Page 46 of Prey

Sometime during the busy night, Ronan the Beautiful stood at the kitchen entrance and watched me, but he didn’t stay long because he was in the way of us, coming and going.

Nine PM arrived quickly, went to the locker room to change, and discreetly searched the staff area to bump into Ronan accidentally. When he asked me what time I finished, I assumed he would come back then. Perhaps I got that signal wrong.

I had no time to waste because I needed to catch my bus, so I rushed out the staff exit into the dark alleyway, then ran under the streetlights to the stop on the opposite side of the road. Luckily, there were two other people there whom I’d seen on my bus before, so I wasn’t alone.

As the bus pulled up, I noticed a familiar vehicle parked across the road. I might be mistaken, but it was the same vehicle that followed me that night when Shaun dumped me after we had sex, and I ran back to Hallen Hall. It was an old-style sedan that most students wouldn’t be seen dead in, and that was why I remembered it; it seemed like a car a boomer would drive. This vehicle also had two people sitting inside, and I could make their shapes out in the dark.

I discreetly took a pic of it with my phone without a flash, but it came out as a weird blur, so I retook it with the flash and faked a pose to make it look like I was taking a selfie.

The bus rolled up, and I kept my eyes on the sedan, which I thought was dark blue, although it was difficult to tell in the dark. When the bus turned around the bend, I looked back, and the car wasn’t following, so maybe I was wrong about it.

I was relieved when the bus arrived at Gotland, hopped off, and ran again through the dark streets under streetlights. I didn’t stop until I was at the Hallen Hall entrance with my keycard ready. When I arrived at my door, I thought about sleep…and Ronan. I brushed where he touched me with the back of my fist and sighed at how soothing his touch was, yet the damage he could do with hands…so much damage.

I unlocked my door with my keycard, pushed it open, and froze when a man was lying on my bed.

23

This is not appropriate,” I scolded the man on my bed. He’s at home, propped up against my pillow, legs stretched on my bed, crossed at the ankle, phone on his lap as if he’d been relaxing in my room for hours.

“Where have you been?” he asked, wearing a black ski mask that I thought he had just put on in a hurry, maybe because he had heard me outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had to answer to you,” I hissed at him, folding my arms across my chest in defiance. “Are you comfortable lying there like a king on his throne onmybed?”

He snorted, which I think was a chuckle, as his jaw pulsated under the thick fabric. Then I noticed his eyes, and my breath was whisked away, partly because of the deep dark pools of suspicion mixed with…humor, but because I felt like I’d seen those eyes before.

Typically, Rourke wore a full horror mask where it was impossible to see his eyes, or if he wore a ski mask, he was too far away to see the features of his eyes. But those eyes had me captured, mesmerized.

“Yes, I am very comfortable, thanks,” he replied, and I stifled my smile because I was supposed to be angry with him. I liked the tone of his voice, even though it was muffled by that ski mask, and his evident sense of humor, although a bit macabre. “Remind me where you were tonight?”

“I didn’t tell you,” I dumped my bag down on the desk, wondering what I would do with him. He was too heavy to drag out, and he didn’t threaten me, so I didn’t want to call the police. What was the appropriate action when you came face to face with your stalker who broke into your room?

“Do I scare you?” he asked in a steady voice as those eyes latched onto my lips, watching them as I bit them.

I swallowed and fiddled with my glasses as a forced habit. “No,” I breathed, although it wasn’t entirely true. He grew on me, got under my skin, and became a regular feature in my life, but in such close vicinity, he made me nervous.

His head tilted as if he didn’t believe me, and those eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Okay, a little bit scared,” I added, “I mean…it’s not every day you arrive home to find a masked man sitting on your bed watching…” noticing a pic of a motor was on his phone, “car stuff on your phone.”

“Car stuff?” he faked, being offended. “This is not just any car stuff, but classic, heavy metal car stuff.”

“Like, say,” I was joining the dots, “a black Mustang-type heavy metal classic car?”

“No comment,” he replied swiftly, which jerked laughter from me, and those eyes lit up.

“You need to get a hobby,” I told him, slipping off my sneakers because my feet were sore.

“You’re my hobby,” he argued as he shuffled over on the bed, allowing space for me to sit next to him.

“Seriously? Stalking is not a healthy hobby,” I stated as I sat on the bed beside him, inhaling his scent of cigarettes and shampoo with a hint of engine oil.

His arm snaked around my shoulder, and he pulled me into him. It felt nice, as his body heat was soothing. I dropped my head on his shoulder. “Who said anything about healthy?” he rationalized. Nothing I do is healthy. Smoking, drinking…”

“Drugs?” I pressed curiously as I was enjoying this interaction a lot.

“The odd one.”

“Do the drugs help you…with your burns?” I didn’t word the question well and considered reframing it, but he answered before I could.

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