Page 156 of Fake Game

“Deer, baby, take a beat.”

“No!” she screeches, pushing me back. “Where’s the evidence, huh? What did they find that makes them so sure it’s Rick?” She throws her anger like an axe at Phoebe.

“He watched you.”

“What?” Deer freezes, her flame of fury flickering with uncertainty.

Phoebe sighs, walking past me and resting her hand on Deer’s head, stroking it like a mother does to her child. “After the drugging, we dug into your system and found some inconsistencies. The screen-mirroring software we initially uncovered seemed a little odd, so we kept looking. That’s when a certain someone who shan’t be named for legal reasons noticed that your webcam was being remotely accessed.”

“I thought I’d just been leaving it on.” Deer’s whispered words lance through my heart like a spear made of ice.

This asshole was watching her.

He was fuckingwatchingher.

A smokey red haze seeps into my vision as I think about how this fucking man whom my girl trusted, whom she employed for years, took her vulnerabilities and twisted them for his own sick benefit.

“Why?” Her breathing starts ramping back up, those short, little inhales as her brows pinch together.

“I mean, I’m no psychoanalyst, we won’t know his motives until we get a hold of either him or hack into his devices—”

“Do not do that,” Paige interrupts.

“I won’t if your people get their shit done in a timely manner.”

Deer’s legs give out, and I barely manage to reach past Phoebe to grab her before her knees crack on the tiles. The shock seems to be shutting her body down. All the feral anger from earlier has extinguished into a shattered cry.

“No, I—” She pulls her elbow free and continues stumbling backward. “I can’t do this.” She turns tail and runs to the elevator, slamming the button until it opens.

“Wait, Deer. Where are you going?” I follow after her.

“Mine. I need—I don’t know. I just.” She’s barely able to string her words together, everything coming out in broken, breathy pants.

“Fine,” I soothe, placing my hand between the elevator doors to stop them from closing. “Fine, we’ll go to yours.”

“No. No. I need to be alone. I can’t—I can’t think. I need to be away. I need space.” Her hands keep shaking as she scuttles into the corner of the elevator.

My heart cracks at her rejection.

I’m watching her break apart before me, cracks of herself are falling off as she keeps deteriorating with the growing panic. She shouldn’t be alone—I need to be with her. I can help her, stop her from completely unravelling.

I take a tentative step forward. “Sparkles—”

“Stop,” she shrieks, pure terror leaching out of her. I halt, watching as she slides to the bottom of the elevator. “Please, Jackson. Just stop,” she begs, gripping her head and scrunching her hair between her hands.

Phoebe places her hand on my bicep. “It’s fine, we already have bodyguards stationed at her apartment. Just give her some time to calm down.”

No. This is all wrong. She’s hurting, she needs someone with her, someone to support her as the darkness closes in.

“Jackson.” Phoebe pushes, forcing my hand to let go of the elevator.

I just stand there and watch as the doors close and a part of my heart runs away.

FORTY-THREE

DEER

Idon’t know how much time passes.

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