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The man makes a groan and we both startle. My gaze lands on the occupant of the chair, dropping to his wrists bound together with zip ties. He’s wearing a watch and my head tilts slightly as I’m transported back to an old memory, one I had forgotten about until Steve sent me those threatening photos—a couple that featured that watch. That exact watch. One I’ve always hated, and I shiver remembering the feel of it against my skin, hearing his voice . . . Smile. He used to call me Doll—like I was some plaything for him to use however he wanted.
I glance back to Casper. Then the stupid watch, making sure it really is him.
“That’s—that’s—” My words stutter out of me as I point toward the man. “I know who that is!”
Casper takes a deep inhale, blowing it out slowly.
Then it clicks.
Steve . . . His disappearance always felt too convenient, too perfectly timed. I should have questioned it more. I chalked it up to cosmic justice, I thought his past finally caught up with him.
Casper takes a step toward, and I withdraw. It’s my recoil that stops him in his tracks.
“Steve?” I ask.
“Anna, let me explain.” He tries to look calm and unaffected, but I recognize the tension underneath. He holds up his open palms innocently.
This is the first man I let touch me, the first man I trusted.
I gave him my body, my secrets, my love. I gave him everything.
“Duchess, it’s still me.”
“Do not call me that.”
Finally, my survival instincts break through the shock—the fear of what he’s done. He’s stalked me, tortured, murdered—and I missed it. I have been sleeping next to something dangerous the entire time and never knew it.
He takes another step forward. I take one back.
“I would never hurt you.”
The fact that he says that sends a rush of ice down my spine. The crazy thing is, I believe him, but I’m keenly aware, with terrifying certainty, that he is capable of hurting people—killing people.
My voice comes out thin and raspy. “Who are you?”
His flinch tells me I’ve hit my mark.
Casper’s expression transforms; his eyes fill with hurt and rejection. He swallows hard, making his throat bob.
I don’t let myself look away. I open my mouth, about to take the words back, then close it again. Why is my first impulse to comfort him? What is wrong with me? I literally interrupted his torture date. He’s spied on me from inside my own fucking walls. Yet witnessing his pain makes me want to throw up.
Still, I meant what I said. I don’t know this man.
He carries an underlying resignation on his face, like maybe he always knew this moment would come . . . but just wanted more time before we came to an end.
The man behind him makes a low, rattling groan. The sound breaks the spell of guilt holding me in place. I back out of the door, my gaze never leaving Casper’s face. My whole body trembles, adrenaline making every movement jerky.
“Don’t come near me,” I whisper.
“I’m not.”
“Don’t follow me.”
His throat bobs. “I won’t.”
I take one more glance back at the man slumped in the chair with no teeth, and my boyfriend—no, stranger—standing before me in a fucking wet suit and wolf mask.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
