My worst fear proves my suspicions were true.
He’s here.
Chapter 33
Wren
Iseered.
Not blood, but roses.
They sit off to the side of my front door like an offering. Long, thick stems wrapped in cellophane. Placed deliberately out of sight until I’m standing in front of my door.
My stomach plummets, and I fight to keep the chocolate cake from spilling all over the doormat.
Without thought, I bend over, searching for a card. There isn’t one, but I know it’s him. Two dozen long-stemmed red roses. The same ones he’d always bring as an apology.
Because he thought flowers could erase the black and blue that painted my skin.
My heart hammers against my ribs, ears roaring like I’m underwater as I scan the property surrounding the cottage. Everything looks the same, but it feels wrong now. The front porch I spent hours scrubbing, decorating with touches that felt like me, flowers I planted for a pop of color to enjoy in the evenings, all feel tainted with his touch. It’s like the world has shifted a few inches and my body hasn’t caught up.
He knows where I live.
My hands shake at the realization that I’m no longer safe. I can’t bring myself to breathe. I glance left, then right, then over my shoulder toward the overgrown field—the one leading to my parents' house. It’s deceptively calm. No movement. No soundbut birds chirping and the distant hum of something down the road.
But the calm doesn’t erase the feeling of his eyes on me. He was always good at hiding himself without being seen. It’s how he’s gotten away with everything in LA. No one bats an eye at the handsome man with perfectly tailored suits and polished shoes. Hair coiffed effortlessly, but you know it took forever to get each tendril gelled to perfection.
My pulse climbs into my throat as I take a step backward. Then another. I trip over a rock as I stumble, but I catch myself. Glancing over my shoulder toward the roses on the porch, I’m terrified he’ll be standing right there with each movement of my head.
My purse slips off my shoulder as I fumble for my keys.
“Dammit,” I curse, digging blindly into the black hole of my bag. Why do I carry so much useless shit? Why haven’t I cleaned this out?
How could you have known you’d need to find your keys in a rush thanks to your stalker-ex?
My breaths come fast and shallow as I will my fingers to work. Every sound feels amplified—the breeze through the trees, the creak of the rocking chair, the blood roaring in my ears. Once again, I find myself feeling like an idiot in a horror movie.
I scan the cottage again.
Last night, the front door had been opened. The bathroom window, too. But I don’t see anything amiss today.
I didn’t sleep a wink. Could this be my sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on me?
No, my gut tells me.
My vision tunnels as I curse my useless hands.
“Please,” I mutter, panic wrapping around my throat.
My fingers brush cold metal, and I nearly sob. Yanking my keys free, I sprint toward my dad’s truck like the ground is on fire. I don’t look back. Don’t breathe until I’m yanking the dooropen and diving inside. Slamming it shut with shaking hands, I fumble for the lock.
The sound is loud in the quiet cab. Struggling to slip the key into the ignition, I double check the doors are locked before I hunch forward over the steering wheel. My chest heaves against the worn black wheel as I try to regulate my breathing.
I’ve got to tell someone, I finally convince myself. My past has caught up with me, and I’m no longer safe. He’s here. He’s found me. It’s only a matter of time before he appears like a thief in the night.
I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it twice before my fingers finally close around the device. The screen lights up. There’s already a text from Jett waiting for me, but I swipe it away. I can’t talk to him. I can’t bring my hell to his doorstep, not when he’s working through his own demons.
Scrolling through my contacts, I stab the familiar name.
