This can’t get out. Even if I want to gossip with my best friends about it.
And besides, it was a one-off.
That delicious little creature in the depths of my soul wants to come to life all over again. But it’s not a risk I can take. Having more sex like that will definitely ruin any other man for me. Braxton will ruin me and draw out that thing I’ve tried to suppress for so long.
It resides alongside my deepest darkest secrets, including my fixation with the dead.
Some lies are best buried, and so I’ll take Braxton to the grave with me. But I’ll be putting him in his own coffin first.
CHAPTER23
Hope
I’ve been dreaming every fucking night about having his mouth on me, and I wake up with my hands between my legs. I hate that he can do this to me when all I want to do is strangle him—and his perfect cock.
Though, I think he’d actually like it if I strangled his cock.
Revisiting that night again and again like it’s on a maddening, repetitive loop has been distracting me from my work in the studio.
I’m currently at the diner, half expecting him to appear. This morning, I had another statue delivered to his apartment. Just like the others, it was packaged in a black box.
This latest piece was of the victim at the nightclub who’d had his neck broken. I really enjoyed focusing on his throat, making those twists in the glass work. Despite not having proof that it’s me sending the statues, Braxton’s adamant that it is. It’s flattering as much as it is annoying because there really is no connection between my normal art and the darker pieces. So I have no fucking idea how he knows. If he had proof, he would’ve called me down to the station already. Maybe I’m getting too daring and cocky. But I can’t seem to stop.
If this asshole intends to continue showing up wherever my family is, of course, I’m going to bite back a little. Maybe a lot. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I can’t stop imagining myself bitinghim.
Nothing’s guaranteed with Braxton Hero, but one thing I can rely on is his ability to appear when he’s not wanted. I just know he’s going to show up to see me eventually.
I spent fourteen hours in the studio today. I’d become so immersed in my recent piece that I lost track of time, like I often do. And now I’m sitting in my usual booth, lost in my book. Reading helps me unwind; it takes me away from focusing on my creative flow and refills my well. And depending on the book, I get plenty of creative ideas from reading especially when I read thrillers.
It’s the same when I’m creating art. I have the music up so loud that it’s almost deafening, but it drowns out everything else and helps me concentrate. I like to keep the real world at a distance. I find it distracting, and interacting with people is draining. My father shares a similar sentiment, and it’s my mother who always encourages us to get out of the house from time to time.
I bring the hot coffee to my lips as I flip to the next page. I’m at the part of the story where the main character finds her husband cheating on her. Suddenly, it’s ripped from my hands.
“Excuse yo—” The words die on my lips as I meet Braxton’s arrogant gaze.
“Hello, Shortcake.”
It’s not his dazzling beauty that has my breath hitching this time. It’s what he’s holding instead.
It’s the most recent statue I had delivered to his home. I conceal any open appreciation for the piece. In fact, I try to act repulsed. “What is that?” I ask, pointing to it.
“It’s a murder victim,” he says, twisting the glass replica of the body back and forth. The detail in the throat really catches the light. It truly is a magnificent piece. Selfishly, I’m so glad I can share it with someone. For so long, they’d gone unseen. “You’re still denying that you created these?”
I shake my head, still feigning ignorance. “I have no idea who made that. And I don’t know why you’re here, but maybe you’re not as good at your job as everyone thinks you are if you keep insisting on harassing me without cause. Can I please have my book back now? I was just getting to the part where I’m certain the wife is about to murder the husband, and I simply can’t wait,” I say with a sickly sweet smile.
At first, I thought it would be easy to lie, but now it’s grown into something far more sinister. I quite enjoy it.
It’s not that I enjoy lying. In fact, I’m often conflicted by lies. But tormenting himis everything. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I can stop any time soon. I’m not yet done with this detective. He might’ve been drawn to me first, but now I find myself circling and playing this dangerous game. One wrong move, and it’s over for both of us.
It’s riveting.
Delicious.
Forbidden.
I want it like my next breath.
“Do you like it?” he asks, raising a brow. “There’s so much detail in it. A lot of love must’ve gone into creating this. I wonder who might have such a twisted mind to express something so… unique and macabre.”