Page 69 of He Sees You

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Right. So you weren't fucking Lockwood in his cabin while your daddy was looking for you?"

The door handle jiggles.

He's trying his keys, but Dad must have changed the locks. "I saw you leave his place that night. Saw you kiss him goodbye like some lovesick teenager."

My heart pounds.

He was watching.

Even after Cain's threats, he was still watching.

"I've been suspended," Jake continues, his voice getting louder. "Pending investigation into 'historical complaints.' My career's over. My life's over. Because you couldn't just give me a chance.Onechance, Celeste. That's all I wanted."

"You've had fifteen years of chances?—"

The sound of breaking glass cuts me off.

Kitchen window.

He's coming in.

I run for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

My phone's in my hand, but my fingers are shaking too badly to unlock it.

Behind me, I hear Jake's boots on broken glass, his heavy breathing as he follows.

"Running again?" he calls. "Just like that night at the party? But there's no Lockwood here to save you now. No daddy with his badge. Just you and me, the way it should have been years ago."

I make it to my bedroom, slam the door, and turn the lock.

It won't hold long, but maybe long enough to?—

The door explodes inward.

Jake must have kicked it, the old wood splintering around the lock.

He fills the doorway, face red with alcohol and rage, uniform disheveled.

He's not wearing his gun, thank God, but he doesn't need it.

He's six feet of muscle and fifteen years of resentment.

"There you are," he says, stepping into my room. "Right where you belong. In your bedroom, waiting for me."

"Jake, don't do this. You're better than this."

"Am I? Your father doesn't think so. Suspended me based on complaints from girls who wanted it then changed their minds." He moves closer, backing me toward the window. "Just like you wanted it at that party. Wearing that dress, dancing like that, then acting shocked when I tried to kiss you."

"I was seventeen?—"

"You were a cocktease. Still are. Writing those books, putting those thoughts out there." He's close enough now that I can smell the whiskey, see the burst capillaries in his eyes. "All those scenes about women being taken against their will, secretly loving it. You think I haven't read every single one? Studied them? You were writing about what you wanted, Celeste. What you were too proud to ask for."

"That's fiction?—"

"It's what you want." His hand shoots out, grabs my throat, slams me against the wall. My vision spots black at the edges. "You want someone to take control. To make you submit. Butnot someone normal, right? Has to be a killer. A monster. Someone broken and dangerous."