Текст книги "Love me stalk me"

Автор книги: Laura Bishop

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

I LET HIM TALK. THEN I MAKE HIM BLEED

CAL

I release the rope.

Evan slumps forward, groaning, shaking his wrists out as he spits blood onto the concrete floor. He coughs, looking up at me through swollen eyes. "What the fuck is going on?"

I tuck my hands into my pockets, the cool metal of my knife pressing against my thigh through the denim. I tilt my head slightly. "Simple. I'm here to clean up your mess."

His brows furrow. "What?"

I shake my head like I'm disappointed. The fluorescent light above flickers, casting momentary shadows across his bruised face. "They sent me in."

His face twitches, confusion giving way to a glimmer of—hope.

"Who?"

"You know we don’t say who."

I see the exact moment he starts to believe me.

His shoulders drop slightly, some of the tension bleeding out of his posture. He wants to believe me. He needs to believe me, because that means I'm not here for vengeance. That means I'm not here for her.

It's almost too easy.

I roll my shoulders, stepping closer, the concrete floor cold and hard beneath my boots. "You were supposed to break her down, Evan. That was the job. You were supposed to find someone we could use, get inside, gain her trust. Make her need you. And for a while, it was working."

Evan wipes at the blood under his nose, his lips twitching slightly. The collar of his once-pristine button-down is now stained crimson. "She was tough," he admits. "Took longer than expected. But I had her. I had her. Just needed a little more time."

I keep my expression neutral, nodding slightly, like I'm actually considering his words. Like I’m not thinking about ripping his throat out with my bare hands.

"So what happened?" I press.

Evan exhales, rubbing at his bruised face, shifting slightly where he sits on the cold concrete. The smell of his sweat cuts through the stale air. "She started getting stronger. I don't know what changed, but she started... fighting back. She got distant. Started pulling away. That wasn't supposed to happen."

My fingers twitch inside my pockets. The amount of restraint it takes not to reach for the knife tucked at my hip is monumental.

"And then?"

Evan scowls. "Then she fucking dumped me." His voice is bitter, full of venom. "And I had to act fast. I tried to get her back on my side, but she wouldn't fucking budge."

I hum. "Tough break."

He shakes his head, wincing slightly at the movement. "She would have been perfect. A manager at Monarch? She'd have access to all the inventory listings, the weekly shipment schedules, the security access codes—the entire operation. They’re corporate team doesn’t watch things close enough. She complained about that all the time. The amount of inventory we could have moved..." He scowls again. "But no, she had to go and develop a fucking backbone."

My vision flares red.

But I don't move.

Not yet.

I let him keep talking, because the more he talks, the more he buries himself.

Evan lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Whatever. Doesn't matter now. She'll do what I tell her to do, one way or another."

I tilt my head. "And if she doesn't?"

He grins, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. "Then I'll make her watch while I kill her family one by one."

That's it.

That's the moment I lose all reason.

I smile, letting the silence stretch, thick and dangerous.

Evan's face twitches. "What?"

I shake my head, chuckling softly. "You're such a goddamn idiot."

His expression shifts.

He starts to realize.

And then I pull out my phone and turn the screen toward him.

The recording plays back loud and clear.

His own voice damning him.

Evan's entire body locks up. His eyes dart to the phone, then to me, then back to the phone. The color drains from his already pale face.

"No." He shakes his head. "No, you⁠—"

"Oh, I did." I slip my phone back into my pocket, cracking my knuckles as I step forward, the sound echoing in the confined space.

And now?

Now, I get to hurt him.

Every insult. Every moment of emotional torture he inflicted on Izzy⁠—

I'm about to give it back to him tenfold.

Evan spits on the floor, straightening up despite the obvious pain in his ribs. "Aren't you gonna tie me back up or restrain me?"

"Oh no," I murmur. "I want this to be a fair fight."

He stiffens.

"I want to feel you struggle against me. I want you to know that you lost. That you can't beat me."

The second the words leave my mouth, he lunges.

I let him.

Because I want this.

I want him to throw that first punch.

I want him to think, for one stupid fucking second, that he has a chance.

And then?

Then, I will end him.

I don't hold back.

The first punch snaps his head to the side, a brutal crack of knuckles against bone, sending spit and blood flying across the concrete floor. The impact reverberates up my arm, a satisfying ache in my knuckles.

"That's for when you told her she wasn't good enough."

He grunts, stumbling, but I don't let him fall. I grab the front of his shirt, the material bunching in my fist, yanking him forward, just so I can slam my knee into his ribs.

Once.

Twice.

