“Because you blocked me!” she screams. “You locked me out! The plan with the van didn’t work, so I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.” And then I see the knife as she pulls it out of her purse, her eyes on mine as she advances, my heart pounding in my ears with every step she takes toward me. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everyone mourns you. I’ll cry the hardest at your memorial. And when they ask who you were…I’ll tell them you were mine.”
"Mia, stay the hell away from me!”
But she keeps coming, the knife gleaming under the bathroom lights, and I realize with horrible clarity that she means every word.
Chapter Eight
Conor
The roulette wheel slows, the little ball bouncing before finally settling into a slot. A collective hush falls over the table, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of chips being moved around.
"Twenty-two, black,” the dealer announces, placing a marker on the winning number before pushing a stack of chips toward me. "Congratulations on your win, sir.”
"Uh, thanks,” I say, distracted. It has been that way from the moment Arianna left my side. She’s been gone too long.
I glance in the direction she disappeared and try to push down the unease I get every time she’s far from me for more than a few seconds. There are cameras everywhere at this casino. It’s unlikely her stalker would make a move knowing that, but, I can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling in my gut.
Something is wrong. Fuck, I’m going after her even if it turns out to be nothing. She might’ve lost her way on the way back to our table.
I ignore the calls to take my winnings as I leave the roulette table to start looking for Arianna. I question if she could have been waylaid or distracted by another game on her way back from the bathroom. I wouldn’t put it past her. My stubborn little client is a curious one. I visit every table in our area,walking to every red-dressed blonde-haired woman just to be sure, but none of them are Arianna.
My phone rings right as I’m considering going to another section to look for her. I consider ignoring it until I see who’s calling. I move to a quieter spot to take the call, keeping my eyes on the scene in front of me in case I missed Arianna.
“Fiona, I can’t really talk right now-”
“I found your girlfriend’s stalker.”
“Girlfriend? Arianna is a client.”
“Oh, don’t feed me that bullshit.” I can almost see her eyes roll. “I’ve seen the pictures from our stalker. You sent them to me, remember? I know what I saw in those pictures.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “Okay, fine. Why did you call?”
"Arianna’s stalker,” she repeats. "I’ve figured out who it is. It’s a woman named Mia Stanapolis, and she’s some wannabe influencer with a long history of mental illness and violent behavior. She was diagnosed with mildschizophrenia, and before you ask, no. I did not hack into her medical reports. I found it under old posts.”
"I wasn’t going to ask that,” I say, impatient with a tad of panic. "What’s her relationship to Arianna?”
“According to one post she made a few months ago, they are soulmates,” she says. “They collaborated on a few projects a while back, but that’s it. Anyway, I traced her phone, and she’s currently in the same hotel casino as you guys, so please be careful.”
My blood chills at her words. "Fuck!” I growl, pushing back toward the crowd. "Arianna left for the bathroom a while ago and isn’t back. She might be in trouble. Find her, Fiona.”
"On it,” Fiona says, and I hear the fast clicking of her laptop in the background before her horrified voice breaks into the speaker, sending yet another chill through my body. "Arianna and Mia are in the same place. Ground floor, the ladies’ bathroom in the left corner. Hurry, Conor. This girl seems unhinged.”
I’m racing toward the bathrooms before she’s done talking. I don’t bother knocking as I burst into the ladies room just as a deranged woman lunges at Arianna with a knife. I grab Arianna’s hand and yank her away seconds before Mia’s knife slashes the air and catches my forearm. Christ, it could have pierced Arianna’s chest if I’d been just a second later, but I don’t give myself time to think. There’s a deranged woman in here trying to kill the love of my fucking life.
I push Arianna behind me as I move toward Mia, easily dodging the knife when she carelessly slashes at me. I’m not new to this. She wouldn’t be the first person to try to carve a hole in my chest. Years of MMA training kick in as I grab her arms and restrain her, holding the arm with the knife so she can’t harm anyone, herself included.
"You son of a bitch, you ruined everything,” she yells, kicking and squirming in my arms. "This is all your fucking fault.”
Fuck, she’s waving the knife dangerously close to my face, but there’s little I can do without hurting her. I’ve never hurt a woman before in my life, but it seems Arianna doesn’t have the same problem as she grabs a vase from the bathroom counter. I watch with shock as she hits Mia’s hand with it, knocking the knife from her grip.
“I’ll go call security,” Arianna says, turning to the door, but she’s barely reached it before it bursts open and men in securityuniforms storm in, claiming to have received a call about a possible attack in the bathroom. It takes a little explaining, and Arianna shows them the livestream from her channel before they call the police and take Mia away.
Arianna seems visibly shaken by what just happened, her fingers trembling as she grips the counter and stares down at the sink. "She was going to kill me,” she says in a shaky breath. “I saw it in her eyes, Conor. She was really going to kill me, and it’s all my fault. I led her on. I made her think…” her voice breaks off, making my heart bleed for her.
I walk up behind Arianna and wrap my arms around her. "It’s not your fault, baby,” I whisper into her hair. “That woman is sick.”
“Sick?”
