Just as I go to slide them down my legs, a loud bang disturbs the charged silence and sends my heart flying to my throat. I yelp, startled and way too close to pissing my pants from the angry knocking.
Arch's head snaps towards the sound, clearly just as startled.
“Expecting company?” Arch asks, his voice a tad breathless.
My own erratic breathing is uneven as I say, “No.”
It’s fucking de ja vu, and even though I saw it coming this time, I’m incredibly close to stomping my foot like a child. Unlike with Greyson, I was actually enjoying myself.
He rushes back into the hallway and down towards the front door with me hot on his heels. I’m buttoning and zipping my pants as I go, already sensing that this night is over.
The hallway leads straight back to the foyer, the entryway to the right of the staircase. Pausing before the entrance, he turns to me and grabs ahold of me.
“Stay in the hallway. Whoever it is, I don’t want them seeing you.”
He hesitates, a weird look passing on his face. Before I can decipher it, he’s speaking again, his voice strained. “Call the cops if shit goes south.”
I’m not capable of stringing together a coherent sentence, the panic stealing my sense.
I should’ve told him I have a stalker, and I thought I saw something when we were in the sunroom, but everything happened too fast and now he’s actively putting himself in danger.
The situation turns me on just as much as it terrifies me. I need to check myself into a mental hospital if I survive this night.
Because my shadow is pissed. Just like he was when Greyson was here, and I have no idea how dangerous this guy is, but he could be here to kill us both.
Especially now that he watched another man make me come with the very hand he threatened to cut off and put in my mailbox.
I drop my head in my hands, instant regret filling up my body like a waterfall in a lake. I’m bursting with it because if the stalker is as insane as he says he is, then I just possibly got a man killed. Or at least brutally mutilated.
I hear the door creak open. My head snaps up in response.
“Come on out, fucker. I know you’re out there,” Arch threatens loudly.
Peeking around the corner, I watch Arch step outside. But not before he pulls a gun out. Eyes bulging, my mouth falls open and I wonder just who the hell I let in my house. He shuts the door behind him, the resounding click of the door echoing in my head.
Looks like I was wrong and did happen to find someone willing to kill for me. Jury's out on the fucking part, but if his foreplay is any indication, I think he would’ve done well in that department, too. Now more than ever, I want to kill this creep myself.
I finally find a man capable of satisfying me, and this asshole is ruining it.
God? I know we don’t always agree on my life choices, but please don’t let this poor man die because of me. I’ll stop drinking. I mean it this time.
And I also pray that Arch has good aim. If I walk out and find the weirdo with a bullet in his skull, I won’t mourn his death.
For the next several minutes, I hear nothing at all. It’s hard to when my heart is pounding in my ears, but there would be no mistaking a gunshot.
Fuck, I can’t handle this suspense. No longer capable of waiting, I rush over to the window beside the door and peek out.
Arch's car is still sitting in my driveway, but I don’t see anything else. No bodies. Nothing.
Shooting a quick prayer to my least favorite person at the moment, I open the door slowly, listening for any sounds of distress or fighting.
When I’m greeted with nothing but the chirping of crickets, I open the door wider and step out.
The crunch of something under my foot cements my body into stone.
I close my eyes, another prayer on my tongue. If I stepped on a body part… oh my god—I’m going to freak.
Taking a few short breaths, I move my foot away and look down.
A rose, the petals crumpled from my foot.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the rose. The thorns are snipped, preventing it from cutting me, but it doesn’t matter—this rose has not been deprived of one’s pain.
Dripping off the petals and onto my boot is fresh blood. Arch is gone, and all that’s left of him is a bloody rose.
Yanking my phone out of my back pocket, I unlock it to call the cops, hands trembling. The phone lights up and that’s when I see another text—the one that came through in the club, and the one I dutifully ignored.
UNKNOWN: Don’t feel guilty, baby. I don’t make idle threats, so consider this a lesson learned.
Red and blue lights brighten the world before me, and the flashing colors make me feel sick. Dread is pooling in the pit of my stomach while police officers and dogs search the surrounding area.
An officer has confiscated the rose, yet the blood has stained my hands—physically and metaphorically. I rub my fingers together, watching the dried blood flake from my skin.
A tear escapes, but I quickly wipe it away.
I killed a man.
I brought him here knowing someone dangerous was lurking, and I did it anyway.
And now he’s gone.
“Ma’am? I need to ask you a few questions,” Sheriff Walters says, walking towards the porch steps that I’m currently sitting on.
I’ve known him since I was a child. He went to school with my mother, and they were good friends. Every now and again, she’d invite him over for dinner. He’s always been kind. Quiet and soft-spoken, he always seemed more interested in listening than speaking.
He’s a tall, built man, towering to at least six-seven. I think his family descends from giants because his father and brothers are just as freakishly large. His father was a sheriff, and his father before. Pretty sure a couple of his brothers are cops, too.
One big family of gigantic cops. Just what the world needs, right.
Scruff peppers Sheriff Walters’s cheeks, and his brown eyes are tired and wary.
I already gave the run down to the responding officer, but when I told him a man was missing and I was gifted a bloody rose, he was more concerned about getting a search party going.
Considering dense woods surround me, it’s likely the man took Arch on foot until he managed to get him into a car somewhere and drive off.
I sniff, wiping snot from my nose and nodding my head.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Can you give me the name of the man who was with you here tonight?”
“Archibald Talaverra,” I answer robotically. I guess Arch being pretentious and giving me his full name paid off. I almost smile, yet it’s anything but funny.
The sheriff doesn’t speak right away. I glance at him and note his bushy black eyebrows are raised high on his forehead.
“Talaverra, huh? This man might’ve done you a favor,” he says, muttering the last part.
“What?” I squeak out, the corners of my eyes rounding.
The sheriff sighs and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. In his younger years, I’m sure he was attractive. But now, silver is invading his hair, and wrinkles line the edges of his eyes and mouth. He looks aged and weathered, and over the years, I’ve watched his eyes grow dull and tired.
“The Talaverra’s are known criminals,” he informs me.
My eyes pop, and in that moment, I realize my mother did a terrible job raising me. My life choices are questionable at best lately.