Page 91 of Colton
Silence.
Just my imagination, I tell myself, trying to calm my racing pulse. It’s the wind, a settling house, anything but what my gut is screaming at me. But the prickle on my skin, the hair on my arms, they tell a different story. They rememberhistouch.
I take a tentative step back, my eyes scanning the room, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of an intruder. Thesilence stretches, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the frantic thumping of my heart.
Nothing.
“Get a fucking grip,” I mutter, gulping down the water before placing it on the kitchen counter. But then my gaze moves to the tiny table in my living room, highlighted by the moonlight spilling through the window.
There’s something on it that shouldn’t be there. I move closer, my heart in my mouth as I realize what it is. It’s the framed photograph of my mother, sister, and me, the only thing salvaged from my broken past. Something I didn’t think I’d ever be able to display without my heart breaking into a million pieces. But I look at it every day now, knowing I killed the monsters responsible for stealing their lives, and feel a sense of pride.
I can’t bring them back to life, but I gave them their vengeance.
However, it’s not the photograph that I’m looking at—it’s the photos scattered across the table in front of it.
Photographs ofme, walking through Meadowgrove.
My blood runs cold. Someonehasbeen watching me. Someonehasbeen following me. My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp. The photos are candid shots, taken from a distance, capturing moments of my everyday life: walking to work, buying groceries, sitting on a park bench. Each photo is a tiny window into my carefully constructed world of anonymity, a world that is now shattered. But as I sift through them, I see more images of me looking over my shoulder, confirming each and every time I thought someone was watching me—they were.
Panic claws at my throat, choking me. I snatch up a handful of photos, my fingers trembling. They’re printed on high-quality paper, the images sharp and detailed. This isn’t the work of some amateur stalker. This is calculated. Precise. Professional.
Colton.
The name explodes in my mind, a lightning strike of fear and…something else. A dark, twisted thrill that makes my stomach churn. It’s him. It has to be. He’s found me. He’s been watching me. He’s here.
First the rose, now this?
A low laugh escapes my lips, a mixture of hysteria and a strange, unsettling excitement. He’s playing games, just like he always did. Testing me. Taunting me. Reminding me that I can never truly escape him.
I drop the photos onto the table, my gaze fixed on the open window. The curtains sway slightly in the breeze, a silent invitation to the darkness outside. He’s out there. I can feel it. Watching me. Waiting.
How did he get inside? The door is locked, and I have the only key, and unless he’s turned into a ninja, I doubt he can climb walls to my apartment window.
Still, I slam the window shut, glaring at the road below.
The bastard.
Not content with watching and following me, letting me bask in ignorance—oh no, he wanted me toknowhe was here.
Suddenly, the silence of my apartment feels oppressive, suffocating. I need air. I need to escape the feeling of being trapped, boxed in. I stumble back to the bedroom, grabbing a jacket and slipping it on. I have to get out of here.
My hand fumbles with the lock on the front door, the metal cold against my trembling fingers. I glance through the peephole, my heart pounding in my chest. The hallway is empty. But I know he’s out there. Somewhere.
I take a deep breath, brace myself, and yank open the door. I step into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind me. As I turn to face the empty corridor, my eyes are drawn to a single black rose lying on the floor, just outside my door. Anothermessage. Another taunt. Another reminder that he’s always one step ahead.
Chapter 4
COLTON
Luella thought Meadowgrove would keep her safe and that the town’s silence could cover her tracks. But she underestimated me, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I always find what belongs to me.
Shebelongs to me.
The rose is a black hole in the beige hallway carpet, a darkness in the light. It echoes the darkness blooming within me, a darkness I now understand is linked to her.
I stand hidden in the shadows across the hallway, watching as she steps out, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and…is it excitement? The sight of her up close sends a jolt of possessiveness through me, a fierce, primal urge to pull her back into the safety of her apartment, to lock the door and keep the world out. To keep her mine. I haven’t been this close to her in over a year. Blood runs straight to my dick as her chest heaves, and I remember the noises she made just for me.
Fuck.
