She looks up at me, and I already know my answer.
“It’s possible,” she says, though her tone conveys that it’s probable.
I drop my head to my laptop, surely pressing a bunch of keys, but I don’t care right now. A creepy ass dude potentially has my nudes. Worse, he probably has video footage of me naked. I suppose it’s not the worst thing in the world to happen—my body is fabulous. But I’ll definitely be mortified if they get leaked.
What if he uses them as blackmail? Never thought I’d think this, but hopefully, he’s too obsessed with me to leak them. He’s already proven to be highly possessive. If another man can’t even touch my thigh without getting his hands cut off, then surely he wouldn’t show the world my naked body?
“Did you delete them?” I nod, my forehead grating against the keys. I cringe at the noise. If I don’t stop, my big ass head will ruin my laptop.
I lift my head, pick up Daya’s glass of vodka and pineapple juice, and start chugging. She doesn’t complain. In fact, she slides over the entire bottle of vodka.
“Don’t obsess over it. If he hasn’t said anything about them yet, then there’s a good chance he doesn’t have them.”
Her words do little to make me feel better, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway.
“Who did you even send your nudes to?” she asks, snatching the bottle of vodka from my hand after I take a hefty swig.
“I haven’t sent a nude since I was twenty. I take nudes because I like my body and want to stare at it all day.”
Daya laughs. “I fucking love you.”
Sadly, she might not be the only one.
Her phone lights up. Instinctively, my eyes flash towards the screen, but it’s her snatching it up like the phone caught fire is what draws my attention to it.
I quirk a brow, watching her glance nervously at me.
“You don’t forgive me for keeping secrets, but yet you’re doing the same thing,” I state dryly.
She deflates, now looking like a dog caught with the toilet paper in its mouth.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” she mumbles.
“About what?” I bark, holding my hand out expectantly for the phone. She groans, tucking it further into her chest.
“Luke… he’s been texting me,” she starts. My eyes widen, alarm stark in my eyes.
“Texting you about what? Just to hook up again?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “He’s been bugging me about you and what happened that night with Arch. I told him what you told the police. That someone pounded on the door, and he went missing after that. I guess he’s trying to figure out who it could’ve been.”
“Fuck,” I curse, dropping my head in my hands.
“Apparently, Max is going on a rampage,” she admits on a sigh. “Not only did his best friend die, but the entire family. They haven’t said it, but I’m not sure they believe it was the Talaverra’s rivals that killed the family. I told Luke you have nothing to do with it. And I think he bought it.”
Words are left unsaid, so I say them for her. “For now.”
Her lips tighten in response, and I realize that my shadow has just made me some dangerous enemies.
Chapter 14
The Manipulator
D aya put some type of block on my phone to prevent further hacking. While my brain kept circling back to the nudes, Daya’s concern was the guy having access to my phone in general. He’d be able to see all my messages, have access to my bank information, track my phone and find me wherever I go.
It seems every day, my appreciation for Daya grows. She gave me a sense of safety I didn’t realize I was missing.
I’m going to have to propose to her soon or something.
Still, I will never take another nude in my entire life, but that’s a small price to pay in the grand scheme. I’ve decided to remove the camera from my room to allow me at least some semblance of comfort. I’ll just have to hold off on walking around the house naked until something is done about this creep.
Now, if only Arch’s best friends weren’t up my asshole, then maybe I’d get an extra hour or two of sleep at night.
The rest of the day was spent in silence, both of us lost in our work.
While Daya did whatever she does, I pulled out every picture in this house and picked through them. I’ve no idea what I’m actually looking for. Maybe Gigi with another man besides my grandfather.
After an hour of looking, I realized that she tended to write the names of the people captured in the photo and the year on the back of each picture.
I searched for the name Ronaldo, but never found it.
“Halloween is coming up. We’re going to haunted houses this year, right?” Daya asks. She’s standing at my front door, about to head home for the night.
I give her a droll look. “Halloween is my entire life, Daya. Of course, we’re going to fucking haunted houses.”
For as long as I can remember, Halloween fascinated me. The creatures and creepy faces. The jump scares and impending dread that something horrific is going to happen. I’ve had an unhealthy obsession with it all.
Mom sent me to therapy specifically for my fascination with gory horror movies. She thought I was a psychopath. And really, I just get off on being scared.
I think it’s a step up from being a psycho, but the therapist disagreed.
Too often, I’d hear my mother telling my father that I was a freak. That something was wrong with me. No one in their right mind likes being scared.
But I do.
I love it.
Which is why having a stalker is the worst thing for someone like me. I’m susceptible to enjoying the fear a bit too much. My love for horror is going to get me killed one day. It’s like I was meant to be hunted.
Little mouse.
That name is going to haunt me.
I’m not prey. I’m not.
“Satan’s Affair is coming to town again, and they have new haunted houses,” Daya reminds, bringing me back to the present.
Satan’s Affair is a traveling fair that comes to town every year, staying for two nights before moving on to the next town. They set up loads of haunted houses and thrill rides. Daya and I go every year religiously.
After the first few years, the haunted houses became predictable. Since then, they change them every year, and now the traveling fair has some of the best haunted houses in the country.
“You already know I’ll be the first one in line.”
“Yeah, we know, freak,” she teases. Despite the fact that it used to be my mother’s favorite slur, I don’t let it bother me anymore.
Plenty of men have called me the same, followed up by desperate begging to fuck me again. Being a freak took on a whole new meaning a long time ago. I tend to enjoy the name now.
Daya leaves once we confirm plans for the fair night. It’s not for another few weeks, but the event has garnered a loyal fanbase and sells out every year. It got to the point where so many people would come, they had to limit the number allowed in.
They treat it like a concert to avoid lines forming outside the fairgrounds. Once tickets sell out, you won’t be able to enter. Luckily, I have a computer genius on my side, and she gets tickets for us before they even go live.
The moment the door clicks shut behind Daya, my phone buzzes. Thinking it’s Daya texting me that she forgot something, I slide my phone out and open the message without registering who it is.