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CHAPTER1
Hans
The soft scrapingsound of my blade gliding over the whetstone fills me with a sense of calm.
It’s familiar.
My dearest friend.
Instinctually, my wrist twists to hold the metal against the stone at a fifteen-degree angle, five degrees shallower than most brand standards. A little sharper. A little more dangerous.
A little more my style.
Ahead of me, a yellow light blinks in the corner of one of my monitors.
I move my eyes up from my knife to the signaling screen and watch Cassandra, my neighbor, the bane of my existence, hop across the street from her driveway to mine.
Okay, so she’s not hopping. But in that strappy little tank top and shorts, she might as well be for how much every inch of her is fucking jiggling.
The work surface in front of me creaks as I lean forward, my fist gripping the knife handle, pressing the butt of it against the old wood.
Does she not realize what a fucking temptation she is?
Does she have no sense at all?
Her big tits bounce as she takes her next step, her flimsy flip-flops doing nothing to protect her feet from the cracked blacktop.
A girl like her should wear…
Nothing.
A girl like her should wear absolutely nothing, and she should spend her nights on her back with her thighs spread, her hands pinned, and her body heaving… underneath mine—where no one else can ever lay eyes on her.
I grind my teeth.
This world isn’t made for delicate creatures like her.
On the screen, Cassandra brushes one hand down the front of her purple top as she turns off my driveway and down the little brick pathway that leads to my front door.
My front door, which is one level up from my current spot in my basement.
My front door that I never answer.
Because I can’t talk to her.
I can’t let myself get that close to her.
The doorbell is inaudible through the reinforced walls of my hidden safe room, but I hear it clearly through my speakers.
Another screen shows a different view, and this one might be my favorite.
The camera is in the peephole, so it’s a perfect angle of her perfect face.
She bites her lip.
She shifts the glass container of badly made baked goods in her hands.
She reaches up and brushes her curly black hair away from her face.
