Page 46 of Cry Madness
“At least I’m not fucking my own hand.”
As I stroll from the living room, I say, “Keep it up, and I’ll use one of your socks for my grand finale.”
“Maddox, I swear to God, don’t you dare,” he yells after me.
As if I’d use my brother’s sock to jerk off. I’m crazy, not an animal. But if I don’t get rid of the tension tightly coiled around my nerves, twined around every muscle in my body, I’ll go off like a time bomb—one that’s ticking toward either self-destruction or leaving a bloody field of collateral damage in its wake. Finding my calm will take more than a quick bout of self-love. Only one person can calm this level of fury, of absolute pure rage. It’salwaysone person. The same face, scent, and flavor that’s haunted me for years. Taunting me as much as it soothes me.
My magnificent Malice.
SIXTEEN
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”
—Alice,Alice in Wonderland
Alice dared me to sneak into her room. Damn me if I’m not up for a worthy challenge. I’m also a prisoner of my obsession. They say acknowledging a problem is the first step toward recovery. Fuck. That. I never want the cure for my addiction to Alice Knightly. I relish this madness coursing through my veins like lightning striking every nerve as I wait for everyone inside Tiger Lily to go the fuck to sleep.
That Alice wants me to sneak into her room probably means there’s some deep psychological shit going on in her beautiful brain, but I guess that’s why we fit together so well. So, yep, if she needs me to be her very own personal creeper, that’s what I keep on being—and love every second.
No, wait, correction: her very own personal harmless creeper.
To be honest, staring up at her window from this vantage point makes me doubt my own already questionable sanity. Each second ticks over me like razors slicing at my flesh—exactly like the first time I snuck inside the manor. Only now that I know she’ll welcome me, the expectation is much better.
Depending on the perspective, this situation can either get better or worse.
Finally, the house goes dark, but I wait a bit longer because I can’t be too cautious. Need to make damn sure Katherine and Harrison are tucked away and sleeping soundly. Stalking Alice is all fun and games until I’m staring down the barrel of Harrison Wentworth’s loaded gun—and I know for a fact that man owns more than a few shotguns. He might be a right, proper Englishman and all that jazz, but he’s a crack shot at the range.
After an eternity, I slip on the balaclava and creep from the Dodge. Scale the gate and slink across the lawn. Then I’m at the tiny child’s cellar door, unlocking it and shimmying my brawny ass through the damn thing. I’m stealth as fuck as I tiptoe up from the basement and across the ground floor, up to the next level, and down the hallway to Alice’s bedroom. The fresh, citrusy scent of her perfume hits me as I inch open the door. I’m not exactly quiet as I shut and lock the door, smiling at her soft snores.
Good Lord, she sleeps like the dead.
Minding her business, I use my phone’s flashlight to admire the artwork around the room, paying close attention to the work-in-progress sitting lonely on the easel. It’s coming along nicely, almost brought fully to life and ready to be placed among the other drawings. When I swing around to Alice—my marvelous, magnificent Malice—I find her curled under the pink blanket. Everything about her is a temptation, from the silvery hair spilling across the pillow to her body’s gentle rise and fall witheach slow and steady breath she takes. She’s delicate yet strong, tiny but fierce. A force of nature wrapped up in an itty-bitty person brave enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with me.
And believe me, I sure as hell put her to the test growing up.
The floorboards creak as I approach the bed, and with blood rushing and heart hammering, I watch Alice toss on the mattress, twisting the blanket around herself. Frustrated at now being tangled, she huffs. Turns again. She opens her eyes and lies on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling. And when her lovely expression contorts into a frown, I swallow hard, anticipating her imminent discovery of my presence.
I watch as she sits up, her sleepy gaze wandering the moonlit room. The blanket falls away, revealing a faded yellow T-shirt with a big-ass sunflower smack in the center. Shocking for my little Gothic queen, but okay, I love these tiny surprises. Pink bedding. Yellow pajamas with a flower. My girl keeps me on my toes. Makes me wonder what other fun wonders I’ll uncover the deeper I dig into this older version of her.
Alice shoves the hair away from her face and takes a deep breath as if she can sense me, smell me, and feel each shallow exhale I release as she pans the room. When her gaze lands on me, those lovely, luminous eyes widen in shock—in fear—before those lovely blue eyes narrow and a languid smile spreads across her mouth.
“You’re here,” she breathes.
“You dared me,” I remind her, my words muffled behind the balaclava.
Alice chews her bottom lip before saying, “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Itsk. “Liar, liar.” I inch closer to the bed. “Should I check to see if your pants are on fire?”
The feisty woman lifts her chin defiantly. “I’m not wearing pants.”
Instant.
Raging.
Hard-on.
I take another step closer. “Because you knew I’d come.” Her silence says everything. I step even closer. “Because you hoped I’d come.”