Page 25 of Forever Mr Black

“He’s not going to get to me. I mean, it wouldn’t make any difference if we split up; it’s not like I’d get back together with him.”

“Fuck!” He slams a hand against the steering wheel in anger. “How does he know this stuff?”

“Like I said, I don’t know.”

“This changes everything.” He throws me a warning look. “He’s upped the ante. I can’t let this slide.”

“You promised me you’d leave it.”

He leans an elbow against the window and drags a hand across his mouth. “Sending you a letter is one thing. Stalking you is another.”

The words hang in the air between us.

I feel sick at the thought of what Art’s got planned, given what I saw tonight. “What are you going to do?”

“He’ll never get close to you again. He’s going to get what he deserves.”

Anxiety coils tight in my stomach at the threat. This is exactly how I feared he’d react. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to do anything. Promise me you won’t.”

We arrive outside the apartment.

He cuts the engine. “I’m not making a promise that I won’t keep.”

“I don’t want you getting into trouble because of him.”

“He needs to be stopped.”

“I can’t have you doing something stupid and going to prison because if it.”

“He’s not getting away with this, Sophie.”

He’s exasperating. Even the prospect of him being sent back to prison, the one place he swore he’d never return, isn’t enough to make him stop. He’s not listening. The blinkers are coming up again, like I saw in the club earlier. I don’t know this Art. And I don’t like him one bit.

“Art, I’m begging you … please. I’ll go to the police and report it.”

His voice rises to meet mine. “No, Sophie. I’m stopping this. Right now.”

Eight

Islam the car door behind me, letting out a frustrated cry. I don’t want to be around him when he’s like this. Bulldozing his way through. Being his stubborn, pig-headed self.

I barely notice the night concierge as I push open the door and stomp upstairs to the apartment. I don’t look back to see if Art’s following me. I don’t give a fuck. I’m furious.

I sling my keys onto the hall table and head into the bedroom, angrily throwing my handbag onto the floor and flinging his jacket off my shoulders. I head into the en suite. The sight of my pale skin and watery eyes in the mirror stops me in my tracks. I look like I’ve seen a ghost. In some ways, I have.

The sound of the front door slamming shut echoes through the apartment. I steel myself for the inevitable showdown.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Art appears in the doorway, looking incensed. “From now on, no more working late. We arrive and leave work together. You’re not going anywhere on your own.”

I roll my eyes at his predictable demands and push past him into the bedroom. I knew he’d react like this. “I don’t need a fucking chaperone.”

He tears his black shirt off, balls it up, and flings it across the room in anger. “You’re not going anywhere on your own with that fucking psychopath on the loose.”

I fix him a stern look. “You’re the one acting like a psychopath.”

His jaw twitches with tension as he steps out of his trousers and underwear and stands completely naked. “I mean it, Sophie.” He glares at me, turns, and heads into the en suite. “I need a shower.”

“To wash another man’s blood off you,” I cry.

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