Page 21 of Playing with Fyre

The way her lips formed my name. The feel of her clamping over my cock. The taste of her arousal on my fingertips.

I haven’t been to see her since that day in my classroom. I knew if I did that, I would take her whether she wanted me to or not. She already hates me. She’s already terrified of me. I can’t push her further away. I have to prove to her how great my love is. The lengths I will go to for her.

See, Charlotte Ash doesn’t know Gideon Fyre. She only knows me as her professor. It’s past time I introduced her to the real me, the man who will be at her side for eternity.

I knew what I would do the moment she strutted out of my classroom without looking back. But it’s taken me three weeks to get here, to this point of no return.

I snort quietly to myself as I study the apartment building up ahead. It’s not dilapidated, but it’s not in the best state of repair either. I guess the rent is as reasonable here as it is back in Charlotte’s apartment building.

The fact that Peter Monroe dug out his burrow this close to my Charlotte is no coincidence. Neither is the weight of his phone in my pocket.

There’s nothing mysterious about the universe. There’s a logical explanation for everything if you know how to connect the dots.

That night when I was outside Charlotte’s apartment, the night I met the man who dared spy on her through her bedroom window—that night the stars aligned.

That was no stranger.

He was none other than the man who hurt my Charlotte. I knew it as soon as I dug up the newspaper article stating he’d been arrested in connection with a suspected kidnapping. His picture was disarming—a handsome, middle-aged man in a tasteful, if casual, outfit. The epitome of a filthy rich architect.

Emphasis on the filthy.

His case wasn’t in court very long. Weeks after proceedings began, the judge declared a mistrial. A break in the chain of custody, key pieces of evidence mishandled.

Charlotte never even got to testify.

And Peter Monroe was released.

No wonder my little girl could only find peace in those white pills she swallowed every night. What sane person could ever rest knowing the monster that had stolen them, had raped and tortured them for a week, was roaming the streets?

Sometimes I wonder if I’m as much a criminal as Peter Monroe. If my sick is anything close to his sick. But thenthiswill happen. I’ll be holding the phone of the very man I was hunting out…and I know my purpose is so much greater than all the Peter Monroes of the world.

They’re the disease. I’m the motherfucking cure.

We’re not in the least alike, but wedohave something in common. This man isobsessedwith my Charlotte.

But not as much as I am. And I’m about to prove it.

Chapter Fourteen

Fyre

An hour goes by before Peter Monroe walks out of his apartment building. He opens an umbrella, cigarette smoke puffing out from beneath it before he climbs into his silver Mercedes Benz. White light blooms, LED’s lighting up in a strip as the headlamps come on.

Then he pulls away, headed for his favorite stripper bar. It’s Wednesday night, and this has been his routine for the past three weeks.

He’s a loner, as so many of these perverted freaks are. Keeping to himself ensures fewer people ever become aware of just what a psychopath he is. But he craves human contact too. Lick Kitty Lick is the perfect place for him to immerse himself in humanity without drawing attention. It’s a high-class bar—velvet ropes and a red carpet out front—and thekittiesinside belong to shapely young things, prettier than most.

I park my Audi in the darkest corner of the parking lot and give Peter a few minutes to make his way inside before I follow.

His face has healed nicely since our scuffle in the street last month. The one scar that hasn’t fully healed yet he keeps concealed with makeup. He was limping for a week, but after I discovered who he was I almost wish I’d killed him that night.

Almost.

If I had, he’d be dead. But there’s a debt he must settle first. One he owes my darling Charlotte.

One he’ll be paying before the night is up.

My lips curl up in a smile as I locate him near one of the stages, a drink in his hand and a smile on his face as he watches the girl perform for him. I slide a hand into my jacket to feel for the cool, hard length of my hunting knife. Its solidity lends me focus. Strength. Determination.

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