The call ends, but his voice doesn’t leave me. It echoes, vibrating against the bones of my skull. I’m still holding the burner phone in a grip tight enough to bruise, as if it might still whisper more.
The room is quiet. Too quiet. My pulse doesn’t get the memo. It races, wild and frantic, driven by something unseen chasing me down.
“I’ve lost my damn mind,” I whisper.
The words are too small for what’s happening inside me. My skin feels too tight, stretched thin over nerves that misfire with every breath.
I can still feel him and hear that voice—smooth and filthy.
He said he was watching. That he’d never harm me. But he would break me—and I’d love it.
That I could fight him, if that’s what turned me on. Every fracture would be for my pleasure.
And God help me, he might be right.
My heart slams against my ribs. My stomach knots with fear—and something else. Something worse.
Somethingbetter.
Ache. Need. Want.
They coil low and wickedly. It’s a throb I don’t understand. My body is answering a question I didn’t realize had been asked.
He spoke in riddles and sin. And I said yes.
I said yes.
Why? Who the fuck agrees to that?
Me.
Imagine it. Me, Laurette Devereux—prosecutor, rational thinker, defender of order—saying yes to a man I’ve never seen. A man who wants to haunt me. Chase me. Hunt me.
And I want this.
Oh, how I want him.
I press my hands to my face and cover my eyes as I exhale. “Jesus Christ. I’m fucked in the head.”
I should smash the phone. Or call the police.
But I won’t. Because part of me—a dark, hungry, dangerous part—wants to find out what he’ll do next.
And worse, I don’t want to wait for it.
I stare at the burner phone, my only link to him. My only form of communication. Now that the line is dead, I hate how quiet the room is.
Air. I need air.
I push off the couch, wineglass in hand, and pace the length of the room. My nerves are shot, but the buzz is real. Heat curls in the pit of my stomach and rises with every shaky breath.
I grab my regular phone and scroll. My finger hovers for a second before tapping Brielle’s name. She picks up on the second ring.
“Well, hello, my wicked little vixen. Been misbehaving?”
“I need you to come over. Now. Please.”
She’s silent for half a second. “You okay, babe?”
