Page 111 of Hide and Seek
“The stalker,” I say, watching the masked killer across the room, refusing to look away, knowing he will strike at any time. “He’s right there. Why aren’t you doing anything?”
Knight glances around the room, slowly striding around the side of my bed, putting himself directly in my line of vision, turning his back on the killer behind him. “Doll,” Knight says too slowly, his voice filled with a cautiousness I’ve never heard from him before. “There’s nobody there.”
The blade appears in the stalker’s hand again and despite his horrifying mask covering his face, I know he’s smiling. His eyes light up like Christmas has come early, and when his attention flickers to Knight, my stomach sinks.
“Come back to me, doll,” Knight says as if coaxing me to focus on the sound of his voice, trying to draw my attention away from the blade wielding lunatic behind him. “It’s not real. Come back to me.”
Knight inches toward me, and with every step he takes, the stalker moves with him, his blade clutched tightly in his palm.
“No,” I beg, shaking my head, tears streaming down my face as I try to fight against the shitty hospital-grade cuffs on my wrists. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please, just don’t hurt him. You can have me instead.”
“Doll,” Knight coos. “Look at me. He’s not real.”
“I can’t,” I tell him, and when the stalker raises his hand, ready to plunge his blade through Knight’s ribs and straight into his heart, a petrified scream tears from the back of my throat. “NOOOOOOO!”
Something slams against my neck, a sharp sting pinching my skin and sinking deep into my bloodstream as I feel hands on mybody, clutching my arms and holding me down, but I can’t fight it. My body immediately goes weak, but the fear is too strong, and I keep my terrified gaze locked on the masked stalker. Only as my body grows heavier, the stalker lowers his blade and looks back at me, a sadness creeping into his eyes as if forfeiting the game I never wanted to play.
“It’s been fun,” he purrs, a fondness in his tone as he fades out of existence, his once solid figure morphing into a transparent ghost. Then as unease continues to pound through my veins, I hear the subtle tones of his deep voice one last time. “Don’t be mistaken, kitten. I’ll be back for you. And when I do, it’ll be a game worth dying for.”
Silence follows, and my pulse pounds in my ears as I stare at the empty space where my stalker was just standing, disbelief coursing through my veins.
He’s gone. Just like that.
Knight was right. He was nothing but a figment of my imagination, a sick hallucination my brain had fabricated to torment me. My chest heaves, a new kind of dread sinking into the pit of my stomach, trying to work out what the hell this means for me.
I’m sick.
My gaze shifts to Knight. He’s watching me with profound concern, and I realize just how much I’ve put him through over these past few weeks. Overwhelming emotions tear through me all at once, but Knight is right by my side before I can even draw my next breath. The stoic SWAT officer is gone, and I’m left with the man who has caught me every time I’ve fallen, the man who burns every time I go up in flames.
He hastily undoes the restraints at my wrists, and the moment he can, he pulls me into his arms. “I’ve got you, doll,” he rumbles. His big hand cradles my head, holding me to hismassive chest, and I let out every bit of pain, fear, and fury I’ve felt over the past few weeks. “It’s over. I’ve got you.”
And with that, I simply cry, knowing that I will never be safer than I am now, right here in the warmth of Knight Slater’s capable arms.
39
HARPER-RAYN
Call me petty, but there’s nothing I hate more than having to admit when a man is right, especially when the thing he’s right about has everything to do with the fact that I’m losing my goddamn mind.
It’s official. I’m crazy. I’m certifiably insane. I think. Well, I don’t know. It’s not as though I’ve been evaluated by Blackstone’s finest psychiatrist yet, but I’m sure that’s what they’re going to say. It’s not as though there’s a completely viable reason to hallucinate a masked stalker who’s been trying to kill me for the past month.
Ugh. I can just see it now. They’re going to use words like psychotic break and episodes. It’s going to be awful, and what’s worse is that Knight is going to insist on sitting right here by my side the whole damn time, hearing some doctor confirm that I’m a deranged nutcase. How fucking humiliating. If he didn’t think I was too much to deal with before, I can guarantee he does now.
On the bright side, with the meds they’ve put me on, I’m probably not going to have any more sadistic hallucinations, and my non-existent stalker can wallow away into the dark abyss otherwise known as my memories. I’ll file it away right between my childhood trauma and the vivid memory of seeing Laith’s body on my autopsy table.
Fuck, even knowing that wasn’t real doesn’t make the memory hurt less.
The only thing that really bothers me is the letters carved into my skin. Knowing that I have the ability to hurt myself in that way terrifies me. Am I only a threat to myself, or am I a threat to others? I can’t be waking up in the middle of the night, assuming Knight is my stalker, and stabbing him right through the chest with a serrated kitchen knife. Once I snapped out of my hallucination, I would never forgive myself.
“You’re gonna burst a blood vessel if you keep thinking that hard,” Knight murmurs from the chair beside my bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, despite how many times I’ve told him to go home and rest. Apparently, there’s no rest for the wicked.
I’ve been here a little over twenty-four hours, and while I’m dying to get home and back to normal life, a small part of me doesn’t want to leave. I feel unpredictable. I can’t trust myself or even know what’s real, and while the psychiatrist will no doubt put me on some sort of meds to keep me from completely losing my mind, how am I supposed to trust that? What if they don’t work for me? What if they’re not strong enough for my kind of crazy? What if I hurt someone?
“And you’re gonna find yourself with a brand-new bowtie made of your own intestines if you think for one second that you get to start being a bossy asshat again,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and being grateful that the restraints were never put back on.
“An intestine bowtie, huh?” he murmurs, lifting that dark gaze to meet mine. “I’d like to see you try.”
My jaw drops. Of course I don’t stand a chance against him. He’s a fully trained, six-foot-whatever, mountain of a man. He’s a complete beast. If it came down to survival of the fittest, Knight would kick my ass a million times over and still have energy to fuck after. I wouldn’t stand a chance, but it’d be nice if he could at least pretend. Though I don’t know why I’m surprised. Knight isn’t the type to sugarcoat things. He gives it straight, and as a general rule, I appreciate that about him, but right now, it makes me want to kick his ass harder.
