Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Wait. That was lipstick, right? Not blood? Ahh shit.
I’m not cut out for this.
After darting across the room and hastily closing and locking the window once again, I make my way into the bathroom, only I find myself pausing before taking a step back toward the living room. My gaze lifts toward the ceiling, spying the camera above my head.
If someone was in my apartment last night, then it’d be caught on camera, right? So why the hell didn’t my alarm go off when it caught movement?
My brows furrow, and I find myself hurrying back into my bedroom, finding my phone on my bedside table, and yanking it so hard I pull the charger out of the wall outlet. I drop down on my bed, and as I go to search through the endless pages of apps I have loaded on my phone, a vision of a hand snaking out from under my bed and clutching my ankle plays on repeat in my mind, and I find myself pulling my legs up under me.
I didn’t check under my bed.
What if this guy is still here?
Fuck.
My whole body starts to shake, and almost twenty minutes pass before I finally get the courage to throw myself down on the ground and peer under my bed. It’s dark under here, but there’s enough morning sunshine streaming through the window to confirm that it’s all in my head, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief. There’s no psychotic stalker under my bed.
But what about the closet?
Taking another ten agonizing minutes to build up the courage once again, I finally scramble across my room with shaking hands and lunge forward. Before I can chicken out like a little bitch, I grab both of the closet doors at the same time and tear them open, immediately assuming the stance of an MMA fighter as though I’m about to face down the heavyweight champion.
The closet is just as empty as under the bed, but it chills me to the bone seeing how all of my clothes have been pushed to one side, leaving enough space for somebody to hide here if they needed to. But surely I would have noticed if somebody had been hiding in my closet, right? I mean, the only reason someone would have to hide would be if I were in here at the same time.
Pushing that thought out of my head, I take my phone out into the living room, not feeling comfortable in my bedroom right now, and I finally bring up the security app to look over the cameras. They’re all on and working, and when I go to check the alarm, I realize I hadn’t actually set it last night.
Fuck. How stupid could I have been?
What’s the point of going to all of the trouble to get a security system installed if I don’t remember to turn it on?
Bringing up the footage from last night, I scroll through it, trying to see anything that could tell me who the hell this guy is, but after fast-forwarding through the whole thing and seeing nothing but me tossing and turning in my bed, my brows furrow.
There was nobody in my apartment, but the fucked-up message on my wall clearly shows that there was. Did I imagine the words staring back at me?
I shake my head, and just to be sure, I stride back into my bedroom. Sure enough, the message is still scrawled across my wall in big, creepy lipstick letters.
Fuck. That must mean my new security system is nothing but a piece of shit. Hell, I’m glad Viper didn’t make me pay for that, otherwise, I’d be pissed. Though, he should really reconsider looking for a new security guy because whoever the fuck he’s using now clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing. Though, it could definitely have something to do with the dumbass bikers who installed it for me.
What am I supposed to do now?
Still not feeling great about spending so much time in my apartment, I hurry through a shower and find myself looking all around the bathroom, making sure there are no hidden cameras watching me, and despite seeing nothing, I can’t keep the paranoia from circling my mind.
After getting dressed, I hightail it out of my apartment, putting extra effort into locking up. As I get to work early and sit alone in the shop with my sketchpad, I find myself wondering what this guy looks like. Is he creepy or is there something dark and intriguing about him?
Is he the type to slit my throat in my sleep, or is he there because something about me excites him? Does he spend his nights watching me sleep, looking over the curve of my body and wishing he could touch me?
My heart races, and as I lose focus on the drawing in my sketchpad, I find a thrill pulsing through my body at the thought of this mystery stalker, and I immediately scold myself. I shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t excite me, and yet, the thought of some sexy-as-sin man touching me in the night has my blood pumping faster than ever before.