“Of course. Go get in the car, and I’ll deal with this,” I say, holding up the device. Luna nods and climbs into the passenger’s seat. I walk over to the dumpster, smash the hell out of the tracker, and throw it in. Now it’ll look as though she’s never left, and it’ll be in the landfill before they figure it out.
I swear, once I find this piece of shit, I’ll make anyone who’s involved wish Satan himself greeted them instead of me. The torture I have planned for them will be far worse than anything the devil could offer.
No onetouches my angel.
Luna
Iscrew in the last screw on my new doorbell camera and look down at the live feed on my phone, seeing myself crouched down and a wide view of the apartment hallway. I see a crystal clear view of the stairs that sit in front of my apartment door, as well as my neighbor’s door across the way. There’s only one other person I know of who lives on my floor, an old woman who keeps to herself. I’ve only seen her a few times in the hallway before she shut herself back into her apartment. If anyone else lives on this floor, they keep to themselves.
“Perfect,” I say to myself, closing out of the app and clearing the trash. I close the front door behind me and set my new toolkit, which Dante insisted I get at the store, in my coat closet for safekeeping. The trip to the hardware store was relatively uneventful and practically a blur. Dante took control of the situation and made the quick trip for me. He’d already drafted a list of things I would need to get the night before. He basically toted me around, and I’m grateful for it, as I’m still trying to come to terms with my stalker situation.
I feel like I have the words, “I’m abusable,” written in big, bold letters on my forehead. I mean, am I always doomed to attract danger everywhere I go? Surely this constant threat to my life can’t be what I’m on this giant floating rock for? I don’t know how much fight I have left in me. I’m thirty-two forfucksake! I thought life was supposed to get better at some point, and not repeat the same shitty patterns it always has.
But hey, at least I have a toolkit to drill some eye holes in case another break-in happens. There’s always a bright side to every situation. I laugh at the twisted thought and head to the kitchen. I peer at the clock on the stove, which says half past one. My stomach growls, letting me know lunch will not be skipped, so I begin making it for us.
Dante’s currently in my bedroom installing the last security bars on my windows. He insisted that I install more bars for all the windows, saying that if someone really wanted to get in, they would, which scared me, so I agreed.
I can hear him breathing heavily, grunting, and the clanking of metal as he works. I’d be lying if I said that hearing him all afternoon hasn’t set me on edge and made my insides flutter.
But Iremindmyself that with everything going on with me, it’s unfair to bring him into my mess more than I already have. I hate that there’s a drop-dead gorgeous man in my bedroom right now that I’m pretty sure wants to fuck me, but I can’t let him get close to me without the threat of being hurt by a stalker, too.
God, I want to, though. I really,reallywant to.
I should pay an Etsy witch to cast a protection spell or to put a love spell on me. I saw a video on VidTok the other night of a girl saying she paid an Etsy witch to cast a spell so that this guy she liked would ask her out on a date, and it worked, so it can’t hurt, right? I can have Dante fall madly in love with me and all my trauma, and have my stalker disappear with one simple charm, but with my luck, that will probably blow up in my face, too.
I enter my bedroom, Dante seemingly unaware of my presence, so I get a moment to admire him. His arms flex as he tightens the bolt on the bar. The tattoos he has flex with his muscles, and seeing him in this light puts Dante much higher on my list of celestial beings. How can this tattooed demigod be inmy bedroom right now? I at least need to put a protection spell on my heart because I don’t think I can stop myself from falling this time.
Dante turns to me, finally noticing me. I ignore my wandering thoughts as he walks over to me, smiling. That smile of his is going to be the death of me. “Lunch is ready in the kitchen. Ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of plain chips.” I give him a shy smile.
“I haven’t had a ham and cheese in years,” Dante admits.
“Really? I lived off them when I was living in a homeless shelter. I only eat them when I’m stressed now. It reminds me of a time when I beat all the odds stacked against me.” I say as Dante follows me to my kitchen, sitting in the same spot where he sat this morning. I place his plate and an unimpressive-looking sandwich in front of him. “It’s kind of silly now that I say it out loud, but it’s true.”
Dante has a somber look on his face, and he swallows hard. “My mom was the last person to make me a ham and cheese sandwich. I haven’t had one since.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have asked what you wanted. My mistake, can I make you something else?” I reach for his plate, embarrassed by my stupid misstep, but Dante catches my wrist before I can pull away.
My eyes meet his. “No, thank you, Luna. I think my mother’s ghost would haunt me if I refused a meal a beautiful woman prepared for me.”
I snort. “I can pan-sear it if you’d like, make it fancier for you.”
Dante flashes that earthshattering smile of his. “I’ll take it as it’s served to me.” His fingers trail from my wrist, gripping my fingers and bringing them to his lips. He places a soft kiss on my knuckles, pinning me where I stand with a look of hunger, but not for the food I just made for us. “Thank you for lunch. I’mstarving.”
I can feel my face heat. “Of course. Thank you for driving me to the store and saving my life. Lunch is the least I can do.” Ipull my hand back, feeling my skin burn hot from his touch.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Dante takes a bite of his sandwich, and to my surprise, he moans, chewing gleefully. “It’s been too long. I forgot how much I loved these.”
I giggle. “Struggle food is comfort food—my life motto.” Dante takes an agreeable second bite, nodding, and I smile. He has a boyish, gleeful quality about him sometimes, and it tugs at my heartstrings, reminding me of what he said last night about what happened to his mother. He was just a boy when it happened, ripped away from his mother in the worst way possible.
I’m glad that I could bring him a happy memory of his childhood.
We sit and eat our sandwiches, saying little until Dante’s finished. “Good?” I ask, watching him relax back into the chair, looking thoroughly content.
“Very good.” He says, and I take his plate and turn to put it in the sink when I hear his stool scrape against the floor. “I have to get going, now, though. I have a late night tonight and need to run a few errands before I go home.”
“Oh, okay.” I don’t know why I selfishly thought he would just spend the rest of the day with me, but here I am, feeling sad that he’s leaving. “Lots of cybering to secure, I’m sure.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice. I round the island as Dante turns to me after picking up his jacket from the chair and slipping it on.
