I didn’t check the place when we got back.
Why would I?
Surely Storm did. He seems like the type. When I was in the shower, when I brushed my teeth, when I did all my skincare routine so I could fall asleep right after he fucks my brains out… He must have looked. He doesn’t play pretend.
There is no one out there.
I think of Caspian coaxing me through my first swing on a golf course.No one is watching you and no one cares about you.
I glared at him and he grinned at me. “I do, of course,”he’d said with his hand over his heart like he couldn’t believe I’d count him out of such a thing.
No one is watching me.
But the coffin nails and Storm’s alleged cameras, they’re warping my fear.
No. Fuck this. I’m not going to be afraid of my own mind.
I take a breath and roll my shoulders back, then walk between the couch and the television mounted on the wall, my bare feet pressing into the thick padding of the rugs on the floor.
The green of the hedge maze is visible through the glass, so is my own reflection, the hair down my back, my lips pressed together in determination. I can hear the multitude of fountains down below from here, but just as my fingers graze the handle of the balcony, I hear movement from the bathroom.
The one Storm is inside.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
STORM
Anotification goes off on my phone as I stand in the glass and marble luxury bathroom of our suite.
Am I going to fuck her?
God, I feel like I might die if I don’t. But the woman from the summer, the one I couldn’t see, she plays inside my head and I don’t want to do that to Sloane. Fuck her, just to leave her.
The thought makes me queasy.
Absentmindedly, I grab my phone from the black marble countertop, right next to Sloane’s toothbrush, and I flip over my screen.
It unlocks with my face, and the notification opens automatically.
My stomach lurches.
It’s the app I use for the camera at Sloane’s place. There was movement outside of her door.
I clench my back teeth, grateful she’s right outside this bathroom, right within my reach, when I watch the replay load to show me the movement.
A figure shroud in black steps away from her door, holding something in their hand. A…knife.
The light in the corridor glints off it.
I breathe in through my nose.
Out.
The person doesn’t lift their head, as if they know a camera is there. They’re wearing acloakof all fucking things, hood over their head.
But the door, I can see it, the way this camera has an angle that doesn’t miss a thing.
