Page 9 of Primal

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Immediately, a gray bubble pops up as he types out a response. The butterflies in my stomach are working overtime right now.

Look under the bed.

Fear, cold and heavy, spreads through my veins like ice. Is he seriously under my bed right now?

I want to get up and run out of the room, but I’m frozen in place.

And severely regretting not bringing a knife up here.

Stupid—I’m so stupid.

Slowly, I sit up in the bed and push the comforter off me. Taking a deep breath, I turn on the light and fall to the ground with a heavy thud to look under the bed.

I’m relieved that he’s not here, but instead, I see a knife next to a lump of something. I pick up the item and drop it almost immediately.

It’s a pair of my underwear with some white substance smeared all over it. Leaning down for a closer look, my face heats when I realize it’s his cum.

Another text comes through as I snatch up the knife and grip it close to my chest.

Make sure you keep it on you. You might need it next time *smirk emoji*

There won’t be a next time. And stay out of my drawers, asshole.

The fear that I was feeling gives way to anger. He’s not going to fuck with me and expect me to just take it.

I’m waiting for his reply to come through when I hear the creak of the front door opening downstairs.

I don’t think—I react.

Jumping up, I run downstairs to find the front door wide open. I run out onto the porch and look around. Nearly halfway down the street, I see a beaten-up pickup truck driving away from the house. I quickly snap a picture, trying to get his license plate, but he’s driving so fast that the picture mostly shows the glare from the taillights. I let out a frustrated growl and storm back into the house, slamming and locking the door behind me.

Thank God Grandma sleeps like the dead because she would surely be on my ass right now.

I stomp into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water, and when I flip the light on, a plate with a slice of the chocolate pie is sitting on the counter. Next to it is a glass of wine and a note written on a torn piece of paper.

Enjoy, Kiara.

CHAPTER 9

KIARA

By the time I finish work for the day, I feel like a zombie. It’s been hard to focus on anything but him. I was shocked when I read my name on that note last night, but I don’t even know why because he had my fucking license—now he knows everything about me.

He knows my name, knows where I live. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows what company I work for at this point. At least I work from home, so I don’t have to worry about him following me there, but I’m still stuck in this house most days, and he’s made it perfectly clear that he can—and will—come and go whenever he pleases.

Tossing my headset on my desk, I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes, trying not to let some strange man get the better of me and fuck up my whole life.

That’s easier said than done, especially when all I want, deep down, is for him to come back, to rob me of everything I own, to claim me on every surface of this house until my very being belongs to him completely. I want him to wreck my whole life, but, at the same time, the more rational part of me understands just how dangerous this is. He’s a complete stranger, and what he did was illegal.

This whole situation is fucked up.

Pushing away from my desk, I get up to go lie in bed, but I’m greeted by the basket of dirty clothes I purposely put there this morning so I wouldn’t forget after work. Laundry is the last thing I want to do right now, but I know if I don’t get it done this minute, it won’t get done at all.

I snatch the basket off the bed and trudge downstairs to the laundry room, mumbling a string of curses as I go. I put the clothes into the washing machine, then I grab a basket of clean clothes and go back upstairs.

My phone was missing when I woke up this morning, and I know I didn’t misplace it. I remember setting it on my nightstand after I threw the pie away and came back upstairs last night.

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