This isn’t happening. I’ve been careful! Fucking careful, and what? I catch feelings for a guy who’s too smart for his own good!? How did he figure it out?
“Who did you tell?” I can’t get my questions out quickly enough.
“Sloane,” Sav is right beside me, still holding onto Lily, who has woken in all the commotion, “Breathe, Sloane.”
But I can’t breathe, there’s not enough fucking air. Panic wraps around me, hard and fast, like a rope with both ends pulled tight. I try to suck in air, try to get my lungs to expand, but I can’t.
“Breathe!” That’s Dean’s voice, his command slicing through, but it isn’t enough. He’s going to come for me now; he’s going to find me. I’ll have to leave, change my name, and forget about everyone all over again.
I feel like I am dying.
Drowning in an ocean where the surface is right there, but I just can’t swim quickly enough, it keeps moving further and further away.
“Sloane!”
A buzzing begins to ring in my ears, and a black fog ebbs in at the edges of my vision. For a moment, everything goes quiet, and I float. The peace is a shock to my system, but I grasp at it, finding peace in the silence. But as abruptly as it fell, it all disappears when black steel shutters steal it away.
Chapter Twenty-four
Ilook up from the book in my lap to the sound of a door closing downstairs. I’m sure I locked up before I came up to bed to read, but the weather is a little windy tonight, and maybe I just didn’t latch it properly.
Placing the paperback on my nightstand, I reach for my robe and head for the door to my bedroom. I’d already switched off all the lights, so it’s dark when I step into the hallway, barely lit by the glow of my lamp still illuminated in my bedroom. I glance at the shadowy stairs just as another knock sounds, like the back door does when it gets caught by the wind after I’ve left it open to let in fresh air.
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until it rushes from me, and I shake my head. I really need to get better at locking down for the night, I don’t know how many times I’ve woken up in the morning to unlocked doors and windows. I live in a quiet neighborhood, the houses neat and well-kept, but, as my sister always says, one wrong turn can change everything.
It’s the same thing I tell myself whenever I find my doors unlocked, but no matter how many times I remind myself to do it, I always forget when it comes to it. Wrapping my robe alittle tighter, I take the stairs down, the chill of the wind rapidly stealing the warmth from my house.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hit my hand against the switch to turn on the light and make my way through to the small kitchen, where the backdoor is swinging and knocking into the counter behind it. Rain falls in heavy torrents, flooding my lawn and path, and a puddle has started to form in front of the door.
“God damn it,” I whine, pushing the door closed and turn the lock this time. I’ll check the front door on the way back to bed once I get this water cleaned up. My house is only small, set on two floors. It only has a simple living room, small kitchen, and double bedroom upstairs with one bathroom, but it’s home. My home. One I bought after I saved a deposit for years and got my first teaching job at the prestigious daycare for children aged three months to five years. Three days I teach the older kids, getting them ready to start Kindergarten and the other two days I get to spend with the younger ones. I’ve always loved kids, and now working with them all day, every day is a dream. It helped me buy my first house.
Reaching for the towel, I crouch and mop up the water, seeing that it’s splashed all the way in, but as I stare at the puddles of water, the more I realize the shape. They’re not puddles. They’re footprints.
Boots by the look of them — big too — and they’re all the way through the kitchen, heading for the…
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, and he’s staring right at me.
He wears a balaclava that covers his face, is dressed all in black, and rain runs down the nylon, dripping onto the floor. A hood obscures his head. I can’t even see his eyes.
His head cocks to the side.
I have to get out.
Not wanting to give him my back but having no choice, I turn to the door and yank at the handle, but of course, I locked it already. I hear his steps thunder toward me, too quickly for me to be able to get the door back unlocked so I bolt to the side, hoping to put the small kitchen island between us but his arms snag me around the waist, and he throws me down instead.
I hit the cold tile of the kitchen, head bouncing off the unforgiving porcelain, and stars burst behind my eyes. It takes me a second to realize he’s on top of me, trying to get me to turn onto my back, his legs straddling my hips.
“You think you can taunt me, Sloane?” He growls, his voice deep and enraged. “Years! You’ve taunted me for years!”
My head clears just enough as he attempts to force my arms above my head.
“Stop!” I beg but he slams my hands down, the bite of the tile snapping against my knuckles.
“You’re fucking mine, Sloane.”
“Who are you!?” I cry as I attempt to fight.
“I’m going to take what’s mine!” He continues. “Mine!”
