Page 41 of Fear Me, Love Me

Angela’s worried frown softens into a smile. “Look at that. I’ve been thinking lately that you’re the ideal age to become a father. Not so young you’re hot-headed. Not too old you don’t have the energy to run after them. This big house needs a woman and babies, and so do you.”

I don’t need a woman or any babies. I need my fucking money. “This is a hostage situation, Angela. Stop getting clucky.”

“Ahh, whatever you want to call it, you do look lovely holding a baby,” she says, gazing fondly at me. “If only the pretty little miss down in the garden could see you like this.”

I catch sight of myself in the mirror across the room. My hair is falling over my brow. My shirt is rumpled. Barlow is holding on to the silver chain around my throat. The pretty little miss down in the garden would gouge my eyes out if she had the chance.

“I wonder what she’s doing now.” I glance at Barlow in my arms. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

Back in the security room, Miss Stone is walking in circles, growing more agitated by the second. I smile nastily at the monitors, enjoying the way she’s pushing her hands through her hair. Backtracking and second-guessing her movements. Worrying on that plush lower lip with her teeth.

It’s not enough anymore to watch her from afar as my garden torments her. I want to torment her myself.

In my arms, Barlow is growing sleepy. His eyes are half closed and his wriggling is slowing down. “Here. I’ll be back soon.”

Carefully, I deposit him in Angela’s arms, and her face diffuses in delight as she cuddles him close. I leave her cooing over the sleepy baby.

As I promised Miss Stone, my front door is unlocked, and I leave it that way as I walk out into the crisp night air. Using the security app on my phone, I open several of the garden doors and close them behind me. I can hear her moving up ahead, coming this way.

I glance around at a stone folly with white benches. An archway with climbing roses. A low wall that she’ll see the moment she comes around the corner. Where would I like her to catch sight of me?

The wall. I stretch out, my back propped against bricks, ankles crossed loosely. My clothing is black, and I melt into the shadows as I stand as still as stone.

Miss Stone comes around the corner and casts a dejected gaze over what looks like another dead end. She barely tries to locate the hidden gate next to me before she’s turning away and going back the way she came.

“You’re terrible at this,” I speak quietly, but my voice travels in the still night air. Miss Stone jumps and whirls around. At first, she doesn’t see me, and then I smile, and my teeth must gleam in the darkness.

Her expression flattens from fear into dislike. “You remind me of the Cheshire Cat, posing like that. It’s cliché.”

This girl has a sharp tongue for one who’s so desperate and afraid. I stay where I am, enjoying the sight of her covering up her shivers with false bravado. “You wound me. Next you’ll tell me that my garden is derivative.”

She glances slowly around. “Clearly you’ve watchedThe Shiningone too many times, or maybe you’ve read the story about the Minotaur and the Labyrinth and loved the idea of being the monster in the maze. Does the maze make you feel clever? Enigmatic? I hate to tell you this, but you’re not as complicated as you think. You’re just a thug.”

I’ve made this girl angry, and now she’s going in for the kill. “Oh, you’ve read a book of myths and watched a movie. Congratulations on your literature degree.”

“Art history and costume design, actually. Do you know what always happens to the monster in the maze? He’s killed.”

I smile and let my gaze travel down her body. “Eventually. But he fucks a virgin sacrifice first.” To my delight, her cheeks flush in the cold air. “You’re not as brave as you’re pretending to be.”

“At least I’m not a pathetic, grandiose bully who’s more in love with himself than anyone will ever be with him,” she snaps back. “You’re not interesting. You’re not charming. You’re not good-looking.”

“I never claimed to be any of those things.”

She gives a short, sharp exhalation. “Everyone in Henson talks about you that way. It drives me mad.”

“But you’re too wise to believe any of that,” I guess.

“Of course. And now I see I was right all along.”

“Oh, no. A little college nobody thinks I’m cringe. Hashtag sobbing.”

She clenches her fists by her temples and makes a frustrated noise. “I can’t believe I’m having this stupid conversation. I’m letting you distract me.” She turns around and starts to walk away, but a moment later she hurries back, interest and excitement gleaming in her green eyes. “No, wait. If you’re here it means that I was going the right way.”

Shit. I gave away the answer.

Thatiscringe. Or bad vibes. Or basic. Whatever the eighteen-year-olds in my crew say.

While she hunts for the hidden door, I hunt for a way to distract her. “Your little Bradley has the most irritating scream.”

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