There’s a crack—sharp, final—and he coughs, folding in on himself. The noise rebounds off the metal shelves, cold and relentless, refusing to let me forget it.

"That's for every time you made her doubt herself."

He tries to swing. A desperate, wild punch that barely clips my jaw.

Pathetic.

I let him get that one hit. Let him think he has a chance.

And then I take it away.

I shift, my muscles tight, then throw my next punch straight into his gut, knocking the fucking air out of him. The impact travels through his body, making him convulse forward. Evan chokes, staggering, wheezing, his hands clutching at his stomach. His expensive watch glints under the harsh lighting as he tries to protect himself. He barely has time to react before I grab him by the hair, forcing him upright—just to slam his face into my knee.

Blood sprays, a sickening crunch echoing as his nose breaks. Warm droplets spatter across my jeans. He lets out a guttural yell, stumbling back, hands cupped over his face, but I don't let him go down.

Not yet.

I lunge forward, grabbing his collar, and drive him into the wall. The impact shakes the metal shelves, a few cardboard boxes tumbling down around us, spilling their contents across the floor. He groans, trying to push me off, but I slam my forearm into his throat, pressing in just enough to make it hard for him to breathe. His pulse thrums wildly against my skin.

"That's for every time you made her apologize for situations that weren't her fault."

His breath is ragged, eyes bloodshot, but the fucking idiot laughs through the pain.

"You're—" He coughs, spitting red onto my boots. "You're fucking insane."

I grin. A slow, dangerous grin that I can feel stretching my face. “For her, yes.”

I let go.

Let him slide down the wall, coughing, struggling for breath.

And then?

I take a step back—just to give myself room to kick him in the ribs.

The force sends him rolling across the concrete. The dull thud of his body hitting the floor reverberates through the storage room. He groans, curling in on himself, but I don't let him recover. I walk over, grip his shirt, and yank him upright again. The fabric tears slightly under my grip. He sways, barely conscious, dried blood crusting around his nostrils and lips, but I'm not finished.

Not yet.

I slam my fist into his stomach, then bring my elbow down into the back of his head, dropping him to his knees. Evan sways, hands hardly keeping him upright. His ragged breathing punctuates the silence.

He knows he's lost.

But I want him to feel it.

Slowly, I reach into my pocket and pull out my knife, flipping it open with a soft metallic click. The blade catches the light, gleaming silver.

Evan's body locks up.

I crouch beside him, pressing the cool edge of the blade against his cheek.

He flinches.

Sweat and blood drip from his face, his whole body trembles.

"Do you know how many men I've killed?" I whisper, my voice calm.

He barely breathes, his chest barely moving beneath his stained shirt.

"How many bodies I've put in the ground?" I press the blade just enough to break the skin. A single thin line of red beads down his cheek.

"But you?" I murmur, letting the tip trace along his chin, down to his throat, feeling the rapid pulse just beneath the surface. "You'd be the first I'd actually enjoy."

His breath comes in ragged, terrified shudders. The smell of urine suddenly permeates the air as a dark stain spreads across his pants.

I tighten my grip on the knife, about to finish it⁠—

And then⁠—

"Cal."

The voice is soft.

Familiar.

I freeze.

Turn my head.

Izzy stands in the doorway. The soft curves of her figure silhouetted against the light from the hallway. Her dark hair falls in waves around her face, her brown eyes steady as they meet mine.

She's watching me.

Not with fear.

Not with disgust.

With understanding.

With certainty.

"It's okay," she says, stepping forward.

I don't move.

My grip tightens around the knife, my entire body coiled, my vision red.

I want to finish this.

I need to.

But then⁠—

She reaches out.

Her fingers grazing my wrist, anchoring me back to reality.

And just like that⁠—

The rage breaks.

My breath stutters.

My muscles relax, just slightly.

I look down at Evan—bloody, broken, barely breathing.

And I make my choice.

I drop the knife. It clatters against the concrete.

Stand.

Take her hand instead. Her palm is soft against my calloused one.

And walk away.

Together.

TURNS OUT CALEB WAS REAL ALL ALONG

IZZY

There are cops everywhere.

Flashing lights, voices on radios, officers moving in and out of the warehouse. It's a scene straight out of a crime drama, only this time, I'm in it. The brisk night air nips at my exposed skin, carrying the scent of the nearby Hudson River mingled with diesel from the police vehicles.

I sit on the back of an ambulance, a scratchy wool blanket wrapped around my shoulders—Amanda's doing. She practically threw it at me before marching off to argue with a cop about jurisdiction, purely for the sake of making herself a nuisance. The blanket smells faintly of antiseptic and feels heavy against my shoulders, but I welcome its warmth.

