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Wait. He caught me. Why didn’t he let me fall so he could kill me more easily?
As the shock ebbs away, I open my mouth to scream, but he shifts, covering my lips with his hand. Then he moves, gliding through my home as if he owns the deed.
“I’m going to remove my hand,” he tells me. The warning in his voice is clear, but instead of feeling intimidated, I get the sense that he trusts me not to scream. “And put you on your couch.” His hand peels back, allowing me to breathe. He watches me as I sink into the couch, trying to escape him. I roll my eyes, obeying him, pressing my lips into a thin line, then gesturing with my hands that I’m locking them.
His face lightens. “Good girl.”
I flick him my middle finger.
He plants his hands on his hips, towering over me like a pillar—one that could either shield me or step aside and let my own mistakes bury me.
I curl my finger down and cross my arms over myself.
He moves. I flinch, but he ignores it.
What is he doing?
He grabs a pillow and tucks it beneath my ankle. The brush of his hand on my bare skin sparks feelings I’d never confess, not even to myself.
Maybe I’m just lonely. It’s been ages since anyone touched me.
“Nursing your prey back to health before you kill them,” I mutter in a low tone, testing him.
“You’re not my prey, Rylan,” he answers. “Your fall made the twist look worse than I thought. I almost came out of the shadows then, but you looked so excited to hand out all that Halloween candy. With ice and compression, it should be healed in a few days.” His eyes survey my leg, casting downward as if his favorite toy is broken.
My fall. He saw it happen!
A shiver ripples over my skin, every inch prickling beneath his gaze. His eyes linger on the swell of my chest, following the trail of goosebumps blooming there.
Slowly, he leans back, yet the vivid pink neon of his mask sticks to me, refusing to let me go.
Does he really think he can put space between us to calm my pulse?
He turns his back on me. A solid wall of muscle. Even if I had a weapon, I doubt it would harm him. He strides into my kitchen, goes to the small pantry, and comes out with a plastic bag. I watch in horror as he fills it with ice.
“You’ve been here,” I claim, my face now as white as a ghost. “Inside my house.” He knows his way around my kitchen.
Scratch that, I wasn’t his captive. I was apparently his pet, and he’d been watching me.
“I wanted to make sure it was safe.” He states this matter-of-factly. No hint of covering up his break-in. Not a morsel of remorse.
Safe? The sheer audacity makes me snatch the pillow from under my ankle and hurl it across the room. It falls embarrassingly short. Instead of satisfaction, I get his snorting laugh.
His laughter spills over me, low and rough. “Is that your attempt to seduce me into a pillow fight?” I can’t see his face, but I can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he probably arches a brow beneath that mask. “If that’s your best, I’ll have to teach you what real seduction feels like.”
“Seduce my fist, asshole,” I snap, angrily punching the air.
“Careful.” He tosses the bag of ice from hand to hand, so casual and at ease in my freaking house. “I'm sure there’s a video on that somewhere, if you need inspiration.”
“God, you’re infuriating!” I slam my fist into the couch cushion.
“Perhaps you should call out to the devil for help instead. He has more incentives.”
“And the highest interest rate, for sure,” I mutter in disdain.
I push my palms into the couch and shove back, but I decide to stay seated. I can’t fight him or outrun him. The best bet is to keep him talking until I can throat punch him.
Then what, Rylan?
