In his eyes—in the way he looked at me, touched me—it was as if he was reminding me that I was already his. As though it’s been decided by some divine prophecy.
I’d laugh if it wasn’t for this strange tingling in the back of my neck, like a warning of some kind.
I’ve replayed that night more times than I’ll ever admit. The heat of his breath against my skin. The slow drag of his fingers over my thigh.
I tell myself it’s over. That maybe he got whatever sick thrill he needed and now he’ll vanish back into the darkness he crawled out of.
But I know better. He’s not done with me. He never will be.
I pad across the hardwood floor, the familiar dread curling in my stomach as I near the front door, wondering if there will be another letter waiting for me in the mailbox. Sliding intomy slippers, I walk out into the cool morning air, my fingers hovering over the latch to the mailbox just outside.
It’s been like this since the middle of the trial. The anonymous letters that keep me on edge.
It has to be Aleksei messing with me. It would be like him. The psychological games. Shadow warfare. I’ve seen the way he and his family operate. Always two moves ahead. Always circling, never striking. Until they want you to bleed.
But the thing that keeps me awake at night is the gnawing possibility that it isn’t him. That there’s someone else out there. Someone far more dangerous.
And they’re coming for me.
With my line of work, though, there’s always a chance of that.
When I open the mailbox, a handful of envelopes waits inside, innocent at first glance. Snatching them up, I head back into the house, heart pounding as I sift through the stack.
I know it’s here. I can just feel it.
Then I see it. There’s no name. No postage. No return address. Just a plain white envelope with my name and address printed in big, blocky letters. Nothing to go on at all.
It sits heavy in my hands like something rotten, like it might bite.
I’ve gotten six others just like it, all meant to rattle me. The last one was the worst.
Think you’re safe? It’s not over yet. Your time is coming.
And now, between Aleksei watching me and these anonymous threats, I can’t even tell which monster to fear more.
If this is Aleksei’s idea of a game, though, I swear to God, I’ll kill him. Who the hell does he think he is?
With a sigh, I run a hand down my face. I probably need to tell my boss about this, though it’s not like he’ll do anything. Noone’s assigning me a bodyguard over some letters, and the cops won’t have a damn thing to go on. This is on me to figure out.
I stare at the envelope again, hesitation thick in my chest, then tear it open before I can talk myself out of it, already bracing for whatever fresh hell waits inside.
Do you know what happened the day you were attacked? Do you want to know why?
The words blur, a rush of fear spreading through my limbs. I haven’t let myself think about that night in months. I buried it deep, so deep it almost stopped feeling real.
The fear. That cold, breathless certainty that I was about to die. Then…darkness.
Six months ago, I came home after a late court session. Just another ordinary day. The plan was to reheat some leftover pasta, maybe fall asleep on the couch with the TV still on.
I never made it that far.
I’m starving the moment I walk inside and lock up behind me. But as soon as the latch clicks, something pulls at my attention.
My vase in the foyer has been moved. Not by much, just a few inches to the left, but enough to make every instinct in me go on alert.
I reach for the knob again, ready to step back outside and call someone, anyone, but before I can turn it, a man steps out from behind the wall. Ski mask. Gloves. A gun held low.
My heart drops.
