Page 88 of Riot

I frown, turning it over.

Riot is a man of few words but…

My gaze locks on the printed design on the card and the words.With sympathy.

My vision tunnels and an eerie stillness settles over my bones. All I can hear are my own laboured breaths, whooshing loud in my ears.

Riot wouldn’t send these. I see the threat, feel it clamping around my throat as I stumble back, a metallic taste flooding my mouth.

Among the white roses are lily of the valley. I don’t know how I didn’t notice at first. They were in my mother’s funeral flowers.

My breath hitches as I drag air through my nose, my lungs burning. The storm in my stomach is violent as I stare at the blooms, no longer beautiful but sinister.

My phone beeps, and I pull it out of my pocket. The message sends shards of icy terror into my chest.

Unknown

I hope you like these flowers, Ivy. I took a lot of care picking them.

Unknown

I expect a thank you this time.

The text wobbles and becomes a watery mirage before I can blink my tears back. Not Riot then. He would never send a message so hateful.

Anger flames through my stomach. For years, I wanted Jackson. Years. Now that I don’t want him, he thinks he can torment me, scare me.

Well, fuck him.

Before I can consider the ramification, I swipe my fingers over the screen.

Why the fuck are you doing this? Grow up, Jackson.

The reply doesn’t come right away, but then the dots appear.

Unknown

Who the fuck is Jackson?

Those words don’t sink in for a beat longer than it should take.

Who is Jackson…

My stomach twists, ice and acid burning through my insides.

Realisation dawns slowly, my brain taking too long to unravel the thread I’m hanging onto.

He’s not Jackson.

He’s not Jackson.

And those words, that tone… it’s so familiar. Too familiar. Muscle memory imprinted on the fragile pieces of my soul that I thought I’d glued back together.

It’s not Jackson, and I was stupid for thinking it was. There’s only one bastard I know who tortures for sport.

Only one man who would send funeral flowers and a sympathy card to my home.

The monster I thought I’d escaped.

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