Willing Chaff – Story Fodder Read Online J.A. Huss

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark Tags Authors: J.A. Huss Advertisement

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The silence becomes awkward immediately for some reason. He clears his throat. "So… I… I'm not sure if you've figured it out yet, but… I… like you, Scarletta. I know how this all started was… weird, so it's possible you haven't realized that I like you yet…"

Weird is not the word I would use to describe what 'this' has been.

"But I do," he continues. "And I'm hoping you like me too."

For a moment, neither of us says anything. That awkwardness is thick enough to slice with a knife now.

The scoff I've been holding in finally comes out as I turn to look at him. "I don't even know your fucking name."

He laughs a little here. Like I said something funny. "It's Caleb. Caleb MacLeay."

I nod, looking him in the eyes. "OK… Caleb. Well… I'm just⁠—"

"It's all right," he says, hurriedly putting up a hand. "I'm not expecting you to make any kind of commitment right now. You've been through a lot. I just want you to know that I enjoyed our time together and… would like to see you again. Minus—" he waves one hand through the air, like he's trying to clear something away. "Minus the games, ya know?"

The words hit me sideways, scrambling in my brain before they finally slot into place. When they do, laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest—sharp, disbelieving, edged with something that might be hysteria. "You want to date me?" The question comes out louder than I intended, echoing in the confined space of the car. "Like... dinner and a movie? Coffee shops and holding hands in public?"

He presses his lips together—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace—and nods slowly, deliberately. His eyes never leave mine. "I do. But if you're not ready for that yet, I understand. Take whatever time you need." He pauses, and his voice drops lower, softer. "I'll wait."

I stare at him, my mind spinning uselessly like wheels stuck in mud.

What is this man's deal?

What the actual fuck is his fucking deal?

He's been stalking me for months, bought me in a Christmas auction that wasn't even real—just a premise, really—so he could reenact scenes from my book. Which, by the fucking way, ended up with me blacking out and losing memories!

Then he took me to an island under the guise of a Valentine's Day scavenger hunt meant to bolster my trust in him—which worked! I did trust him.

I trusted him to keep me safe so explicitly, I put a blindfold on, put ear buds in, and walked into an elaborately staged psychological gauntlet based on a story I wrote in the privacy of my own twisted imagination that ended up being part of some… seriously fucking twisted—I don't even know what that was.

I don't understand that man's presence in my maze.

Why was he there?

I'm not going to ask because clearly, he wasn't supposed to be. He was there to hurt me, that's all I understand. And he did.

He fucking did.

And then he got tortured and murdered for it.

And now, Caleb, the masked-unmasked man, is sitting here in a luxury car offering me... what?

A relationship?

Romance?

The kind of normal I've never been able to sustain even when I tried?

And invitation to the St. Patrick's Day… fucking… leprechaun dungeon amusement park?

What? What is he offering me here?

The limo rolls to a stop and I realize that I'm home. Or—whatever this fucking apartment building is.

Caleb smiles, then opens the door and gets out, offering me his hand.

I don't take it. I scramble out, the cold Idaho air hitting me in a real way that it didn't back at the airport, and I walk right past him.

"It's OK," he calls after me. "I'll wait."

I go inside, climbing the steps up to my floor, my hands shaking as I approach my door and realize I don't have my phone, or my key—but when I try the handle, it's open.

Of course, it's open.

This man, this masked, unmasked Caleb man, controls everything.

Everything but the weird old Russian murderer who made his way into my rape-fantasy sex maze, killed my attendants, and…

I slam the door behind me and what do I see on the counter, but my phone and my keys. Plus the clothes I wore to the island—his clothes, I remind myself. Smelling freshly laundered and folded neatly.

I lock the door, crawl into my blanket fort that is now a glamping tent, and find my laptop still open, waiting for me, but dead because it ran out of battery.

I plug it in to the charger and for a moment I just breathe…

Softly, slowly, in and out.

Then I pick up a glass half full of water on the tiny table next to the laptop, reach up, grab each of the cameras mounted on the inside of the tent, and drop them into the water.

I scramble back out of the tent, get a step ladder from the entryway closet, and one by one, I do this for every camera in my apartment.


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