Little does she know that I’m the monster that goes bump in the night.
I chew on my lip as she types again, still tasting her even after vigorously washing my face.
Barry is silent as I get into the passenger seat of the SUV.
Stacey: I get it, you hate me. What happened tonight was a lapse in judgement from both of us, but we need to be mature adults about it. We’ll make a deal not to go near each other, even if we’re tempted, okay?
Me: Stop texting me.
An impulsive reply I regret as soon as she reads it. I try not to smile when she sends an emoji of the middle finger. Her war cry.
I glance at Barry, who’s watching with a raised brow and waiting for me to speak, his fingers hovering over his laptop. “Are you smiling?” he asks me. “Don’t do that, it’s weird.”
“Fuck off. Can you trace who called her about an hour ago?”
“I can try. Her phone is still jammed – I can’t break into the damn thing.”
“She’s bruised too.” I rub my face. “I think whoever the bastard is is beating her. Can you look into it? My hands are tied while I’m with her.”
Barry nods. “I’ll see what I can do. You should sleep.”
“Yeah,” I say with a yawn.
I’m tempted to go back to the room, just to see her, but that would just be feeding the possessive side of me that watches her every fucking step on a daily basis.
I’m my own worst enemy.
I hate her, but I can’t live without knowing what she’s doing.
After ten minutes and another smoke, I pull up my secret app, transfer funds to it and make different travel arrangements.
I have more than enough from contracts, clients and business shares, so money isn’t an issue when it comes to travelling. With the number of assignments I’ve done over the last two years, my bank account could rival my mother’s and Ewan’s combined.
Tonight’s contract earned me three hundred grand. It took me less than an hour to get the job done. I used to hate it, but not as much now. It’s fuelled a deep hunger in me for blood and havoc.
I get an adrenaline rush when I hurt people.
I know it’s wrong, but it’s built into me now. I can still see the blood of the guy I beheaded tonight and hear his screams for help as I chased him with a machete in my balaclava.
Once I arrange a time and place for my jet to land and refuel, I message Stacey.
Me: Get ready. The jet leaves in a few hours.
Me: And deal. Try to keep your hands to yourself.
15
STACEY
My body is on fire.
Kade’s lingering touches are like ghosts on my skin.
I have no idea what happened. One minute, I was on all fours and ready – waiting for Kade to fuck me from behind. My heart was beating so fast, a spark in my chest that we were so close again. And next he’s white as a ghost and rushing into the bathroom with his usual crappy comments.
You never change, do you?
Apparently not. Not when it comes to him. How can we be apart for two years and fall back into this? Before, we were learning about each other’s bodies and ways to make the other feel good.
We would explore and live and love, and then we’d lie in each other’s arms after. There was no rudeness or him degrading me in hurtful ways.
Embarrassment burns through me. From him noticing the bruises and scars Chris has littered me with to letting him – someone who claims to despise me – make me orgasm… multiple times.
He hates me. That much I’m aware of. But he’s also confusing me. We went from close to fucking to him telling me we’re travelling on a private jet.
And why was there a security guard outside my room? Kade excused him when he came to the room and grabbed my bags, not answering any of my questions about how it’s possible we’re getting on a private jet.
I’d shoved on my closest outfit – a black summer dress that sits mid-thigh. He’d raised his brow when he saw what I was wearing – it’ll be perfect for America, but it’s the middle of the Scottish winter here.
Now we’re driving in silence, and I keep fisting my dress from the thick tension still between us.
I continue glancing at Kade while he drives us to a twenty-four-hour McDonald’s before the flight, waiting to see if he’ll break the silence. But he’s on his third smoke and blasting music, so I highly doubt he will.
“The Death of Peace of Mind” by Bad Omens is playing loud enough to hurt my ears, and when I try to turn it down, he grabs my wrist without looking at me. “Don’t touch my fucking radio.”
I yank my arm away from his electrifying touch, huffing and slouching in the seat. “I prefer the old Kade. This new one is a buzzkill and a moody prick. You don’t need to keep treating me like shit.”
No reply. Not even an insult.
When we reach McDonald’s, he doesn’t ask what I want – he orders us both Big Macs and a side of mozzarella dippers.
“What if I wanted something else?”
Kade pulls out of the drive-through lane and parks up. “You don’t like anything else.”
I blink. “For someone who can’t stand me, you seem to remember a lot about me.”
A smirk. Curbing it, he unclips his seat belt and readjusts himself with parted legs. “Unfortunately.”
We eat in silence. The radio still plays, though he’s at least turned it down now, and his phone keeps buzzing with messages. He denies a call then tosses the phone into the divider.
“That might’ve been important.”
“Just eat your food, Freckles.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He glares at me until I look away with heated cheeks.
After another few minutes of quiet, he takes all the rubbish and puts it in the bin he parked beside. The radio switches to the news; the gruesome murder is the lead story, and the reporter explains that someone’s been detained but another suspect is still at large.
“Head of Police Scotland Bernadette Sawyer is here with us. She’s been personally working on this case for the past few hours. Is there anything you’d like to say to the public, ma’am?”
Kade holds his breath and slows down .
“Certainly. I’d like to reassure the public that we have the best of the best on the search and strongly urge anyone who has any information to come forward. We believe there were two attackers, and we have detained one. Holyrood Park will stay closed until further notice.”
“Is there anything you can say about the innocent life that was taken?”
“Is it not weird to ask that on—”
“Shh.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms as Kade turns the volume up.
“The body has been identified as Matthew Barnwell, a thirty-year-old man who was on his way home from work. The family has been informed, and love has poured in from social media for this respected member of the community, with hundreds of people expressing their condolences.”
Kade tuts. “Respected.” He shakes his head. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“Did you know him?” I ask, puzzled. “The man that was killed?”
“Of course not.”
I narrow my eyes, brows furrowed with confusion. “Then what’s ridiculous?”
“She doesn’t know him. How can she say he was respected? She’s full of shit.”