Page 23 of Watched

I liked our apartment; it wasn’t far from the city but with enough distance that you could breathe. We’re now an hour north of London, living on a secluded estate. I dislike that I’m so far from Rome, and changing cars each time I go to the city then need to leave again is a thorn in my side, but it’s necessary to keep us hidden.

Tall trees sway either side of the drive as I round the water fountain, the water lit up by the green glow in the bowl. It did flick through colours, but I set it to a permanent light green.

I step out and throw the door shut, the droplets hitting my bruising cheek before sliding down my neck. I’ll have a bruise, and I’m fucking ecstatic about it.

I spin and scan the six white columns of the mansion. It’s a large house for the two of us, and Blade took the master bedroom that expands the entire third floor, but it’s Blade, so what else would you expect? A kind offer for me to occupy the biggest bedroom? Not a fucking chance.

I glance back to the fountain and smile.

Lilies.

Navigating up the slippery steps, I punch in the pin on the keypad. Throwing the door shut, I wait to hear the pad beep and the lock click, and then I glance right to the open door of the study and left to the sitting room.

It’s not uncommon for Blade to sit somewhere in the dark, smoking a cigarette and staring off into the abyss. There are times I stepped in front of him, and I could swear, he looked straight through me.

Dropping my keys to the round mahogany table, I approach through the stairs. Turning right, I stop, my heart sinking at the sight of the stitches lining Blade’s back. He has his black sweats on, a red cap backwards on his head as he flips pancakes.

I smile at the familiar scent. “Blueberry?”

“Always.” Surprising humour plays in his reply.

Mum would make blueberry pancakes every Sunday. Once her cancer became more vicious, she could barely hold herself up, let alone make them. So, Blade and I made them for her. I was banished to go sit beside Mum after the second time. Blade nearly bit my head off because I was ‘doing things wrong’. I was following every instruction Mum gave with precision, yet he deemed me unworthy of holding a spatula.

“Found them yet?” he asks in a rough tone.

“No,” I hesitantly answer.

He just nods and slides the pancakes onto a plate, beginning to pour two more.

If Blade’s cooking, entering the kitchen is fine. If he’s making pancakes specifically, don’t. So, I turn and leave.

The floorboards whine as I exit my bathroom and enter the adjoining closet, pulling on white boxers. I round the bed with a white duvet, same as Rome’s, and pass the mounted television.

I hung sheer white curtains to cover the floor-to-ceiling windows and double balcony door to match Rome’s, but I have white blackout curtains I’m planning to replace his with. I don’t like the thought of anyone even glimpsing at his silhouette.

What if he’s walking around naked? Or getting changed? They’ll see that mouth-watering body and giant fucking cock.

Here, sheer curtains are fine, unless the forest animals plan on watching me change.

Dropping into my desk chair, I turn on the monitors and quickly lose the fight to my itching fingers. So, I take my phone, pull up Rome’s number, and begin typing.

Me: Did you eat?

I stare at the loading desktop, becoming increasingly infuriated with myself. The CCTV and traffic cameras around our apartment were spliced at the time Blade was attacked. I’ve been digging for two weeks trying to find the IP source, but Ezra’s used countless proxies to hide his location. So, I’ve moved on to surrounding house and ATM cameras trying to spot their car.

My best guess is that these are hired people, considering Ezra Smith, Ryan White, Sam Kidd, and Josephine Wheeler all needed to report for their weekly check in at a police station in LA. None have the past two weeks. They were all released early on good behaviour. On the same day. At the same time. That’s sure as fuck not a coincidence.

My phone vibrates, and I bite back a smile.

Rome: Yes.

Me: Yes? That’s all I get? One word?

Rome: Do you want a goddamn novel on each bite I took?

Me: I’d hang onto every word, baby.

Rome: Are you insane?