Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“And I’ll be very interested to know where exactly you got it.”
His lips parted. He stared up at her as if she’d grown another head right in front of him. “Are you kidding me?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, do I look like I’m fucking joking?”
He gave his head a little shake. “I’m Sefton805.”
Aspen blinked. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Jerome again eyed each of the people glaring down at him. “Did Chris put you guys up to this?”
Aspen took a step toward him. “I’m really not in the mood for whatever game you’re playing.”
He flinched as the mamba on his lap let out a furious hiss. “I’m not playing a game! Well, I am. But it’s what you wanted. I mean, you are Aspen Montgomery, right?”
“In the flesh.” She held up her front door key. “And I want to know where you got this.”
Again, he seemed baffled by her line of questioning. “You left it outside for me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You said you would. You said I’d find it in an envelope under a rock outside.”
Recalling the scrunched up envelope she’d found in one of his pockets, she narrowed her eyes. Aspen suddenly got a very, very bad feeling. “I did, did I? Just when did I say that?”
“Yesterday. You messaged me on SHFT like you normally do.”
“I’m sorry, on what?”
“Shifters Have Fantasies Too,” Farrell explained. “I’ve heard of it. It’s sort of a BDSM dating website for shifters.”
Jerome nodded. “That’s right.” He slid his gaze back to Aspen. “You messaged me yesterday. You gave me the code for your building.”
“Give me the PIN for your cell,” said Tate, holding the lion’s phone. “I want to read this message.”
Jerome gave it to him without hesitation, followed by his SHFT account login information. “You’ll see I’m not lying. Me and Aspen have talked a few times on the site.”
“If you’re telling the truth, it isn’t me you’ve been chatting with online,” Aspen told him. “Whoever has been in contact with you was posing as me.”
His mouth dropped open. “What? No … No, I was … I’ve seen your photo on your profile, I’ve—”
“Someone could easily have downloaded one from social media.” She’d deactivated her own accounts, but she’d been tagged in plenty of photos by other people. “How long have you and my imposter been talking, assuming this isn’t just a bullshit story?”
“It’s not bullshit. We’ve talked a few times over the past week. You—or they, whatever—said you had this fantasy of …” He trailed off, and his eyes slid away.
Aspen tilted her head. “Of, what?”
He licked his lips. “Of someone breaking into your home while you slept and …”
“Tying me to the bed so I was helpless while you fucked me and held a knife to my throat,” she guessed, recalling the contents of his pockets.
He only gave a slow nod.
Her stomach rolled. Motherfucker. She looked at Camden, who only flexed his fingers, his jaw still hard as granite.
“He isn’t blowing smoke up our asses,” said Tate, who then read aloud the exchange of messages.
Someone posing as Aspen had indeed described a very detailed fantasy and coaxed him into fulfilling it for her, giving him an exact date and time to show up, providing the security code for the complex, and promising to leave a key for her apartment nearby.
The air rung with curses, growls, and hisses because, yeah, it had become clear that someone had set this guy up. They’d hoped to use him to hurt Aspen.
At this point, Camden’s body was so rigid his muscles and joints had to be aching.
Her nostrils flaring, Havana began to pace. “There’s nothing in those messages to give us even a clue as to who he’s been talking to.”
More, there was no way to view her fake SHFT profile because it had been deleted.
Farrell twisted his mouth. “You need to bear in mind that Jerome here could have recently set up his account to give himself a good story in case he was caught.”
Tate shook his head. “He’s been a member for years. Someone used him.”
Jerome looked up at Aspen, his face pale. “It really wasn’t you who contacted me?”
“No,” she replied.
“It didn’t clue you in when she fought you off, asshole?” snapped Havana.
He spluttered. “No. You heard the messages. Part of the fantasy was that there would be a struggle; that she’d fight and object and beg me to stop but that I wouldn’t.” He blanched, turning back to Aspen. “If you hadn’t managed to knock me unconscious, I would have done all that, not knowing you weren’t really into it.” He clamped his mouth shut. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Either Bailey’s mamba wasn’t risking that he’d hurl all over her or she’d decided he was no threat, because the snake left his lap.
Aspen looked at Tate. “I don’t believe he was here to hurt me. He didn’t try to do anything other than subdue me, not even when I attacked him hard. And the knife isn’t even real. In my opinion, he was a mere pawn.”