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It’s not until I get around to the last one, my chest heaving with emotion and exertion, when my eyes land on my mirror.
Whore.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I seethe, stomping to my bathroom for a washcloth, only to be confronted by another message.
You never should have come here.
I clean that off the best I can, leaving red smears around the edge of the glass before going back to my bedroom to do the same with the other.
I’m emotionally and physically exhausted by the time I’m done and have stuffed all the scraps of paper into a bag, vowing to have a private bonfire later to watch everything about last night go up in flames.
It’s just a shame I can’t watch Seb go with them.
Stripping out of my clothes, I walk naked into my bathroom and turn the shower on. I might have only had one before leaving the spa, but I feel dirty all over again. My skin prickles with their touch and my lips tingle from their kisses. Not to mention my stomach clenches with regret.
There is something I do know about all of this, though. Given the chance, I’d probably do it all over again.
Despite hurting Toby, I wanted to get to Seb. I wanted to hurt him, to prove a point, and from the effort and time it must have taken to break in here and decorate my room with my misdemeanours from last night, it’s clear that I’ve got myself well and truly under his skin.
My cell pings in my purse, and my need to know if it’s him makes me pause with one foot in the shower.
The second I see his name illuminated on my screen, my stomach turns, and I have to fight the need to vomit.
He knows I’ve seen it all, and he clearly just wants to gloat about his little prank. Asshole.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m expecting when I open the message, but my eyes widen in shock when I find a photograph of a red pair of panties resting on what’s obviously his chest. His shirtless chest.
As I’m staring at him with my brows pinched in confusion, another comes through. This time, it’s of the bottom half of his face—not enough for anyone else to know it’s him, but I do. Namely because he’s holding the pair of panties he ripped off me last night to his nose.
I let out a curse when the sight of him doing something so disgusting… so erotic, sends a wave of heat between my legs.
The third and final image doesn’t include him, but it has the very first pair of panties he stole from me hanging over the barrel of his gun.
Then I get a message.
Asshole: I wonder what colour I’ll collect next?
My brow furrows as I think about that red pair of panties. He’s only ripped two from my body. He—
Realization dawns on me and I twist around, my eyes landing on my top drawer that’s slightly ajar.
Pulling it open, I find one more note.
Mine.
I force myself to put my cell down in the bathroom and walk into the shower to cool off for a few minutes before I fire back something I’m going to regret.
I need to think about my next move, not just act out in anger and hatred. Both of those things make me hot-headed and way too irrational. Last night is evidence enough of that.
It’s not until I step out of the shower and reach for a towel to wrap around me that inspiration strikes.
Okay, yeah, I will probably regret it later. But it seems like a really good idea right now. Even if I am summoning the devil himself.
