Page 4 of The Vixen's Vice

“Caleb?” No answer.

“Caleb?” Still nothing.

I’m about to leave when I notice something red smeared on the door of the closed stall. With my heart in my throat, I step into the bathroom. As I get closer to that stall, it becomes increasingly clear that the substance isblood,and it’s fresh.

Throwing all sense of preservation out the window, I push hard on the door of the stall, causing it to crash into the inside wall. And what I see inside makes all the blood run from my face.

It’s Caleb, slumped and lifeless on the toilet. And that's not all—not the worst of it by far. There’s a giant bloody X carved into his chest, his tongue hanging out unnaturally and surrounded by lips horribly swollen and purple.

On his lap rests a crimson notecard. Normally, that small thing wouldn’t be so frightening, but the two words scrawled there are enough to shoot terror to the core of my being.

It’s a simple phrase, and yet it's able to showcase all the malicious intent they hold. The promise.

Three days.

CHAPTER THREE

I stare numblyat my soggy bowl of shredded wheat as Landon recounts everything that happened to him last night after the body was found. He’s so animated in his retelling, but I can’t find it in me to pay attention to the words coming from his mouth. All I can think about is the way Caleb’s eyes stared at me, as dull in death as they were in life.

“And then the cop askedmeif I had anything to do with it. Can you fucking believe that shit? As if I could do anything other than bury myself in the sweet piece of ass I was with.”

That type of commentary would normally make me flinch, but lately it just makes me… tired. Especially this morning, when all I want to do is lie in bed and try to forget the horrible sight at the club last night.

“Do they know who did it?” I ask, unaware I’m interrupting another tirade he’s fallen into.

“I don’t fucking know, Lottie. Do you really not care how those pigs treated me?” he crosses his arms with a scowl, and I turn my attention back to my Wheaties. “Well? It sure as shit doesn’t seem like you care.”

He still hasn’t asked about the cut on my neck, and he certainly doesn’t care I’m the one who found Caleb’s body,is allI can think as I raise my eyes, meeting his irritated gaze head-on. He doesn’t say anything else, and I stand from my seat with a heavy sigh, grabbing the bowl and heading to the sink to dump it out.

The faucet is unreasonably loud as I rinse out the remnants of my forgotten breakfast, and I’m scared to turn around, to face the man I’ve called my fiancé for the past year.

“I’m going running,” I murmur, not looking at him as I duck out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop me, and I have to assume that whether it be from anger or otherwise, he’s fine with me leaving.

I yank on my tennis shoes and grab my headphones before rushing out the door. I’m halfway down the steps when I notice something red peeking out of the bushes, and when I stoop to pick it up, my heart lodges in my throat.

It’s another card, though this one has a slightly different message—and twice as terrifying.

Two days.

I throw my shoulders back, crumpling the notecard in my fist and dispensing it into the trash bin at the end of the driveway. I shove my headphones in forcefully, selecting a particularly violent song from my playlist as I take off down the sidewalk, determined not to let the warning shake me.

The chill morning air burns my lungs, but I pay it little attention as I take a left onto the Moriton hiking trail, too focused on keeping Zay from my mind and my feet moving forward.

I slow my pace slightly the deeper I get into the forest, breathing in the crisp scent of cypress and going so far as to pull an earbud out so I can listen to the birds sing. It really is beautiful out here this early in the day. No one is around for miles—no one but the birds and the animals and me to welcome in the new day.

I’m so busy marveling at the scenery, I don’t notice the trip wire someone has planted on the hiking trail. I’m flying through the air before I know what’s happening, unable to do anything but squeeze my eyes tight and brace for a painful landing.

Only, that never happens.

I crack my lids open, all too aware of a pair of gloved hands wrapped around my midsection, stopping my fall.

“What—?”

I don’t get to finish my question as I’m hauled upright, a hand planted firmly over my mouth to silence me.

“Shh,” he whispers, pulling my backside flush against his abdomen. “Don’t make a sound, little rose. If you do, we’ll have to stop playing. Do you understand?”

The way my body reacts to his touch is more than enough to let me know who it is, and I close my eyes tight to fight against the desire heating my blood.Why is it only like this with him? What have I done that’s so wrong I can only get off to thoughts of this… this monster.

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