducted himself in such an easy-going manner, like he took nothing in life too seriously. The one who acted like he was on board with the idea of a friends-with-benefits situation since he didn’t want any attachments.
Obviously, that was all a façade.Thiswas the real him.
Taking advantage of his silence, I pushed myself into a kneeling position, still keeping my hands close together to give the semblance that I remained tied up.
I calculated the proximity to the mausoleum door. If I slashed my knife anywhere across his face or jugular, that would buy me enough time to flit past the doorway. I hoped that if I kept running without stopping—without getting caught again—eventually, I’d come across some Good Samaritan who could help me.
“Tom?” I prodded again when he didn’t answer. “What are you talking about?”
He stopped pacing and cut me a sidelong glance. “At first, it was casual between us. We both agreed to keep things physical. But then I fell for you. I was getting ready to ask you to be my girlfriend…right before I saw your texts.”
He might as well be speaking gibberish. “What texts?”
His face reddened as if he was frustrated that I wasn’t getting it. “The last time we fucked, you left your phone on my nightstand and went to the bathroom. Your phone kept vibrating with texts. I’d seen you put in your passcode enough times to know what it was. So I went through it—specifically your group chat with your bitch-ass friends.”
Another wave of fury swept through me. This motherfucker had the audacity to encroach on my privacy and call my girls bitch-ass friends?
“You wrote that you were bored with me. You told them that I was a lousy fuck and that you were going to end our arrangement soon—that you were trying to find the best way to let me downgently without hurting me!” He blazed on. “And the fucking cunts encouraged you! As if I wasn’t the best fucking thing to have happened to you!”
My God.
Tom Prescott was delusional.
I was about to correct him and say that the best fucking thing to have happened to me was Hunter, when he yanked out a thick wad of something from his jacket’s pocket and practically threw it on the ground between us.
I flinched at the motion.
And when I saw what thatsomethingwas?
My heartbeat rushed faster.
Printed pictures of Hunter and me.
Hundreds of them.
