Page 147 of Trick or Stalk

And the man she runs to when she’s scared.

I want her fear.

Her trust.

Her laughter.

Her secrets.

Her body.

Every fucking piece of her.

My fingers tighten around the mask.

I barely know her.

It should matter, but it doesn’t.

I know enough to want her.

And by the time I’m finished, I’ll know everything.

A light appears behind the curtains.

My attention sharpens.

Presley’s shadow moves around the bedroom. I hate that I can’t see her.

But damn, it was a sight when she came downstairs carrying a tennis racket.

I almost laughed.

Five feet of stubborn woman and a dachshund prepared to take on a masked man twice her size.

I fucking like them.

She left the lamp on in the living room and in her bedroom.

Checked the locks on the doors and windows.

Tried to lock her bedroom door.

It doesn't lock.

I already knew that.

It makes me smile.

I wonder if she’s sleeping.

Probably not.

She’s probably holding Penny and clutching her phone, debating whether to call someone.

My jaw tightens. Who would you call, Presley?

Gracie?