Page 116 of Property of Chaos

A decision which seems to have backfired, now that I have an abundance of energy and nothing to do.

Might as well organize your shit for tomorrow, then.I pull out my two wardrobe choices and hang them in the narrow robe adjacent to the door. Depending on my mood, I have an outfit for each. A long, high-necked black dress, gathered at the waist, and sensible Doc Marten boots. Or a gauzy, flowing black blouse and fitted high-waisted jeans to also pair with my Docs.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Murphy I’d pack black or black.

My hand brushes against the one spur-of-the-moment inclusion when I pull my toiletry bag free.

The camera.

I searched its make online and figured out not only how the damn thing works but that it’ll work as long as I have a solid Wi-Fi connection. It’s not anchored to a home location.

Why the fuck did I pack it? Figure that mental fuckery out, and facing Abraham will seem like a breeze.

I just knew I’d regret leaving it behind.

My thumb brushes the smooth front over the spot I scratched away to reveal the indicator light. At least now I’ll know when he’s watching.

If he even will.

“You’re certifiable.” I set the damn thing down on the table beside the obligatory cuck chair they have in every hotel room. Seems fitting, considering.

The TV has a limited range of channels to flick through. Some black-and-white movie is all that plays on the one channel unlikely to share anything to do with Abraham’s businesses—adverts, stock market news, any of it. I lower the volume and toss the remote aside, picking up my phone instead.

My brain instantly calculates how many hours I have until I’m in the same room ashim.Breathing the same air. Smelling his god-awful cologne that he’s probably been too stubborn to change after all these years.

Everything tenses inside, my back aching between my shoulders, skin prickling as the expected wash of adrenalin surges through.

It’s only twenty-four hours.Well, twenty-seven by the time our flight leaves. But regardless, the whole fucking thing is temporary. A necessary evil to find out what happened to make Mom sick.

Is that why Gage left?

If he’ll even tell you.It hasn’t escaped me that the lawyer will be one of his, and anything I’m told tomorrow won’t be the legal requirement—it’ll be what Abraham has sanctioned. The mankeeping anything that may benefit me a secret isn’t too much of a stretch of the imagination.

I wake the screen and thumb through to the social media apps, unsure why, but I know it’ll fill time until Evelyn’s ready for lunch. My feed is basic, mostly jammed with sponsored posts, considering I have two people on my friends list, and one of those is my stalker. It only takes a few swipes before his first image comes up. A post from a week ago.

And it’s of my damn cat.

I sit up straighter, folding my legs before me. There’s no caption, no explanation. Just a shot of Murphy squinting against the sun, long grass surrounding him. It’s a good photo—I’ll give Chaos that—but when did he take it? I thought he only camped across the road at night.

I switch to the calendar app, mentally tracking back the days to the date of the post and working out what the hell I was doing at the time.The fuck?It was the day I goddamn woke to find him in my bed. The day he ate me out on my kitchen counter and then left after I broke down.But he had somewhere to be.He left because somebody phoned him.Did he come back?

How many times has he been there without me knowing?

Just how oftenhashe watched me?

“Fuck.” I grip the phone tightly and stare out the tall window.

Who do I ask about this? Who knows how deep his obsession runs?And if it’s dangerous.Crow seemed happy enough to talk, but that Circus freak was there more often. They’d know how frequently Chaos relieved them of their duties, but I have no way to contact them.Not that it matters.

All his talk of helping me get back at my abusers, and the second he put his money where his mouth is, I balk.

Was the fantasy of a man who’d burn the world for me better than the reality? Because that’s what he is. A man who proved he has no qualms about doing what it takes to protect me.

Or show the people who’d hurt me that he won’t stand for that shit.

And all I could think when I realized he’d pummeled the doctor was, what would Abraham do if he knew?

Eighteen years and the man still runs my life as though I’m a teenager on the compound, dressing demurely and holding the arm of his wealthy friends while they use me for their sole gain.

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