I glance over at Cal. He suggested we leave since he'd already spoken to the officers and given them his statement. We were just waiting for Evan to be led out in handcuffs. He told me I didn't need to see that, but I insisted I did. Cal nodded like he understood my need for closure, so now we're sitting here, waiting beneath the harsh glow of the emergency lights.

He's next to me, sitting still, his hands clasped together, knuckles scraped and bruised, fingers curled tight against his palms. His shirt is spattered with dark stains I try not to think about too much.

But his hands are shaking slightly.

I thread my fingers through his, feeling the textured strength of his hand, his heat seeping into my cold skin.

His head turns toward me immediately. His hands instantly go still.

I squeeze gently.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I can see the guilt in his eyes as he exhales through his nose, before looking away. "I should have seen it sooner," he mutters. "Shouldn't have gotten distracted. I let you get taken. I told you I'd always be watching and I wasn't."

I shake my head softly, my hair brushing against the wool blanket. "But you got here. That's what matters."

He stares at me for a long second, clearly wanting to argue. There's a fire in his eyes that makes my heart flutter, even with exhaustion dragging at my limbs.

Finally, he exhales, rubbing his thumb against the inside of my wrist. The gentle circular motion of his thumb sends a wave of comfort through my body.

My other hand drifts absently to his dog tags still hanging beneath my shirt. I twist the chain around my fingers.

His eyes notice the movement. “You’re wearing them?”

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “Every day.”

He’s quiet for a beat, then shifts slightly, reaching into his jacket pocket. When he pulls his hand out, there’s a flash of familiar blue glass between his fingers.

“Been carrying it around like a lunatic.”

An officer starts walking toward us, notebook in hand, but Amanda intercepts immediately—hands on her hips, already launching into a rapid-fire speech about proper procedure and victim rights. The poor guy doesn't stand a chance.

Cal and I watch for a moment before I shake my head.

"Who the hell is Amanda?" I mutter, my lips curving into a small smile.

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I have no idea."

I exhale, leaning into him, sinking into the warmth of his side and the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. My body molds naturally against his larger frame. The adrenaline fades, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and profound relief that makes my muscles feel like liquid.

Then I lift my head, curiosity getting the better of me. My hair falls across my face, and I tuck it behind my ear.

"How did you know where I was?"

He tenses immediately, muscles going rigid beneath my touch. I half-expect him not to answer.

"I had access to your phone," he admits finally, voice rough, like saying it is almost painful. "I hacked into it my first day at the store. Huge violation of trust. I shouldn't have⁠—"

I press my fingers to his lips, stopping him. His lips are surprisingly soft against my fingertips.

He blinks.

"Cal.” My words are calm. "I'm glad you did."

His brows furrow in confusion. "What?"

I shrug lightly, the blanket slipping slightly off my shoulder. "I know it sounds crazy, but thank God you did. You saved me."

His entire body relaxes slightly, the tension draining from his shoulders.

I rest my head against him. "It's kind of nice, you know?" I murmur softly. "Having someone who's a completely dedicated protector for you. Makes you feel valued."

A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest as his arm curls around my shoulders, pulling me close. His warmth seeps through my sweater, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones.

The tension inside me unravels as I lean into Cal's embrace. For the first time since waking up in the warehouse with its concrete floors and musty air, I finally feel safe. I close my eyes briefly, then turn my face toward him, my nose brushing against the stubble on his jaw.

"I know, by the way."

His grip tightens slightly. "Know what, pretty girl?"

I smile softly. "I know you're Caleb."

His entire body stiffens. He turns to me fully now, eyes wide and vulnerable, reflecting the blue and red lights flashing around us.

"Izzy... what?" His voice cracks slightly.

I squeeze his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm against mine. “I first started to suspect it when Caleb called me ‘Izzy’ from time to time.” I let out a breathy laugh. “The chat history didn’t disappear, and when I sobered up, I went back and reread our conversations. At first, I thought maybe the app knew my real name from my credit card or something, so I wasn’t completely positive. But I knew for sre when you called me ‘pretty girl’ in the car yesterday.”

His brows knit together, but I keep going, watching his expression shift in the wavering light.

"It clicked right then," I explain gently. "You hesitated—just slightly. You never hesitate. But you did then, and I noticed."

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "Then why did you keep⁠—?"

I shrug. "It was fun."

His jaw slackens in surprise, his eyes widening.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at his expression. "I liked talking to Caleb," I admit quietly. "My relationship with him developed differently from ours. It made me comfortable. Besides, since I did suspect it was you all along, no harm done. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

His expression shifts, confusion turning to relief, the crease between his brows softening. "You're not... mad?"

