Page 34 of My Masked Stalker
I find her suitcase in the closet, right where she said it would be, and yank it out. Then I start throwing her things inside like a thief, picking up her shampoo and conditioner, her electric toothbrush and detangling hairbrush, her lotion and mascara. A couple of bras, a few pairs of underwear I want to rip to shreds.And as much as I’d like to keep her naked, I also take leggings and a few outfits she normally wears to work.
I haven’t brought up the fact that she doesn’t need to work anymore because I know she actually enjoys it. She’d miss the kids, and she’d miss Barbara, and I’m not in it to make her miserable. I’m in it to make her mine.
I zip her suitcase with a savage tug, scanning the apartment one last time before I head down to my car. The ride back feels too slow. Every red light feels like an insult, stealing away time I could spend with her. All I want to see is her waiting in my bath, naked, soft, mine.
Finally, I get back to my place and shove the door open with my shoulder, her suitcase thudding to the hardwood when I drop it.
“Red?” My voice echoes into the silence.
Nothing.
A sharp prickle skates down my spine. Emily is never silent. She hums. She mutters. The stillness is wrong.
Then I see it. The vase of peonies I got to make her feel more at home is smashed on the floor in a violent sprawl. My lungs seize.
But it gets worse. A red smear that isn’t wine on the hardwood. I can recognize blood from a mile away—I’ve spilled it, bathed in it. Just a few drops, trailing to the door, but unmistakable.
I crouch down, touch one drop with my finger. It’s fresh. Still tacky.
“Emily,” I snarl, my voice breaking the silence like a gunshot. My chest tightens, a war-drum in my ears.
I’m too late.
20
EMILY
I’m walking around Killian’s apartment without him hounding my steps. Though he could have hidden cameras he has eyes on, of course. I rub my forehead before looking heavenward. Gah, I don’t think I’ll ever know privacy again.
Of the entire gorgeous apartment, I love his bedroom the most. It’s big, lots of space, with dark walls, and black sheets on the bed. The heavy black bedframe looks like it could withstand a war. Heck, maybe it has. My stalker’s a military man after all.
There’s nothing soft or cozy about the space, no pillows or throws, no framed pictures or knick-knacks. But the lines are clean, and there’s so much room for a woman’s touch. Am I really thinking about decorating my stalker’s bedroom? God help me, I am.
Killian’s scent is also strongest here, cologne and a hint of leather. Hesitantly, I lean over to sniff his sheets and pillow. Like Pavlov’s dog, my mouth instantly waters. And even though I had his taste just this morning, I feel like I’m starving for him. I can’t wait for him to come back and give me a reminder.
By the side of the bed where his smell is the strongest, there’s a dark gray locked gun safe. It’s so Killian it almost makes me laugh.
Just as I head into the ensuite for the bath I promised him we’d take together, there’s a sound at the front of the apartment, then the thud of the door closing.
I lift an eyebrow, looking over my shoulder.
“Killian? Did you forget something?” What couldn’t have waited for him to come back with my stuff?
He doesn’t reply, but quiet footsteps approach. When I realize there’s more than one set, I freeze. Could Damien and Ethan have returned? Did Killian ask them to watch over me? But why wouldn’t he tell me, and why haven’t they announced themselves?
“H—hello?” I stutter, my fists clenching uselessly by my sides.
It’s then that two huge forms enter the bedroom, black ski masks covering their faces, muscles bulging over black tactical gear.
I gasp and grab the bathroom door, slamming it against the doorframe. Before I can grab the lock, it bursts open, shoving me back so hard my hip hits the edge of the sink with a white-hot stab of pain.
“Come quietly, bitch, or you’ll regret it,” the larger of the invaders says, his voice low and growly, like rocks grinding together.
I don’t even have the air in my lungs to scream, but I know I can’t let them take me. What did they always say in the self-defense classes Barb and I took that summer? Never let them take you to a secondary location? With that in mind, I grab the heavy soap dispenser on the sink and hurl it at the nearest man, hoping to do some damage.
“Fuck!” he roars, covering his head, the heavy object hitting his underarm instead and bouncing off too harmlessly. When his eyes meet mine, black and soulless, they promise a world of pain. “Dumb cunt,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Not knowing how I can help myself with nothing but tiled walls behind me, I try slipping past the first man and ducking under the second man’s arm as he leans against the doorframe, but they both laugh at my pathetic attempts. The shorter man grabs me from behind, lifting me up from the ground. I swing my legs and kick against the wall, pushing him back into his friend.
