Page 66 of Gamble with Me
Valeria: Did you kill George and hang him before my bedroom window?
He let me wait for his response, so when it finally came, I placed my phone on the bench and began to stretch. My ass was pointed directly at the camera, and I did all exercises that came to my mind just to make him suffer a little more. While I worked out, two more texts came, forcing a victorious smile on my face.
Unknown Number: You definitely know how to kill the mood, mon cœur.
Unknown Number: I'm sure, Valeria, I will want you to spread your legs like this soon.
Unknown Number: That’s enough of a show unless you don't want me to blind those two teenagers who can't stop staring at you.
An inappropriate giggle slipped past my lips, instantly making me realize my stalker had turned to violence at the first possible moment. Memories attacked me with a crushing force, reminding me he was probably a killer. He didn't have a problem with kidnapping me. He broke into my apartment multiple times. I shouldn't be surprised that he was capable of murder, but it almost knocked me off my feet.
The black dahlia he gifted to me danced before my eyes. The beautiful flower I took as a sign of his affection turned into a stain on our unhealthy relationship. I crossed every line with him. I lied, cheated, and ignored all the red flags, but this was too much. A man was killed! I couldn't tolerate it.
Without responding, I turned off my phone and ran to the locker room. A scream climbed up my throat, and an invisible rope squeezed my chest. Yet people were around, so I couldn't show how I really felt. I disappeared into the shower, letting tears of helplessness fall.
I was disgusted by myself for feeling so broken by the realization my stalker was a criminal. I was naive to believe there could be more between us than this charade. I was stupid enough to imagine a fucking fairytale just to escape an abusive marriage and husband.
How pathetic was I?
A man stalked me, kidnapped me, and turned my world upside down. His behavior made me think that my boss, a ruthless, merciless mafia don who played a leading role in my fantasies, was hidden under the mask. My imagination went wild to get me where—to the dead body hanging before my window.
It was insane, but on the other hand, the last couple of months made me feel alive and desired. It opened the door to new adventures. Somehow, even trapped like a mouse in the deep hole with a cat, I was free.
Water often helped me erase the imaginary dirt I felt on myself, but it was useless this time. There was too much blood on my hands and too much mud under my nails. If I stayed in contact with Zefarin, I would drown in it.
But could I let him go?
I already tried it when I returned to Chester, and it lasted only a few days. I missed him so much that I threw away my dignity and texted him. I wanted him by my side, no matter who he was or what he had done. What did it say about me? Was my moral compass so broken that I didn't find it repulsive to sleep with a criminal?
"Fuck," I breathed, resting my forehead against the cold glass wall. "I'm heading for a mental breakdown."
Exiting the shower, I shook with my arms and bounced on my feet, inhaling and exhaling in an even rhythm. Then I splashed icy water on my face, feeling goosebumps on my skin.
I had to get out of this nightmare I brought on myself. The situation around me was terrible, yet my brain was making it worse. I was confused and panicking, but overreacting never helped. I had to keep my thinking straight. Whether it was my stalker or Zhumagulovs who murdered George, it wasn't my fault. It was their doing, their decision, and the blood was on their hands. Period.
I got into my car, feeling a little better. My body was exhausted, and my mind was tired from the constant thinking. I mused about grabbing a light lunch and preparing for workwhen I caught movement in the rearview mirror. I abruptly turned around, finding my stalker sitting at the center of the back seat with his arms crossed over his chest and his white eyes piercing my skull. He was dressed in his usual black attire with a mask covering his face, but the energy he was emitting was different. He was angry.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed, feeling my heart somewhere in my throat. I had my keys in the gym and was sure I had locked the car. How he got inside was beyond my understanding.
"You didn't answer my texts," he replied in a low voice, making it sound like a growl. I felt my treacherous pussy clench, and my heartbeat increased. The effect he had on me was immense.
"And?" I lifted a challenging brow, knowing too well I was playing with fire. "You didn't answer my question either."
"Yes," he whispered, letting his arms fall and placing them on his knees. His eyes never left my face when he leaned closer. "I killed George Harrow." His breath fanned my cheek; he was so close that he could kiss me if he wasn’t wearing a mask. "Did you find it romantic?"
"What?" I breathed, the space of the car shrinking around me. All I saw were Zefarin's devious eyes, staring at me with pride. There was no remorse, no guilt, just pure satisfaction swirling in them. "I find it insane! Why would you do it?"
"He was a threat to you, mon cœur," he replied matter-of-factly, trying to place his gloved hand on my cheek, but I flinched my head away from his reach. I was shocked by his confession, but what stunned me the most was the ease with which he talked about it.
"You murdered a man because of me?" I asked, horrified to the bones.
A simple "yes" left his lips, making me dizzy. I covered my mouth with my hand, the tears welling in my eyes. The wall I built around my heart in the gym was ineffective. He destroyed it with a simple confirmation. I was the reason for George's violent death.
"Valeria, are you okay?"
Zefarin's concerned voice reached my ears, but I was too far away. My world collapsed. Nothing would be the same anymore.
I closed my eyes, feeling nauseous. The last remaining strength to fight the panic growing in my chest left me.
