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)
But in that club and in my room, I could have sworn it was Knight. The way he plays, the bossiness, and the filthy demands. Just the way he works my cunt. It has to be Knight. Nothing else makes sense to me. He’s the same height as well. He ticks all the Knight-shaped boxes. How could it not be him? But then, I don’t believe Knight is a killer, and I sure as fuck don’t believe that he’d ever wrap his hand around my throat and squeeze until I almost pass out. Don’t get me wrong, I think Knight would absolutely experiment with that, especially if I asked nicely, but he wouldn’t take it as far as the stalker did.
I’m in trouble.
After opening my big mouth on Saturday night, I had no doubt that Knight would have a shitload of things to say, and if it weren’t for Izzy not being a morning person, I would have hauled her ass out of there in an Uber. But that woman sleeps like the living dead, and I had no choice but to face Knight. At least, I thought I was going to face him, but he woke up to a work call and had to take off. He reminded me on his way out that our conversation wasn’t over.
Joke’s on him though because I had no intention of waiting around to talk. I didn’t even risk leaving a message on his home security system on my way out. I just bailed with Izzy and have held my breath ever since.
I feel my time is running out though. He’s not going to let things fester after I drop a bomb like that. He’ll be barging through my door the moment he can, and when he does, he’ll have more than enough to say.
Mondays are always chaotic in the morgue. Blackstone’s crime rate is absurd, and as a result, bodies tend to pile up. Though I have it on good authority that after spending a good hour locked in the refrigeration unit last week, we have more than enough space to house all the bodies that the Blackstone criminals want to throw our way. You’ll never see me complain about it though. After all, it’s wonderful to have such great job security.
I sit at my desk, trying to get through my latest report, and I’m proud to say that with my mind so heavily focused on Knight’s disapproval, I haven’t been jumping at every little sound in the morgue. Or maybe that’s because I’ve finally got a handle on this stalker’s game.
It’s twisted, but it’s all just a game, and when you know the rules, it’s easy to play along. Hell, it’s not only easy to play along, it can be extremely rewarding. Though I have to admit, my thighs have been burning ever since my spontaneous reverse cowgirl performance in the middle of the club. Or perhaps it’s from the mechanical bull. It’s hard to tell.
The words flow on the report, and I’m just about done when the familiar sound of the door opening has my head whipping up. My breath catches in my chest, almost expecting to see Knight or a satanic mask walking through the door, but when I see the janitor’s familiar cleaning cart, I let out a heavy sigh.
“Hey, Vincent,” I call out, turning my attention back to my computer screen.
“Who the fuck is Vincent?”
My head snaps back up to see a new janitor, this one much younger than Vincent, and judging by his scowl, he doesn’t seem pleased to see me. The feeling is mutual.
“Just the usual night janitor,” I mutter, turning back to the report as he moves around the morgue. “What happened to him? He never misses a shift.”
“Do I look like I know what happened to some loser janitor?”
I don’t bother to point out that he just managed to insult himself, so I just offer him an awkward smile instead. “Sorry, just trying to figure out if this is going to be a permanent change. I like to know who I can expect coming in and out.”
The new janitor scoffs, and I immediately miss Vincent. “My schedule ain’t none of your business, bitch.”
Well, shit.
Knowing I don’t have a good poker face, I turn back to the computer again and get back to work before he’s able to see the deep scowl pulling at my lips. I don’t like this guy even a little bit, but assuming he just wants to get in and get his job done, then I’m more than happy to keep my mouth shut and ignore him.
He grabs the antiseptic spray and some old dirty rags and gets to work, moving around the morgue and putting in the absolute bare minimum, spreading more germs than actually cleaning them. I clench my jaw to keep from saying anything, but the moment this asshole is out of my morgue, I’m going to have no choice but to reclean everything he’s touched. I just hope someone in another department who doesn’t run the risk of being alone in a room with him has the good sense to report him.