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Arch’s hands definitely touch me. One currently rests on my thigh, dangerously close to my center. I stare down at the star tattooed on his thumb, my mind conjuring images of holding it—without his body attached.

Yet, I let it happen, even though I shouldn’t. And because I shouldn’t, I can’t stop staring at them, imagining them chopped off at the wrist and bloody. Sitting in my mailbox.

I don’t even have a mailbox.

My house is too far back from the road, so my mail is just left on my front step.

Shouldn’t a stalker know that?

What a shitty little shadow.

“You having fun?” Arch asks, nudging me with his shoulders. I nod absently as I continue to abuse my lip trapped beneath my teeth.

I should run. I should tell this man to get his hand off of me if only it means it’ll never be severed from his body and left in my nonexistent mailbox.

“You’re tense,” Arch observes quietly. I clear my throat and open my mouth, but another buzz from my back pocket interrupts me.

I can feel the color leech from my face. Arch’s brows dip with concern, and it reminds me of the poor man that I nearly gave a heart attack by the cliff’s edge.

He glances down towards the sound. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice only seeming to quieten further.

I’m growing tired of the concerned looks, but yet, they feel like lifelines. Like there’s people out there that will notice my strange behavior and speak out if something ever happens to me.

A news reporter will interview Arch, and he’ll speak of how I seemed spooked by a text message. The construction worker who built my porch—his story will be broadcasted and talked about for weeks. A girl standing at the edge of a cliff, seeming to contemplate jumping and then nearly falling off.

It all connects to the fact that I had a stalker. And the police brushed it off when I made my reports of random roses. But it won’t change anything for the next girl that’s being stalked.

It never does.

In the end, I’ll be another statistic but will fade away as just that. A beautiful girl stalked by an unhinged man. And no one bothered to help her until it was too late.

“I’m fine,” I force out through a stilted smile. It feels wooden and disingenuous, but it does the trick nonetheless. His face relaxes, and the concern bleeds away.

Or rather, Arch is just letting it go because he doesn’t actually care.

“Do you want to leave?” he murmurs, his voice now full of promise and intent. His bottom lip disappears between his white teeth, the act in itself primal.

The word no is on the tip of my tongue, like a little ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if I say no to this man, I’ll spend the rest of my night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

Hating myself for letting a freak control my life and rob me of a good time with a delicious man.

He’s beautiful, with a shade of darkness surrounding him that’s as enticing and mouth-watering as chocolate cake. There’s a promise that I would be ending the night with him entirely satisfied.

And what if it evolves into more? What if I’m saying no to something beautiful? Those are a little girl’s hopes and dreams, but I can’t help thinking them anyways.

He looks like a man that I could settle down with but dangerous enough to keep me excited.

“Yes,” I say quietly—finally. “But after I know Daya gets home safely.”

Arch smiles slowly. Salaciously. “I can see to that.”

Chapter 8

The Manipulator

D aya takes Luke home while I take Arch back to the manor. He asked me to go to his, but I felt much safer at my own home. More in control.

In retrospect, I shouldn’t take him to a house that sits on a cliff, surrounded by woods and several miles out from civilization. Worst of all,