“Crowning’s ex.” He swipes to another photo, this time a news article with the headline:
Missing Woman
Emma Walsh disappeared on a run one day. Dated Crowning eight months before she left a suicide note. But sources say she was happy, that she gave no indication of depression, or wanting to end her life…”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. These women could be… sisters. Ortriplets,mytriplets.
“No,” I whisper, trembling. “This isn’t him. He told me he always dated blondes in the past, but that I was special. Different.”
“Aye, you’re special, lass. But not because you’re different from his type.”
I look up at him, at his scarred knuckles and the tattoos snaking up his arms.
“Butyou’vebeen following me!” Panic threads through every syllable. “You’rethe one with photos of women who lookjust like me.Women who disappeared. Who died.”
“Bianca—”
“Ohgod.”
I’m standing now, backing away from him, even though there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. “Maybe Marcus isn’t the one with a type. Maybe it’syou.”
“That’s not?—”
“Marcus dates tall, skinny blondes! That’s what he told me! And now you’re showing me photos of women who look just like me. I’m next, aren’t I? Your next victim. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you took me.”
My whole body is shaking.
“No!God,no.Bianca, that’s not?—”
“Then why do they look likeme?” I’m crying now, tears streaming down my face. “Why do they all have my face if you’re not?—”
“Because they look likeyou!Don’t you see?” His voice matches mine. “You’re the pattern. You’re the one he wants. And you’ll end up dead, just likethem.”
I slide to the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest.
“Crowning fuckin’ lied.” He crouches in front of me but doesn’t touch me. “They hid the evidence.”
I don't want to believe him. I want to cling to my certainty that he’s the monster here…
“Look at me, lass.” He doesn’t move any closer, even though he looks like he wants to. “Have I hurt you? Since the moment I took you, have I laid a hand on you in anger?”
“You’re holding me prisoner.”
“Aye. To keep you safe from him, but not from me. Never from me.”
I drop my head to my knees, my fingers tangling in my hair.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I whisper.
“Believe that you’re safe,” he whispers back. “Believe that I’ll protect you.”
He reaches down and grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes along my jaw, a gesture that's somehow both gentle and possessive.
“And believe that running won’t end well for you.”
I blink. “What?”
“You need to understand something.” His voice is quiet now, deadly serious. “You pull a stunt like this again, and the consequences will be far worse than what you’ve already got coming.”