I shake my head slightly, my hair brushing against his shoulder. “I don’t like that you kept something like that from me," I admit, tracing a pattern on his palm with my index finger. "But you didn't use it in a negative way or to manipulate me, so... I can forgive you."

Cal frowns. “But I did manipulate you. I encouraged you to break up with Evan, to admit your feelings to me.”

I look up at him, meeting his gaze. “I think it’s different. You never backed me into a corner or made me feel like I had no other choice. You just… believed in me. Encouraged me to do what was best for myself. Evan manipulated me by using control to make me feel worse about myself. But you? You gave me the confidence to make my own decisions.”

Cal’s expression softens, a flicker of relief passing over his features. “I never wanted to take away your choice. I only wanted to support you in making the right ones for yourself.”

I lean into him again, resting my head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat pulses against my ear, a reassuring beat that drowns out the chaos around us.

He lets out a slow, shaky exhale.

"Is that why you wouldn't sleep with me?"

I tilt my head, watching his expression shift, his brows pulling together, his lips parting just slightly.

"That's why, isn't it?" I murmur, my voice softer now.

His fingers flex against my shoulder, and I watch as one single tear slips down his cheek. I reach up, brush it away with my thumb, my heart squeezing at the sight of him—this strong, powerful man who's showing me something he doesn't show anyone else. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the tear cool against my thumb.

He nods. Swallows. "I didn't think it was right," he murmurs. "To keep something like that from you. When I took you for the first time, I wanted it to be real. Pure. Not tainted by a lie."

A warmth spreads through my chest, radiating outward to my fingertips, and I smile.

"Well," I say softly, watching as his breath stutters. "Good thing that's out of the way now."

Evan being hauled out in handcuffs interrupts us.

Cal stiffens, watching Evan dragged toward a police car, blood dripping from his swollen face, eyes full of rage—and defeat. Evan's once-pristine button-down shirt is torn and stained, his designer shoes scuffing against the pavement as the officers guide him forward.

Relief washes over me.

He's gone.

Really gone.

I feel it ease through me—my shoulders drop, my jaw unclenches, and for the first time in what feels like years, I can actually breathe. My body doesn’t feel braced for impact. I glance up at Cal. He's watching me carefully, like he's trying to gauge my reaction, like he's ready to catch me if I start falling apart. The concern in his eyes makes my heart swell.

But I don't feel like falling apart. I feel like fighting. Because Evan doesn't get to control this narrative or own this part of my life. I'm not going to let him walk away believing he's defeated me.

"I'm going to call the district attorney in the morning," I say aloud, my voice stronger than it's been all night. "I'm going to testify."

Cal wraps an arm around my shoulders and his fingers squeeze gently. His touch feels reassuring, like he's telling me without words that he's proud of me.

"Hey!"

Amanda's voice cuts through the night air. She's approaching with a police officer behind her. A very attractive police officer who has an easy smile and a broad-shouldered frame straight from a men-in-uniform calendar. His badge gleams under the emergency lights, his uniform pressed and neat despite the late hour.

"This is Chad the Cop," Amanda announces, gesturing dramatically.

I barely hold back the snort pressing against my throat. Above me, I see Cal raise a solitary eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly.

Amanda throws me a look that says, "Don't."

I clear my throat and school my expression, feeling the muscles in my face work to remain neutral. "Chad the Cop," I repeat, extending my hand.

Chad the Cop nods, shaking my hand firmly. "Ma'am."

Amanda beams, flipping her glossy hair over her shoulder. "Chad is driving me home. It's been a very trying day." She adjusts her designer handbag over her shoulder.

Cal mutters something unintelligible under his breath, his chest rumbling against my side.

Amanda flips her hair over her shoulder and climbs into Chad the Cop's police car with practiced grace, speeding off into the night like she just cracked the case herself, the taillights disappearing around the corner.

Cal and I stare after her before we burst out laughing. The sound bubbles up from deep in my chest, unexpected but welcome. Because of course Amanda would. I'm still smiling, the muscles in my cheeks aching pleasantly, when Cal suddenly lifts me off my feet in one fluid motion.

"What the—?!" The blanket falls from my shoulders, landing in a heap on the ground.

He doesn't break stride as he carries me toward my car effortlessly, one arm supporting my back, the other beneath my knees. "We're going home," he murmurs firmly.

My heart flutters at the word, a burst of warmth spreading through my chest despite the cool night air against my skin.

Home.

I melt into his arms, pressing my face into his neck, breathing him in. His pulse beats steadily against my lips.

Yeah.

We're going home.