Page 88 of Hunting Pretty

I waved goodbye as Ebony drove away. But I knew she was already hunched over her phone, consumed as usual by work.

I hurried inside and scanned the empty driveway from the kitchen window, the trees looking like black webs against the purple of dawn.

No one was watching me. I was alone. Everything was fine.

I mean, I hadn’t heard from my stalker in days. Had barely felt his eyes on me. Hadn’t caught the sight of his dark silhouette following me around since that day at the library.

But then again, since hestolemy adoption records, I hadn’t had any more leads to follow. Not yet.

It seemed he only showed up when he wanted to stop me from doing something.

A rebellious part of me wanted to do something,anything, to provoke him.

I turned on the coffee machine and rubbed my eyes as I waited for it to warm up, the sound of grinding and rushing water as the machine cleaned itself filling the mansion with noise. When it finished, silence fell over the giant mansion.

Click.

A noise had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I froze with my hand outstretched for the bag of beans in the cupboard.

That sounded like the front door.

Click.

That sounded like a footstep.

For a second I wondered if Ebony had returned, comeback for something she’d forgotten. But Ebony would never walk so hesitantly. She’d call out.

Someone was in the house who wasn’t supposed to be here.

Hewas in the house.

And I was alone.

I didn’t stop to consider the irony that I’d only just been considering how to bait him out into the open again.

Chasing me in the library was one thing. Hunting me down in my own fucking home was another. I would not be a helpless little prey in my own house.

And besides, he owed me answers. He owed me my fucking adoption papers back.

I grabbed the biggest knife from the butcher’s block.

Looking back now, I realize how laughable it was that I thought I was going to scare him into giving me answers.

What was his name? Who was he? Why did I have memories of him chasing me as a child?

But in that moment, my nerves were steeled as I gripped my weapon. It was my turn to turn the knife on him.

I was going to get my fucking answers. Whether it killed me or not.

I stalked down the darkened hallway with my back to the wood paneled wall. I held the knife in front of my chest with both hands.

I heard footsteps in the foyer ahead.

It was clumsy of him. Had he really grown so reckless since the last time he snuck in? Had the fact that he’d brought me to orgasm emboldened him so much? If he no longer thought he needed to be silent when he hunted me, what other precautions would he throw aside?

The light from the chandelier glinted off the blade of my knife as a long shadow appeared from around the corner.

His arrogance infuriated me, made me grit my teeth so hard that my jaw ached. Did he really think I was going to let him repeat his sins so easily?

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