Page 163 of Trick or Stalk

A laugh slips out of me.

Fucking hell.

Last night, she looked at me through her bedroom window like I was something dragged straight out of one of her horror movies.

Tonight, she asked me to walk with her.

Not Hades, the man who pulled her out of the storage room and held her while she shook.

The masked man.

Which is also me.

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

I shouldn't enjoy that as much as I do.

But we've already established I'm not particularly bothered by the things I should be.

After all, I killed a man.

Well, tortured and then killed him.

Doesn’t matter.

The end result was the same.

My morality is skewed.

Enjoying the fact that Presley Bailey wants her stalker around barely makes the list.

My smile fades as I think about the reason why she wanted me with her—the asshole from the festival.

Caleb.

I heard his name while he sat across from her for most of the night.

Watched him make her laugh.

Watched him lean toward her.

Watched Presley smile back.

I hated every damn minute of it.

But I stayed where I was. Mostly.

There may have been a few moments when I considered walking over, taking the carving knife out of her hand, and showing Caleb exactly how much better I could use it.

But I didn't.

I have some morals.

Then Presley left, and Caleb followed.

It could’ve been a coincidence. Maybe he was heading to his vehicle.

But then she told him she didn't want him walking with her.