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The machine whirrs to life, as he comes toward me with the paddles. Our eyes lock as he decides something. Indecision flicks across his gaze, making me take a solid breath of relief. He stands back up, still holding the paddles.
“My little one should be here. She should get her revenge.”
He shuts the machine off and kicks it over into the shadows.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”
Footfalls grow distant as he leaves me in the middle of the room, chained, and afraid for when he comes back. Carina will surely see me and let me loose, I’m sure of that. She’ll save me. She’s not a monster.
She’s not me.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Carina
Working from home has been strange. Zoom calls mean I have to dress business casual—from the waist up, anyway. My bottoms are fuzzy pajama pants with cats on them, and furry slippers keep my feet warm. Winter has come in full force; the first snow of the year flurries beyond the panes of the windows in my office.
“So, the documents for the new tire campaign are going to be sent by the end of the day if you could make sure I edited everything to your liking. Check the tone on that as well, if you can,” Suzanne says, pulling me out of my thoughts and bringing me back to reality as my gaze swings back to my computer screen.
“Okay, sounds good. Give me a few days with it.”
She nods. “We need to hone it in before next week, though. I know Mr. Stanner will want it wrapped before next Thursday.”
That’s fast.
Usually, we have a good amount of time on a campaign, so that it doesn’t release half-finished, or less than top tier.
“Why the rush?” I ask, leaning in and sipping from my iced coffee off the screen.
When I pull back, she’s eyeing me as if she’s trying to assess if I’m making a joke.
“Carina, next week is Thanksgiving…” she trails off as pity enters her features.
Obviously, she’s assessed that I don’t have family because I don’t pay attention to holidays as accurately as the rest of the world does. Sure, I’ll make a turkey dinner for me and the cats—which consists of a trip to Boston Market for all the fixings—but I don’t have family to go see on the day.
I clear my throat. “Right, I’ve been so busy lately it completely slipped my mind.”
A light chuckle leaves her, and she deflates. My answer has appeased her enough that she doesn’t do the unthinkable and invite me to her family dinner.
“I get that. Well, let’s touch base sometime tomorrow, okay?” she says.
I nod. “Talk tomorrow.”
I let my head fall and hit my desk, a groan slipping out of me so loudly that I’m sure one of the cats will be in here soon to check on me. Not Piglet, though. He’s been lying on my desk all morning, stretched out without a care in the world as I worked.
Now, it’s afternoon and the winter light is fading as the snow falls harder.
Hands come down on my shoulders, and I stiffen.
“Long day, hmm?” It’s the voice of my stalker. Gravel coats it and makes my insides warm. For some ungodly reason, I melt into his touch, not lifting my head off my desk to eye him. He deepens his contact, kneading my shoulders, and a groan escapes me.
Is it right to call him my stalker when I allow him to do shit like this? And the very fact that I know about him disqualifies him as stalking me, right?
The thought disturbs me. This shouldn’t be happening. But for some reason, I feel at ease around him. My gut is never wrong, and I’ve learned to go with it. Even when I was running from him, I knew if he found me, he wouldn’t kill me. Even if only for the fact he was obsessed with me. Who would he toy with?
“Long day,” I finally agree, standing and tugging out of his expert touch. The smallest gesture had tension leaving my body.
“Well, I hate to pile onto it…” he trails off as I turn toward him.
