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"So?" he says, his confidence infectious. "That’s right. I'm the boss, Abby. I call the shots here. And right now, all I care about is how good you feel in my arms."
For a moment, I let myself get swept up in his conviction, in the sheer force of his presence. He's right. The world outside these walls doesn't exist—not when he looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters.
He pulls me against him, and I relax in his hold.
"That’s a good girl," he praises me, his mouth curving into a smile. "Because I’m going to take care of you now. Forever."
And somehow, despite the risk, despite the voice in the back of my head screaming caution, I find myself smiling back.
Because I feel happier and safer in Merrick’s arms than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Abby
“Paid in full? For six months? Are you sure?” I question my landlord.
“Absolutely sure, Abby. Now, you’re good for six months.” He sounds annoyed with me and is speaking to me as if I have comprehension issues—which I feel like I do right now becuase who the hell would pay up my rent like this? There has to be some mistake, but one more look into my landlord’s annoyed face, and I decide I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if there was a mistake, it’s obviously been in my favor.
So, fuck it. I head upstairs to my apartment.
The click of my apartment door shutting behind me feels like the final note in a symphony of relief. I'm home, finally, after a day that's been too long and too much.
I kick off my shoes, the freedom for my toes almost orgasmic, and toss my bag onto the nearest chair. It lands with a satisfying thud, like it’s as tired as I am. My little sanctuary welcomes me in silence, dimly lit and familiar. But as I pad through the living room, something catches my eye—a soft, rhythmic blinking from the bookshelf.
"What's this?" I murmur. The blinking light is coy, a technological wink that feels entirely out of place against the backdrop of dog-eared novels and potted succulents. I approach, curious.
And there it is, nestled between 'Pride and Prejudice' and a snow globe—a camera. A tiny, black eye watching me. My heart jackhammers against my ribcage, a drumroll of shock that quickly gives way to a hot flush of anger. Someone has been spying on me.
"Son of a bitch," I hiss, plucking the camera from its nook. The anger is a living thing inside of me now, a coiled serpent ready to strike. Who would do this? Who could do this?
And then I go completely still. My rent paid in full for six months. I rush over to my beat-up old laptop and log into my deliquent accounts. My eyes widen when I see them all paid in full.
Someone has paid off all my accounts. Someone has cameras in my apartment.
There's only one someone I can think of with the means to do this, and that someone swims into my mind's eye.
Merrick.
Merrick with his smoldering gaze that seems to strip me bare, his intensity that both thrills and terrifies. It makes a twisted kind of sense; he's got the means, the motive, the opportunity.
"Damn you, Merrick," I breathe, my fingers tightening around the camera until my knuckles blanch. He's crossed a line, a line that can't be uncrossed. How did we go from flirty banter and lingering looks to this invasion, this violation?
The initial shock begins to wear off, leaving a cold determination in its wake. I need answers, and I need them now. But first, I’m going to rip this place apart until I know all his dirty little secrets. If Merrick thinks he can play Big Brother with me, he's got another think coming. And when I confront him, oh, he better be ready for the storm that's about to hit.
My chest heaves, every breath like a stab of ice as I whirl around the room. The thought that there could be more—more eyes, more secrets—sends my pulse into overdrive. My gaze darts to every corner, every shadow. There it is—a faint, ominous blink near the window. Another camera, another chunk of trust ripped away.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter, snatching the second device with trembling hands. My sense of security shatters like glass under a boot heel.
The fury boils over, scalding my insides. Without hesitation, my fingers claw for my phone, the screen lighting up with Merrick's name. It feels toxic now, like I'm dialing up the devil himself.
"Abby, I—" Merrick's voice doesn't even get to finish before I cut through it, sharp as a knife. He doesn’t even try to deny anything. In fact, he answered the phone like he already knew what was coming, and of course he did. He probably watched as I discovered his deceit.
"Explain yourself, Merrick!" I shout into the phone, my voice quaking with rage. "Explain why you've been spying on me! In my own home!" There's no holding back the torrent of emotions, all the betrayal and disgust pouring out of me in a venomous wave.
"Abby, please just listen to?—"
"No, you listen!" I interrupt, seething. "I don't know what twisted game you're playing, but I want no part in it. I trusted you! And you..." I choke on the words, each one laced with poison. "...you've been watching me like some...some pervy peeping Tom!"
