Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
My phone immediately starts to ring, and my eyes bug out of my head as both Izzy and I stare at the screen. My heart races as I gape at it. I’m more than happy to be a petty bitch over text, but I don’t think I can do it with that deep tone in my ear, calling me names that make my stomach clench with need.
“What do I do?” I panic, watching as it continues to ring, knowing that the bossy version of him is waiting for me to pick up.
“I . . . I don’t know,” she says, just as panicked.
My brain starts to short-circuit, and in a moment of pure terror, I throw the phone across the bed, only it slips right off the edge and drops to the ground. I cringe, hoping like hell I didn’t just smash my phone. After all, not having a working phone would really fuck with my recovery over the next few weeks.
“Really?” Izzy mutters, throwing the blankets back and retrieving the phone.
“I panicked.”
“No shit,” she says, glancing down at the phone, only to beam back at me and hold up the flawless screen like a trophy. But the moment she does, a new text comes through. “Ooop.”
She hands me the phone back, and I hesitate as I swipe my thumb across the screen, not sure I want to know what he has to say anymore. But when it comes to Knight Slater, I’m a sucker for punishment.
I don’t bother responding. All it’s going to do is work me up, and soon enough, I’ll end up hidden beneath these blankets with my heart torn to pieces. And honestly, over these last few weeks, I’ve never felt so weak in my life. It’s time to pull myself back together.
Izzy and I talk shit for the rest of the afternoon, until it’s time for her Tinder date, and the moment she’s gone, I can’t help but think about everything Knight had said about my stalker.
He’s wrong. It’s not in my head. I felt his fingers inside of me, felt the tip of his blade cutting through my skin, felt the way his cock reached the back of my throat. Nobody can just imagine all of that, and while I want nothing to do with Knight right now, I feel as though I need to prove this man exists. I need Knight to believe me.
My head falls into my hands, having absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to prove that, but then I remember he had Laith’s phone. If I could somehow draw him out, I could record him or maybe have Knight come and do some SWAT man ambush, but how? My stalker has been ten steps ahead of me this whole time. I’m his pawn to move around the board as he sees fit. But I need to try. I need to see this through. But more than that, I need to have Knight’s faith.
Taking my phone again, I pull up the text chain I had with Laith, my hands already shaking. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say or how this is even going to go, and I write out a few things before immediately deleting them.
Why is this making me feel so sick?
I stew on it for an hour before finally ripping it off like a Band-Aid and hitting send.
It’s not even a good message. Bland as plain rice on a dry piece of toast, and I immediately hate myself. What kind of bullshit message is that anyway? That’s not going to help draw the fucker out.
My phone dings almost immediately, and my gaze snaps back to the screen. My heart races, but there it is, his response. This will prove once and for all that he’s as real as they get.
My fingers shake as I text him back.
A knock sounds at my door and my head snaps up, my eyes going wide.
Holy fucking shit.
He’s here.
I sit straight up in my bed, panic storming through my chest.
I definitely didn’t think this through. What am I supposed to say to him? Excuse me, thy fucked-up stalker man. Before you attempt to take every last shred of dignity away from me, would you mind whipping off the creepy vampire mask and flashing me a pearly white smile for the camera so that my totally sexy step-uncle who hath broken thine heart can see that you are indeed not my imaginary sex slave. Mmmkay, thanks.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my eyes wide as I stare toward my bedroom door, not knowing what to do or how to even talk to this man. The last time I saw him, and I mean really saw him, was in Knight’s bedroom with my ankles and wrists bound. And even now, almost a week later, I still don’t know what to make of that.