Page 38 of The Ecstasy of Sin
Medication and therapy don’t work for men like us, and we sure as fuck won’t make it past the gates of heaven when the time comes for us to meet our maker.
Maybe the criminals on death row can find redemption in their final hour, but the four of us are sinners who won’t repent.
There’s no salvation awaiting us. No blood of Christ to wash away our sins.
Hunter barks, pulling me out of my dark thoughts, reminding me that I’ve yet to give him his dinner.
Ghost definitely showed up tonight to meet Ryker. They must’ve taken my advice and walked Hunter together, because the note they left on the whiteboard by my front door reads: Punched Ryker. He hits like a bitch. We both walked Hunter for an hour and a half.
Scribbled underneath it: FUCK YOU, WARRICK!
I imagine Ghost hit him again for taking his first name in vain.
I head to the kitchen, pulling out the container of homemade dog food that I prepped earlier this week. I grab Hunter’s bowl from the drying rack and start measuring out his meal, topping it off with three frozen sardines to balance the macros.
I place his food on his mat and leave him alone to eat, then wash my hands so I can dig through Wren’s belongings before I take it back to the shelter for her.
Opening it up, I’m surprised but really fucking happy to find her phone sitting on top of everything else.
I grab it first, relieved there is no pass code required to unlock it. That’ll save me some time.
The first thing I do is go through her gallery, finding pictures of animals, the books she’s read, random photos of applications and forms, and screenshots of things she’s saved from the internet.
Next, I dig into her messages. The only conversations I find are from various employers letting her know they received her application. There are no messages from friends or family, which surprises me.
I expected her to have a friend or two, but even when I check her contact list, I only find contact information for doctors, shelters, and public service lines. That’s it.
Good thing she has me now.
I program my name and number into her phone, then send myself a text message. I work between the two devices to install a tracking app onto hers, before deleting our messages from her phone so that when I text her tomorrow it comes with a clean slate.
I make sure it works before tucking her phone back where I found it.
Then I move around my kitchen and gather some things to add to her backpack. I grab a handful of protein bars, a gift card for a local restaurant I had pinned to the side of my fridge with two-hundred dollars on it, and a large protein shake. I tuck those into her pack before heading into my bedroom.
Inside the walk-in closet, I open the wall safe and grab a neat stack of cash. I slide it into one of the inner pockets of her bag.
Once I’m satisfied that I’ve filled every space I can find, I zip it shut and head out the door.
I take my car this time to avoid the lingering storm, scowling as I arrive at the women’s shelter. The security guard is standing at the door, glued to his phone. His fingers are flying, so he’s not just texting. Gaming, probably.
He should be watching the door and protecting the building. My future wife is inside.
I park on a side street and grab Wren’s backpack from the passenger seat. I jog up the steps, and that finally seems to fix the guard’s distraction.
“We don’t allow men inside,” he informs me, narrowing his gaze on my hand where it grips Wren’s pack.
“Good,” I snap, suddenly irritated by the thought that this guy thinks he can keep me from what belongs to me. “I’m dropping this off for Wren Holloway. Will you make sure she gets it?”
He eyes me curiously, but nods and takes the bag from my hand. I turn and walk away without another word, but instead of heading back to my car, I walk around the side of the building.
I don’t want to leave just yet. Even being close to her like this is better than going home and pacing the quiet rooms of my house until the sun rises and I can resume my stalking.
I’ve always been crazy, but this is a whole new level.
Might as well lean into it.
CHAPTER 11
