His gaze never leaves her backside.
He glances around the club, taking note of anyone who could’ve witnessed their interaction before he sets his drink on the bar with a crisp bill. Within seconds, he heads toward the exit after London.
I push off the wall. Keeping my distance, I follow him through the club and out into the humid summer night.
My pulse speeds with lust for the hunt, my adrenaline surging with the power.
Alive.
The feeling only a truly free person can feel.
London is the music awakening my soul. She’s the reason my heart beats. I’m alive for her—I’m free because of her, and now we’re unstoppable.
2
WICKED GAME
LONDON
The balmy night air sticks to my skin, causing my silk blouse to cling to my chest. I stagger my steps, making sure I appear the helpless, intoxicated victim. The closer the heavy footfalls sound, the more my heart rate ramps.
The man behind me is not a victim.
He chose his fate the second he followed me out of the club.
During one of our first sessions, Grayson said his victims were akin to predators stalking the woods in search of prey. If they fell into the hunter’s trap, they were in the wrong place to begin with.
For us, this moment is predestined. It was never a question ofifwe would hunt together butwhen.
Grayson understood our dynamic—what we would mean together—before I could even conceive my own truth.
We’re an inevitability.
Once I shed every lie, severed every anchor weighing medown, it was like being reborn. I walked through the embers of one life to another; a new start. A new woman—one who no longer fears the dark corners of her mind.
Rather, the time I spent apart from Grayson only solidified my resolve. Strengthening the bond between us, knowing with each sign I gave him, he was waiting. Waiting for me to fully accept my new reality. Waiting for the FBI to look the other way. Waiting for the perfect moment, when every mechanism he set into motion aligned, bringing us together.
A skillfully planned and manipulated moment of chance.
Always a step ahead, my patient has this world twisted around his finger…and we’re all just trying not to be left behind.
Like the man gaining on me now, he’s desperate not to be left behind, dominated by a world that no longer belongs solely to the male gender. Anger seethed in his eyes as he scoped out his choice victim in the nightclub. Maybe he’s unaware of why he’s so hostile toward women; maybe he despises his mother. Maybe he recently suffered a stressor that sent him over the edge—a wife or girlfriend left him. Humiliated him. Perhaps these slights have happened to him all his life…and now he’s ready to set it right with me.
No matter what his reasoning, his justification, he won’t be given a second chance. Grayson no longer manufactures redemption just as I no longer suggest rehabilitation.
Rehabilitation for the truly deviant and disturbed is not possible.
I feel the man’s presence looming, a dark shadow growing and swallowing the light. And when the blackness descends over me, he’s there to claim his prize. His arm bands around my waist in a tight vise.
“Shh,” he coos as he places a sweaty hand over my mouth. “We’re just going to have a little fun, baby. Didn’t think you’d put me on frustrate like that and just walk away, did you? Get meall hot”—he rubs his crotch against my ass—“then leave. You know what happens to little cock teases?”
His sour alcohol breath twists my stomach. I shake my head against his hold, maintaining my helpless disposition. Giving him the guise of being in control. Although I’m not sure he needs the reassurance. This isn’t his first time.
There’s no hitch in his voice. No tremble or stutter to convey the usual nerves that accompany a first-time attack. He’s aroused, with no inhibition or worry that he might not be able to perform due to inexperience or his alcohol consumption. Rather, he appears confident. He knows he has enough time.
“Cock teases get punished,” he says. His arm is suddenly gone from around my waist, and I hear the snap of a weapon—a knife. His elbow digs into my back. He smashes my body against the brick building. “Now, I want your palms planted against the wall. You got me?”
I whimper, nodding against his hand.
