Page 67 of Stalker

Wilder

I wasn’t the kind of man who enjoyed surprises whether in business or in pleasure. But the moment I’d laid eyes on the butterfly mask, my cock had stiffened.

Was there such a fucked-up thing as karma?

Not in my world.

Fate?

Not a chance in hell.

And I certainly knew all about hell.

I’d learned the hard way that while everything might happen for a reason, I could easily crush the fates in my palm when and if I wanted.

After learning my sweet Cassandra had every intention of poking holes in my life, I’d done a deeper dive on her career and her background. She’d single-handedly put away some very nasty criminals, several other murderers included. She’d gone above and beyond with her investigative skills, using her knowledge of psychiatry as a weapon much like I used a sharp blade.

She’d ceremoniously cut through their arrogance and self-righteous attitudes, subsequently peeling away their protective layers of armor. After that, it had only been a matter of time before she’d cracked their hard shell, revealing the scared little boys and girls inside.

I’d had a short conversation with my brothers, putting them on notice. Not that I was that worried. Our corporation’s books and business were all held to the highest level of diligence and decency.

But the Obsidian Society was something else altogether. It was possible she’d manufactured an invitation to the hunt, but given her strong reaction, even if that were true, she’d discovered a part of herself that had been missing. You could always tell by the look in someone’s eyes.

As far as my family, it was best leaving the dead rotting away in their graves. I’d come to the conclusion that dredging up additional horrific memories would only create a significant need to rip people apart with my hands.

We couldn’t have that, could we?

Perhaps she truly believed she could unravel my dark secrets. Alas, she had no understanding of what I was capable of, let alone my brothers. If I had my way, she’d be in for a treat, a true taste of everything I had in my powers.

In my mind, she wasn’t a threat, but a challenge.

I shifted on the stool, studying her more intently than before. She was putting a few pieces together, thinking she could pretend she hadn’t. She was frightened of me, but more so because of my power over her will and conscience.

From where I was sitting, I could smell her hunger.

In discovering she was also a product of the foster care system, I’d begun to see why she’d been chosen for the case as well as her tenacity in learning more about my family.

We were kindred spirits.

My Lady Butterfly was everything I’d ever craved, her boredom and dispassionate attitude toward the event almost as intense as my own. While so many of the other women were screeching, pawing each other to get closer to the stage, she sat quietly in her seat. But she was watching me as I was doing with her.

It was actually quite impossible for me to force my gaze elsewhere.

The woman wearing her long hair in curls, her crimson lipstick matching her flaming red dress wasn’t a complete mystery any longer.

Yet she still had several layers I myself wanted to peel away one at a time, exposing every yearning and every vulnerability. Just thinking about her nighttime activities brought a stronger edge to my thirst.

I admired her tenacity, her attention to detail, and her doggedness with handling every case. Almost every attorney had a damn good track record, but hers was exemplary.

To date, she’d lost few cases, her most recent a work of art from what little I’d seen after reading a couple of articles. Cameras weren’t allowed in the courtroom, so I hadn’t experienced the joy of seeing her face in action, but her drawn attire had filled in certain blanks.

She was cautious in her appearance wearing suits and mid-rise heels, which helped her exude confidence, even an air of arrogance. She knew how damn good she was and didn’t mind flaunting it. However, with the types of cases she’d fought to win, most attorneys would need to gravitate toward lightness in their private lives.

Not with Lady Butterfly. She’d gravitated toward a deeper shade of obsidian to whet her appetite.

I shifted on the stool, taking and holding a deep breath. My thoughts were even darker than before, my needs for her all-encompassing. Even if there remained a question in my mind about why she’d answered the questionnaire in the first place. Had it been for business or pleasure?

Perhaps this was my chance to discover all her hidden secrets in a less formidable way.

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