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Max. I hate that I’m thinking about him again. The fucker is dead, has to be, because a stalker doesn’t just up and leave.
“What has you so preoccupied tonight?” Dante questions in the dark of the night.
“Huh?” His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Sorry, just thinking about the money you’ll make off my fantastic suggestion.” I smirk, bumping him with my shoulder as we walk.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“No? You have no idea about that two-way mirror being placed into one of the walls of the back rooms?” It took him a week before the construction crew started to come in during the day when we weren’t open.
“Fuck off.” He laughs, bumping me back.
The area has a few lamp posts that highlight the sidewalk, but over half are burned out and need replacing. I feel for my hidden knife sheathed at my waist, as a protective comfort. Remembering that I stole the knife from Max has my lips curling up.
Like every other night, Dante stays outside my building until he sees a light go on in my place. The light inside the hall flickers annoyingly as I make it up the steps to my apartment. I shoulder open the door with the extra pressure I typically need, expecting my dog to be sleeping at the bottom of it. He lays at the base of the doorway each time I leave and doesn’t move until I return.
I fly into my home, no dog blocking the access. A light by the window flickers on from my motion before I have the chance to turn on the light at the entrance. My heart leaps into my throat, knowing that Dante thinks I’m inside.Where the fuck is my dog? The light quickly turns off, leaving me back in the dark.
I hesitate, trying to turn on my lights, but the bulb above the door is burned out. “Griffin?” I whisper, hoping to hear the clunky sound of my dog getting up.
Nothing.
I take my knife out, keeping it in front of me as I move deeper in, but keeping the door open. The adrenaline has every muscle shaking, and the knife vibrates back and forth in hand.
I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark. It takes a second before I see Griffin lying on the couch, fast asleep.Please let him be sleeping. I love this dog too much to have anything happen to him, and I’m not even a dog person. I place my hand on him,warm. My eyes close with relief until I see a figure moving as they try to sit up.
A piercing scream leaves my mouth as I jab with my knife.
“Mother fucker,” a deep voice curses and I push the knife deeper. Griffin is no help and lets the man up from under him. In fact, his tail wags, unaware of the stranger who shouldn’t be in my house.
“Sienna, it’s me.” A rough hand grabs mine, twisting it until I have to let go of the knife. It doesn’t clatter to the ground and I watch as Max has to pull it out of his bicep. Blood seeps out, his hand pressing over it.
I try to see his face but it’s too dark.
“What the hell are you doing in here? I thought you were dead.” I march to the front door, slamming it before twisting the dead bolt and flicking the lights on by the couch.
He chuckles, walking around me to grab a cloth, which he places on his wound. “Not even death itself can keep me away from you.” It sounds like he’s trying to flirt with me.
“My dog should have killed you.” I place my hands on my hips.
“Naw, we became friends weeks ago, when I shared an ice cream with him.”
“Weeks ago?”
He pats Griffin on the head, their faces turning toward each other, and Griffin nuzzles into his leg.
“Yea, Brute and I are good friends now. We both like to watch you sleep at night.”
A very unladylike growl escapes my lips. “You have to stop doing this.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And his name is Griffin.” I almost stomp my foot with the way Max is driving me crazy.
“Nope, he answers to Brute, I’m keeping it. But let’s circle back to you being worried about me and thinking I was dead.” He’s smiling at me and I want to stab him again. Why does he get to look all cocky and handsome while I’m just coming off a long shift?
Max slides out a chair and I know it’s pointless to stand while my feet are throbbing. I drop down, placing my head into my hands. My eyes hurt and I need sleep.
“Max, go home. I’m exhausted.”
“Home is where the heart is,” he comments, his voice coming closer to me. Pressure is felt on my shoulders and I jump at the sudden unexpected touch.
My head lifts and he steps away to lean against a wall, looking casual and at ease. “You tried to kill me less than a month ago.” Why is he making me say this out loud? “We are not friends, Max.”
