Page 57 of Violent Cravings

I doubt it. If he did, he could have contacted me. He was the one who set up those ridiculous rules, which allows him to break them.

It's been almost a year since I said goodbye to him. If it's true what he told me, it should be about time for him to do this again, with another girl. He told me it has to be someone new every single time. For reasons I can’t seem to understand. His strict rule is so hard for me to understand that I'm beginning to doubt it. Maybe he just told me all of this to make me feel special? But why would he do that? And why pay me such an insane amount of money for something I might have done anyway? Even though I'm pretty sure things would have been different if there had been no payment involved. This way, it was clear to me what my role was supposed to be, even if it seemed to come naturally to me. I plunged in at the deep end without spending too much time thinking and wondering about it. I knew who I was to him – and I knew who he was to me.

Or so I thought.

I'm breaking a sweat, fighting my way further up the hill as my breathing accelerates. I was so deep in thought that I hadn't noticed how far I’d gone already. I'm nearing a little plateau that I remember is a very nice resting spot. I'm going to stop to rest and take in the view of the city below. It's a clear day and I'm sure the view will be beautiful.

As I walk further, I make my first resolution. I need to work out more often. I'm gasping for air by the time I finally reach that little resting spot and slump down on a bench. I feel as if I just finished a marathon, even though I must've been walking for less than half an hour. I'm not even half way up to the top.

I wipe the sweat off of my forehead and wait for my breath to calm. My eyes wander across the vast valley that spreads in front of me, a smoggy skyline consuming the center of it.

My next resolution is to leave men out of the equation. If my brief and uneventful relationship with Steven has taught me anything, it's that I'm not ready for anything new, anything serious. It's too soon, and it shouldn't be at the top of my list. I should concentrate my focus elsewhere.

Just as I affirm this resolution with a confident nod, I hear a crack behind me. It doesn't sound like a squirrel scurrying through the bushes, but more like a human footstep, which frightens me. I hastily turn around to check my back – and freeze in shock.

There, standing a few feet away from me on the path, wearing a pair of snug dark jeans and a matching polo shirt that stretches around the muscles of his upper arms, is the man who has inhabited almost each and every one of my thoughts for the past year. His hair is tousled, sweaty strands frame his forehead, and his chest is laboring under heavy breaths, as his piercing blue eyes – the ones I’ve seen endlessly in my dreams – are fixated on me.

It’s my master... Ryan Hawkins.

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