How does he not recognize me?
When he went to the shared office space, I saw the research he had done. He connected the dots, just like Dr. Locke said he had to. When he threw himself in the car, he said he’d figured it out…I assumed he knew. That’s why I gave him the drugged water, so I’d have some time to get him home before he blew up in my face. I just needed some time to get him home and comfortable, so we could talk about it.
But then I thought about it more. Once he realized what I had hidden from him, he’d never let me carry out what needed to be done. I had one last loose end to tie up before this was over. I left him warm and asleep in our bed so I could end this once and for all. So I could get the justice she deserved…
But my Bolton is persistent to a fault, waking up from a drug-induced sleep to track my ass down. When he followed me to the docks, I thought he wanted to play games like we did at the cabin. I assumed that because he wrote dark romance, maybe he was okay with my new side gig. He inspired me, after all.
Without reading his books, I never would have had the courage to fight for answers.
I thought he was playing along as I chased him through the shipping containers, but then he tried to stab me.He headbutted me.My nose is swelling behind the mask, and heat from the Christmas lights isn’t helping. It’s itchy as fuck.
Bolton pounds on my back as I carry him to the warehouse on the edge of the dock, screaming at me like a banshee.
“Let me go right now!” he shouts, swinging his zip-tied fists against my middle back. That’s going to bruise tomorrow. He gets louder, screaming into the night. “Cal! Cal, can you hear me?Are you alive?”
I’m torn on whether I should put him out of his misery. He’s putting on a brave face right now, but he may be on the edge of a panic attack. And there’s no telling how what he’ll see in the warehouse will affect him. I don’t want to go too far.
“Your husband is closer than you think…” I ominously say, throwing him an obvious bone. We’re the only two people on the dock. I own this entire pier.
“Oh my God, you threw his body in one of the shipping containers!” he wails, tears streaming down his face.
I exhale a deep sigh. Bolton isn’t simply a pretty face—I married him because he’s so much more than that. But he’s being sodenseright now. I let him cry for a few more minutes until we reach the warehouse door.
“Wait—before we go in, please tell me if Cal’s alive?” he begs me as I fish my keys out of my pocket, his sobbing voice broken. “I don’t want to be surprised.”
I definitely went too far. He’s going to hate me when he finds out. I decide to at least give him this one comfort before he goes feral on me later. “Cal’s alive and well. You’ll see.”
I open the door and turn on the overhead lamp. It creates a spotlight on a limp man hanging from bound wrists to a meathook in the ceiling. Kensington Summers, the villain in this real-life slasher. There’s a bag over his head, and we have the same skin tone, so there’s no doubt Bolton thinks it’s me on the hook. I put him down against a wall, so he can sit up.
“Cal…” he whispers. Kensington doesn’t move, as he’s probably still passed out from the last time I tortured him. He’s been here for two days, refusing to give me the answers I need.
I get my bag from the corner of the room, retrieving my smelling salts to wake him.
“You said he was okay!” Bolton accuses me.
I pocket the salts before kneeling in front of him. Lifting his chin with my thumb, I stare into those beautiful hazel eyes. Their swirls of blue, green, and amber captivated me from the second I saw him behind the bar of my favorite hotel. Every day I lose myself in them, reminding myself how lucky I am he kept me. Tears roll down his cheeks. I lift my mask to free my mouth and lick them off, reveling in how salty they taste. Leaning into his space, I brush my lips to his ear, feeling the little hairs on his lobe stand at attention.
“I am okay, lightning bolt,” I whisper before biting it and rolling the soft skin between my teeth.
Bolton pushes me away. His tears slow as he takes the mask the rest of the way off, turning it over to see the voice modulation box under the mouth hole. Then he stares at my face for several seconds, really taking me in. His facial expression flits between relief and confusion, finally landing on anger. His cheeks are beet red, brows violent slashes across his forehead. A slight tremor works its way through his limbs.
I think I fucked up…
“Bolton…” He’s eerily silent, glaring daggers at me. “Baby…”
His bound hands reach out, grabbing my collar. He catches me by surprise, giving him the chance to push me onto the ground and straddle me. I’d usually be excited when he’s ontop of me, but I can feel his rage without him saying a word. It radiates from him, threatening to burn this entire warehouse down. He lifts his hands, swinging them down like an axe. I barely dodge the blow in time and block my face with my hands.
“How fucking dare you!” he shouts. “I was worried sick about you—that The Christmas Cleaver was moments away from murdering us both—and you’re the man behind the mask?!”
“Lightning bolt, I can?—”
“Shut the fuck up! There’s nothing you can say that will explain this. Youmurderedpeople using scenarios from my books! The cops suspect me because ofyou! Why would you do that?”
His entire body vibrates with anger, and I worry he’s going to short-circuit. I hook his leg with mine and flip us over so I’m on top of him, pinning his arms to the floor. He struggles, bucking me off and calling me every foul name his brilliant mind can conjure. His legs flail like a man possessed, and his bound hands land square in my chest, knocking the air out of me. It’s a battle not to collapse onto him.
“Who are you, Cal?!” Tears swim in his eyes, and my heart breaks. “The man I married is nothing like the man beneath the mask. Did you lie to me all this time?”
“Yes and no,” I wheeze. “Please listen to me, hear me out?”
