I tsk, silencing him as I tighten my hold around his neck, making the red hue of his face darken. “I think you do know. Should I give you a hint?” He nods, slapping at my arm in a useless attempt to make me let up. “You spoke to a mouse just now. Do you know what else you did?”
He blinks, then his eyes widen in realization. “Look, man, I didn’t know she was taken. If I had known, I wouldn’t have given her my number. I’m sorry, I—"
“Will never speak to her again,” I finish for him, pushing my weight forward. “If you do…” I hum. “Do I need to finish that sentence, or do you understand what I’m saying?”
He nods frantically against my hand.
“Good,” I mutter as I let go.
He hunches over and gulps in greedy breaths. I kick him once in the gut for good measure. Then punch him in the face for the hell of it.
“Fuck off. Make sure I never see you again.”
A chorus of yeses falls out of his mouth as he scurries away, staggering and limping, leaving behind his shopping bag.
Fucking idiot.
With him sorted, I take my place by the empty house across from the store and wait for the time to crawl by.
My mood sours even more once I look inside the shop. If I thought my blood was boiling before, it’s nothing compared to watching Marcus feel Bella up. Every inch of me is screaming to storm inside and murder him with the shit inside his own store. But that would ruin the plan. These past three months have been the greatest exercise of my patience and ability to resist my impulses. Finally, everything is set up for her, and I’ve found a place for Jeremy.
I mean, sometimes I don’t resist at all. Even so, it’ll all be worth it because tonight’s the night everything changes.
Marcus finally dies.
After years, she will be back in my arms. I’m sick of watching her from a distance and hearing her voice through a phone. I’ll get to actually talk to her. I want to touch her and have her touch me back. I want to have a goddamn conversation with her. Most of all, I want her out of that house and away from that miserable family.
Tonight, all my wishes are coming true.
I’ve made one fantastic discovery, though. My princess doesn’t have a boyfriend. Never has, never will—other than me, of course. Not like it was an issue in the first place. It just means she won’t cry over anyone if I take them out of the picture. There’s only room for the two of us from now on.
The light coming from the store gives me a clear view of Bella—she’s not Pigtails, because she has her hair down more often than not lately.
She moves behind the till, and my chest squeezes. Out of all the things she’s done to scrub me out of her life, the fact that she isn’t wearing my necklace hurts the most. She hid it away like I’m a dirty secret she wants to forget all about.
The only reason I haven’t slipped it around her neck while she’s asleep is because she’s still wearing the bracelet. It’s one of my few assurances that she hasn’t forgotten about me, and she’s still hanging on, even just by a thread. It isn’t like I’d ever let her forget about me, anyway.
I’ve been taunting her with reminders of me. I expected her to squirm or dart around with fear burning in her eyes, but she just looks… hurt? Why the hell would she be the one to feel hurt in all of this? She’s the one who ignored all my letters. She’s the one who completely ghosted me. I’m the one who’s hurt. Not her.
The lights go out in the store, and seconds later, she’s coming out of the front of the shop. Bella starts walking in the direction of her house, head drooping with exhaustion, unaware of any surrounding threats.
I follow behind her, not so close that she can see me, but not so far that I can’t see her.
My skin prickles with irritation when I spot someone else following her. It seems that an asshole with a death wish thinks it’s a good idea to go near my girl.
Bella glances back and quickens her pace. The fucker following her does the same. He’s really just trying to make my night, isn’t he?
I smile in my excitement. The more violence, the merrier.
My blood runs hot as I close the distance, and Bella chooses that exact moment to start running. So does he.
Fucking hell.
I guess I need to sprint, too, then. They don’t exactly have treadmills in prison, and running laps around the yard isn’t quite the same as chasing someone into the pitch-black night. Now, I’m working on pure adrenaline. The exhilaration is intoxicating, and every one of my senses is heightened and focused on my prey.