Page 31 of Pen Pal

I went further back. Enzo went from foster home to foster home, running away from them if he wasn’t placed with his sister. She was the only family he had since none of their blood family could care for them.

I printed everything I found, adding it to the massive folder of evidence the state had against him, but they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know that he was a product of neglect and abuse, nor that his first murder was in defense of his only family.

I looked up only when my boss knocked at my door and realized it was dark out.

“You should’ve left hours ago,” she gasped. “I was just locking up. Go home, Amara. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right,” I muttered, straightening my desk before I headed out. “See you in the morning.”

The walk home was quick, but I still sensed that I was being watched. I looked over my shoulder, swearing, and saw a shadowy figure following me.

I hurried home, locking the door behind me. Heading to the kitchen, I fixed myself a sandwich with some of the food I had left over from the food bank since I had worked right through lunch. The growling in my stomach finally stopped, and I ate every bite. I jogged upstairs, ready to go to bed for the night.

A streetlight flickered, and I looked outside.

There was a man out there, standing below the streetlight, looking up at me. He didn’t wave, didn’t move, just stared.

My heart sank. Was it Mark? Was he here to hurt me again? I ducked, crawling across the floor as I swore, realizing I had left my phone in the kitchen. I heard it ring and was too far away to grab it now. If I went down there, Mark would probably throw another brick in the house and climb in, and this time, he would kill me.

I slowly stand, peeking outside, relieved to see that the man was gone.

But then my blood went cold. If I couldn’t see him, then where was he? It wasn’t like Mark to just walk away once he knew where I was.

“My Amara,” a voice whispered, too close for comfort.

I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over it and muffled the sound. I was pinned against a warm, hard body, breathing heavily through my nose as I looked around, trying to find anything I could use as a weapon. I bit down on the hand hard, and the person behind me only chuckled as he leaned in, sniffing my hair.

“You’re a little spitfire, baby,” a familiar voice husked, and my teeth unlatched from his hand.

It was Enzo.

“Are you going to scream if I remove my hand now?” he questioned.

I shook my head and felt his lips curl into a smirk against my ear. “That’s a good girl.”

My knees went weak as his tattooed hand fell from my mouth but wrapped around my throat instead. He spun me around to face him, the shadows obscuring his face from me as I took him in.

He wastall and dressed in all black. He pushed his hood away from his face, and I recognized him. His spectacles glinted in the glow of my nightstand’s light, his blond curls falling over his face, and those full, kissable lips curled into a sinister smile.

I was caught in a predator’s trap and could do nothing to escape.

“You went to work today,” he grinned. “Did you get my letters, baby?”

I nodded. “All of them,” I breathed. “Mark kept your letters from me. I didn’t know you had written back and thought you had stopped. I’m sorry.”

His eyes darkened, glinting with danger. I swallowed, wondering if he even believed me.

I didn’t trust my words as both terror and lust swirled in my mind, my heart, my pussy. How could I be so turned on right now as an escaped killer held me by the throat?

“Are you going to write me back this time?” he murmured, his gaze raking over my body.

“I did,” I admitted. I did right after I found out about what happened to his sister. I knew he’d end up in that prison, so I mailed it there, dropping it at a mailbox on the walkback from work.

“I can’t wait to read it,” he husked. “Got myself my little pen pal back. I wonder how she tastes.”

I whimpered, my knees going weak as he turned, pinning me against the wall. His knee pressed against my pussy, forcing my legs apart as he lowered his face to mine, and I could taste his breath.

His mustache tickled my upper lip as he traced it with his tongue, flicking it between my lips, a silent order to open my mouth for him. I did, and he spat in my mouth, and the only thing that held me up was his knee as mine buckled.

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