Page 41 of Voyeur

I know he’s out there.

When I exit the closet, he’s sitting on my bed, twirling his blade on his knee, tip pressed into his flesh, as if it doesn’t hurt one bit. It attracts me to him; I watch it closely. His eyes flick between me and his blade. I take a moment to memorize his sharp features. His hair is brown and waves back on his head delicately. Too subtly for a killer. His eyes are a deep cerulean. But they have a dark edge to them, hardened by life and the things they’ve seen. His jaw is chiseled, clenched tightly as he glares down at me. There’s a deep scar over his throat, as if someone had tried and failed to take his life. My eyes keep scanning over the healed wound in awe.

My eyes flick back down to where his blade is still twirling, the tip pressing sharply through his jeans.

“What?” he asks, as if he’s not the one who’d broken into my home again.

“That doesn’t hurt?” I ask.

He scoffs. “No, not anymore.”

It’s alluring, to say the least. To know that he’s trained his mind to not feel the physical pain of things that it should. It makes me want to beg him on bended knee to train me to be the same way. To help me forget and not feel.

My face falls at the thought. People aren’t supposed to be this way. People aren’t supposed to be this damaged. A tear slips past my defenses again, and it crawls down my cheek.

The man stands, lifting my face and taking me in.

“What’s happened?” he asks.

“Why do you care? You’re one more fucking person in my life who wants to mark me. You’re going to exact your pain upon me, leave me with more wounds, and then be on your merry way. You’ll forget me as soon as you deem me no fun, as he did!” I sob, my chest is heaving with emotions I can’t control. The edges of hyperventilation race towards me.

“Hey, shh,” he soothes, tossing his blade onto the bed. “I’ll do no such things to you. And whoever the fuck has touched you will pay.”

His words are given even toned and steady, but they make my heart strum behind my ribcage.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Because, like I told you already, little one. You’re mine. And no one touches what’s mine.”

I’m fucked up.

Because that one statement makes me want to sink into him. I want to hide behind him as he fights the world to protect me, and I don’t even know his name.

“Give me his fucking name,” he growls, and my insides heat, and it’s not anger that wafts through me.

Before I can think of the repercussions, I blurt, “Emery Stanner.”

He kisses my forehead. “Vengeance will be yours, little one,” he whispers against my flesh before he turns and swipes his blade off my bed, storming out of the room like his boots are on fire.

“What have I done?” I breathe, hugging myself.

I’d given a madman my attacker’s name, and I don’t know the extent of what’s going to happen. But I know one thing: whatever does happen, the blood will be on my hands.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Gage

Idon’t know the extent of what happened between Emery and Carina. All I know: is that the look on her face when I’d told her I’d protect her from the world was one no one has ever given me. Adoration? No, more like a calm that only assurance can bring. She looked as if she wanted to jump into my arms and let me shield her for the rest of her days. She’s haunted and she’s tired. I’d begun this venture on a whim after a slight brush of her skin when she tried to wipe latte from my chest. I’d thought myself insane, but tonight had confirmed my suspicions. She needs me.

And I don’t care what I have to do; I’ll be there for her.

What are you talking about?

I shake my head as I reach into my pocket for my phone, dialing Trevor and waiting for him to answer.

“Yeah, boss?” he answers.

I sigh. “Did you find anything on Emery Stanner? I know it’s soon...”

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