Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I leave the bedroom and step out into the night. The street is quiet, and Abigail’s window is dark. She’s not home. I followed her to make sure of it almost an hour ago. It’s half past nine, and she’s at the dive bar where we first met.
The meeting she doesn’t remember.
I force my tense jaw to relax. If I’d conquered Abigail in one night, I wouldn’t experience this life-changing hunt. She frustrates me, but I can’t deny that this is the most entertainment I’ve ever experienced when pursuing a beautiful woman. She doesn’t know the game we’re playing, but I’m enjoying it immensely.
When I take the first step across the empty street, all of my senses come alive in a way I’ve never known. I’m inside the ground floor breezeway of her building within seconds, tucked out of sight in the shadows.
My fingers shake slightly when I reach into my pocket, so I fist them around the lock picking kit I purchased online.
As a surgeon, I’m known for my steady hands. This anomaly is completely out of character, a novelty. Adrenaline hums through my veins, an almost giddy rush.
But there’s no one around to witness my crime.
I won’t be caught. I won’t be caged.
Despite that knowledge, my body feels as though I might as well be skydiving rather than quietly breaking into her apartment.
My heart pounds against my ribcage when the lock disengages, and her front door swings open with a rusty squeak. I can navigate the cramped space by the streetlight that filters through the large living room window; it would be stupid to turn on the lights.
No matter how I’m craving to study every detail of her home.
Curiosity nips at me, an insistent bite, but I force myself to focus on my goal: finding her laptop. I have to be smart about this, so I’ll be in and out of her apartment as quickly as possible. There’s no time to indulge myself in fully exploring her place.
I often see her writing while she’s curled up on her couch, but it only takes a few seconds for me to ascertain that her laptop isn’t there. She usually carries it with her into her bedroom once she’s finished with her feverish, mysterious typing.
I cross the living room in a few long strides and enter her darkened bedroom.
My gaze skates over the small figurines that cover her dresser and the haphazard stacks of books overflowing from her nightstand. The temptation to study her trinkets and preferred literature is powerful enough to test my resolve. I take a breath and remind myself that I’m in control.
She fascinates me, but her allure isn’t strong enough to compel my actions.
I risked this break-in for a single purpose, so I keep my focus on finding her laptop.
It’s on the floor beside a stack of books, tucked halfway under the bed. Was she looking at something online late at night? Maybe she has a particular, perverted website she likes to visit.
I’ll make sure to check her browser history as well as any personal documents she’s written.
Any insight into her sexual preferences will help me seduce her. And if I’m right about her kinky predilections, I’ll feel more secure showing her the darkest aspects of my cruel nature. There will be less risk involved if I know exactly what she wants me to do to her.
I set the laptop on the bed, which is an unmade tangle of sheets.
My lips twist with distaste. Abigail is untidy.
A bad habit I will have to break once she’s mine.
I shake off the possessive thought and ignore the unease that stirs in my gut at how fiercely I want this woman.
The laptop instantly illuminates when I open it. A photo of the beach fills the screen, and a small icon with her face is framed in a circle at the center of the idyllic image. There’s a text box just beneath it, the cursor flickering in a mocking rhythm.
Fuck.
It’s password protected.
Her secrets are in my hands but hopelessly out of reach.
I narrow my eyes at the computer as though it’s a particularly irksome enemy that I’m about to eviscerate. For a few long seconds, my fingers hover over the keyboard. I contemplate guessing her password.
But I have no idea if my attempts will be logged somehow. Even worse, I could end up locked out entirely. Abigail will definitely know someone has tampered with it if that happens.
She’ll know someone was in her home while she was out.
She might call the police. There could be an investigation.
No, I can’t try to guess her password. And I’m no hacker, even if I’m proficient with technology. It’s a skill I’ve learned just like any other to progress my career, but I’ve never needed to learn how to break into a woman’s private laptop.
My hands clench to fists just above the keyboard.