“Yes, there is that, but more importantly, if the wrong person found out who you were talking to, I’m afraid you’d end up in a ditch with your tongue cut out.”
I flinched.
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” he bit out. “But you just keep walking straight into fire.”
“And you think the solution is stalking me? Spying on everyone in my building? Who even are you?”
He stared at me, silently scrutinizing me.
“You know everything about me,” I hissed. “Where I live. Where I work. What I wear. You’re obsessed with me.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters! Because I don’t even know your goddamn name!” I said. My voice cracked. I didn’t care. “You hide in the shadows, breaking necks and vanishing bodies like some psycho out of a horror movie. You’re probably a serial killer. How many women have you raped and murdered, Mr. Stalker?”
His pupils blew wide.
“I have never raped a woman in my life,” he said tightly. “But I would absolutely kill any man—or woman—who tried to put me in a cage or hurt someone I love.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, more confused than ever by his response. “You’re not capable of love.”
He scoffed. “You don’t have the first fucking clue what kind of person I am.”
“I know your type. You kill like it’s nothing. You hide in the shadows, committing crimes, doing unspeakable things to innocent people. You’re a Russian Pakhan! That makes you incapable of love. Men like you don’t have hearts. You don’t feel anything.”
“You don’t even know what that title means,” he snapped. “You’re just a little country bumpkin from Tennessee who’s in way over her head.”
“No!” I shoved him in the chest. “I’m sick of your big-bad-wolf arrogance. You treat me as if I’m too stupid to think for myself. If you think you can come here and intimidate me into doing what you want, think again, mister. You’re just pissed off I’m not falling into line.”
He clenched his fists at his sides.
“You have no idea what kind of danger you’re in,” he said in a low tone, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Delgado’s not just some strip club owner who likes the view from the front row. He runs one of the most brutal MS-13 cartels operating in the States. Women like you disappear with a snap of his fingers.”
My stomach turned.
“And yeah,” he added, stepping in closer, “I know all about you. You want to know why? Because I run a global security firm. Because I own the digital underworld you wander through every time you unlock your phone.”
I clenched my fists at my sides and leaned forward.
“You want to talk about monsters?” I said, my voice shaking now—not only from fear, but anger too. “Delgado might be scary as fuck, but at least he’s honest. He pays me well. He praises my work. He’s never once put a hand on me or hidden in the shadows like some creep jerking off to a security feed.”
His eyes darkened, and his upper lip raised into a sneer.
I continued before he could respond, “And unlike you, he’s in control of his emotions. He doesn’t go murdering men like he’s in a sadistic schoolyard brawl.”
“Stop.”
“Why? Can’t handle the truth?”
Something in him snapped, and his expression morphed from calm to enraged.
He stepped forward, grabbed me by the arms, and shook me hard.
“Delgado is a piece-of-shit drug lord who sells girls like you by the dozen,” he snarled. “He smiles to your face and pays you well to manipulate you into working for him. He doesn’t praise you because you’re talented—he’s evaluating your price tag.”
His grip was punishing, but I refused to look away, refused to be intimidated by him.
“And you,” he growled, “are too naïve to see it. Too busy chasing Broadway dreams.”
