I stepped out onto the patio to finish my cigarette, closing the sliding glass door behind me. The rain had let up, but the sky was still ominous, black and iron-gray clouds hanging heavy and low over the city like a shroud.
I moved to stand at the parapet.
The one she’d nearly died on.
Where her feet had slipped on rain-slick stone as she dangled thirty-two stories above the sidewalk—trying to escapeme.
I blew smoke out of the corner of my mouth and glowered down at the street below.
What the fuck had I done?
I thumped the cigarette against the wall, flicking ash into the wind, trying to burn away the guilt pounding behind my temples like a second heartbeat.
I hadn’t just touched her.
I hadn’t just fucked her.
I had taken her innocence.
And the worst part? I hadn’t evenknown. I’d been too wrapped up in my goddamn lust toseeher. The way she had hissed when I’d put my fingers inside her—I had brushed it off. I’d thought she was just that tight, wet, perfect. Her body had gripped me as if it had beenmadefor me.
That she was a virgin never even crossed my mind.
Not once.
Because of the way she danced at The Sacrifice—fuck, the way she moved—I hadassumed. I’d judged her the way I would any other woman in this world, because women who survived in clubs like that didn’t usually come untouched.
But Lacey wasn’t just some girl dancing on a stage.
She was a girl who’d buried her entire family in one cruel twist of fate. A girl with nothing but broken dreams and a sister’s name in her pocket, trying to chase something better. She was someone who didn’t know a damn thing about the underworld.
And I had treated her like a fucking whore.
If someone did to my sister what I had done to Lyla?
I would carve their fucking heart out with a butter knife and make themwatchit stop beating.
Jesus Christ.
I dragged another hit from the cigarette, trying to chase that flicker of numbness again.
I’d built my entire reputation on control. On respect. On being the man who didn’t need to bark to make people obey. I treated women as if they mattered, because theydid.
But with Lyla? I had lost it.
I’d let the monster off the leash.
I’d let my addiction to her take the wheel.
I had bent her over and taken her without a second thought. Like an animal. Like the worst kind of man. And, fuck me, she hadlet me—because she trusted me. Because, despite everything, that little lamb still thought I might be her savior.
And I had broken that trust.
What she’d said to me at Cipher came back like a blade to the gut.
“How many women have you raped and murdered, Mr. Stalker?”
Fuck.
