Page 52 of Nowhere to Run

But doubt slipped in. If I could just keep that creep away from her… My fist clenched at my side as I pictured her trembling, hugging her knees to chest. The way her voice had wavered when she spoke about Ryan.

But something else nagged at me. A feeling I couldn’t shake. Her words had felt too calculated. Too rehearsed. Not that I didn’t believe a dangerous man could be obsessed with her. I scoffed.Wasn’t I proof of that?

Still… something wasn’t adding up.

Is she playing me? Is she still seeing him?

The thought alone sent my pulse skyrocketing, rage simmering in my veins. If she was lying… there’d be hell to pay.

For both of them.

She’d thought she’d seen my anger, thought she knew what I was capable of.

She had no fucking idea.

I exhaled sharply, steadying my grip on the counter. I couldn’t lose control. Not yet.

“Get me into her phone, Leo,” I said, my voice low, tight. “I’ve finally got her, I’m not letting her slip away.”

“On it.” I could hear him typing, rapid and efficient. He didn’t hesitate. He never did.

I smiled. Leo was always on top of things. I needed to do something for him soon.

“Okay, I’m in.” His voice came through the speaker, smug. “You’ll be able to see her messages, track her calls going forward. But you won’t see any old texts.”

It would do for now.

I ended the call, setting my phone on the counter. My heartbeat slowed, the rage settling into something calmer.

Anticipation.

Soon, I’d know everything.

I could protect her.

Brushing off the lingering doubt, I turned my attention to the meal, gathering ingredients with a sense of purpose. I’d pushed Scarlett’s body to her limits, wrung pleasure from her until she was trembling. Now, I’d show her I could do more than that. The scent of spices filled the kitchen as I worked, slicing into the meat, kneading ingredients together with my hands. I’d tantalize her taste buds next.

As I set the pan on the stove, my mind drifted–unbidden–to prison. Those first few days.

Meeting Malik.

A lifer. Built like a tank, eyes sharp with the kind of knowledge only decades behind bars could teach.

“We got a pretty boy,” he’d said, looking me up and down with something between amusement and warning. “You’re lucky I don’t swing that way. But some of these other guys? They don’t give a shit. You’re young, and they’ll see you as a hot piece of ass. Better watch your back.”

I played it cool, shrugged it off. I knew how to protect myself. I always had. But this wasn’t the outside world. They were all tough guys. Guys with nothing better to do than workout 24/7. I saw that hunger in their eyes. Decades without the soft touch of a woman.

For the first time since I was a kid, I was scared.

But then, Malik stepped in.

“I hooked you up, man. Got you the best job in this joint.” He smirked. “The cook. No one will touch you. No one fucks with the guy making their food.”

I tried to downplay it, not let him know how much it meant to me. Even then, I knew Malik wasn’t the kind of guy who did things out of kindness.

I managed to keep my obsession with Scarlett hidden for a few months. But the dreams gave me away—moaning her name in my sleep.

Years later, he finally found the one photo I had of her. Her yearbook photo.

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