Page 22 of Heat Lightning

Oof. Even if I didn’t voice all of that, therapy was probably a good idea.

Just as I rinsed the conditioner from my hair, Jeffrey yowled so loudly from the other room that I heard him over the running water. Only this time it wasn’t a plea for food; it sounded… angry?

I’d never heard him make that noise before.

Quickly, I shut off the shower so I could hear better.

Hiss!

My breath caught. Could he have knocked something over and hurt himself? Maybe something heavy fell on him? Was he stuck?

Panicked, I yanked the shower curtain back just in time to see him dart past the bathroom door and shimmy under the bed.

My sigh of relief was cut short by my racing heart. Jeffrey wasn’t hurt. Okay, good. Phew.

But what the fuck had upset him?

Silence stretched through the apartment, only interrupted by the pounding in my ears. Had I locked the front door? Surely. I always did—it was a habit. A nightly triumph. A badge of fucking honor that I could.

Slowly, quietly, I pulled the towel off the rack and haphazardly dried my hair and face before wrapping it around my waist. Stepping out of the tub, I tiptoed to the open doorway, grabbing my glasses off the vanity as I went, and peered into my bedroom.

Nothing.

Turning, I padded down the carpeted hall and rounded the corner into the living room.

Something’s wrong.

My skin prickled. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

The balcony door—which had absolutely been closed before I got in the shower—was flung wide open. The soft, sheer curtains floated and danced in a light breeze.

Paralyzed by fear, I stood there, frozen, with my breath caught in my chest. It was almost like I’d expected this moment to come, dreading the interruption of my peaceful life and yet knowing it was inevitable.

I knew it was too good to be true. Had the demon lurking in the dark finally caught up to me?

A shadow moved across my living room floor. Before I could even scream, a leather-covered hand shot out from behind me and clapped over my mouth. A second strong arm wrapped around my middle and yanked me backwards until I collided with a warm chest.

“Don’t scream, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you.”

SEVEN

MAX

Instantly, I was transported back to that night with the strobing lights and fear fisting my heart. I knew that voice.

Don’t scream, sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

The Masked Man. He’d come back. He’d come for me.

I reacted on instinct and adrenaline alone, not a coherent thought in sight. Ears ringing, vision tunneling, I bit the hand covering my mouth, hard.

“Ow!” he said, shaking it out. “That hurt.”