It could be anything. Explosives, a warning, anything. I lean down and put my ear to the box, listening for a beep or a tick or something. Nothing. I wait for a few minutes and then a door down the hall opens and I’m caught. I have no choice but to pick it up and bring it into my place. Holding it as gently as I can, I walk with it into the kitchen and set it down on the kitchen table.
I know I need to call the guys. Cash has tech that can x-ray the thing to find out what it is, but something tells me this is personal. I know I’m correct when I get another message.
Have you opened it yet?
It’s not explosives or anything designed to kill me. No, this stalker enjoys toying with me too much. I grab a knife and slice through the tape, still wary. I lift one flap of the box and then another. It was light when I picked it up and there’s only one item inside.
A picture in a simple silver frame.
A picture of my mother when she was young. Probably around eighteen or so. She married my father when she was twenty.
My hands shake as I take the frame out and stare at it.
How did the stalker get this? How is this possible?
What is going on?
I spend the rest of the night staring at the picture and trying to decide my next move. Clearly, this stalker knows me. Knows my mother. Knows my history. This goes far beyond a simple grudge for taking away money. This is something much deeper and darker and I don’t know if I can handle it.
I should tell Cash. I should tell someone. But I can’t bring myself to. That would open up old wounds and thrust my past into the present and I can’t do that. I won’t.
So I take the picture and put it back in the box and place it in my safe. I don’t care how I’ve gotten this picture, I’m going to keep it because I have so few of my mother.
I don’t sleep. I just sit and guzzle beer after beer and stare at the wall. I should have gone to see Saige. If I did, I wouldn’t be alone right now. I could bury myself in her and forget.
It’s two in the morning and I can’t take it anymore. I send her a message and cross my fingers. I get a response back in a few minutes.
Come on over.
We don’t fuck. I don’t know what to call it, but it’s probably the closest to making love I’ve ever been. Saige takes care of me with lips and hands and body. She goes slow and savors every part of me. It’s a joining of two bodies, but it’s so much more than that.
By the time Saige mounts me and slides my cock inside, I’m not thinking about anything but her. She burns everything else away. She puts her hands on my chest and rises slowly up and then down on me. I groan out and she moans, her hair falling forward, scraping my chest. She’s everywhere around me. She’s everything.
By the time we both climax, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. My mind isn’t racing. I’m not thinking about everything that’s going to go wrong. I’m not thinking about the ticking timeline. My only thoughts are about her.
She leans down and kisses me, our bodies still joined.
“Feel better?” Her voice is soft and her smile is sleepy and satiated. I don’t feel guilty for waking her up. I don’t feel anything but relief that I’m here with her. I prop myself up so she’s sitting in my lap and I seize her, putting my arms around her. I want to absorb her into my skin.
“Yes,” I say into her neck. I feel myself getting hard again and I start slowly thrusting again. She holds onto me and I rock into her. She adds her own movements and soon we’re both orgasming again.
Her eyes flutter closed and she tips her head back.
“I’m going to be tired tomorrow, but this has been so worth it,” she says, her eyes opening and a smile flitting across her lips.
“I’m sorry I called so late,” I say, my voice rough. She shakes her head and puts a finger to my lips.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. It’s okay, Quinn. I’d rather have you call me in the middle of the night than suffer alone.” I think about telling her I’m not suffering, but I can’t lie. Everything is crashing down on me at once and I feel like I can’t breathe. But with Saige, I can inhale and all I smell is her skin, her hair, her everything.
“It’s okay,” she says again, leaning down to meet my lips with hers.
She pulls back and smiles.
“Stay with me. Sleep here and hold me.” I nod and she gets off me and goes to the bathroom to clean up. I lay back on her pillows and exhale a long breath.
She comes back and lays on her stomach, inching over to lay herself across my chest. I stroke her spine, being careful not to touch the tattoo.
“This is the least I can do for you since you came with me today,” she says through a yawn.
I can’t seem to find the words to say.
“I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what I’m sorry for.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Quinn. I’m worried about you. You seem sad and… lost.” She’s too perceptive for her own good. Part of me wishes I could go back in time and never take this job. What would have happened if I’d just gone into that coffee shop and met her? Just met her. Just been Sylas from the beginning.
There’s no such thing as a time machine. No way to go back. I can’t leap into Lizzy’s Harry Potter books and use a spell to do it. This is real and the dice have been cast. I rolled my hand and now I have to deal with the numbers that I’ve been given.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there,” Saige says, dragging one finger between my eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say. Such a lie.
“I wish you could talk to me. I wish you could trust me.” I don’t trust anyone. Not really.
“It’s not easy for me to trust people. I’ve been burned before,” I say, my voice quiet.
“I can understand that. People can sometimes let you down. And sometimes people aren’t what they seem and you don’t know until it’s too late.” Her voice drops as well and we’re whispering together in the dark.
I’m going to be one of those people. She’ll add me to the list of people who aren’t what they seem. I look down at her in the dark and I wish I could fuck her again so I can have some more peace in my head.
“There’s a deep sadness in you, Quinn. What happened to you?”
“My mother died. She was murdered,” I say. I can’t hold it in anymore. Even if I can’t tell her the whole truth, I can give her bits of it and that will hopefully help the storm raging through my brain.
“Oh, Quinn. I’m so sorry.” She strokes my chest and lays her head on my heart. “I’m so sorry for you. How old were you?”
“Almost eighteen.” I’d been old enough that I’d gotten custody of Lizzy, at least, but that didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t matter how old you were, finding your mother’s body in the kitchen would always be the most horrible thing to happen in your life.
“So you were left all alone?” she asks. I have to swallow before I answer.
“Yes.” No matter what, I will never tell her about Lizzy.
She shivers and pulls closer to me.
“I can’t even imagine.” No, she can’t. Her parents might be cold and critical of her, but at least they’re alive. They love her and if push came to shove, they would do anything for her.
“I don’t like to talk about it. Not many people know. It can be a bit of a conversational downer.” I’m trying to make a joke, but it falls flat.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make you feel better, but that’s not going to stop me from trying.” Her green eyes glow out at me in the dark and that intensity from earlier is back. Like she’s trying to get me to understand something she can’t say out loud.