Page 33 of Killer Confections

Me: Who are you?

I bite my thumbnail, shifting from foot to foot as I wait for the next message. A bubble with three little dots pops up seconds later, showing that he’s typing. When the message appears, my hand flies away from my mouth as if I’ve been burned.

My Stalker

I scoff out loud at the audacity of this man. First, he breaks into my house to leave a note and go through my phone to plant his number, then he puts a fucking heart by his ‘name,’ which is another strike. ‘My Stalker?’ Is this a joke to him? And now he’s proclaiming he’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of?

My fingers fly furiously across the screen as I pace behind the counter. I can feel Blair’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my head, but I’m at war with this unknown person. When I’m happy with my message, I tap the send button, smiling smugly at my work before I shove my phone into my pocket and return to the kitchen.

Chapter Fourteen

Atlas

This shouldn’t bring me sheer delight, but it does. Loxley is scared, just as any woman with an unknown stalker would be, but she’s also inquisitive. Her quick wit is giving me a rush, provoking me to test her further. I want to see just how deep it all can go—to teeter her on the edge of fear and pleasure.

Chance Miller, an unannounced player in our cat-and-mouse game, left a short time ago. He spoke with Loxley, looking smitten with my girl.

I knew jealousy would come with the territory. The object of my obsession is gorgeous with her red-blonde locks and easy smile. I’ve kept it contained for years, reeling in that nasty green monster, but there’s only so much one man can take.

Now that she’s mine, I have no intentions of letting anyone else get close. I’ve been far too lenient with her when I should have let my purpose be known from the beginning.

Chance is a dead man walking.

My phone buzzes again, and I smirk at the screen.

Short Stack

It’s adorable that she thinks the police will do anything. I’ve paid off most of Columbus’s lawmakers and sheriffs. The syndicate has a wrap sheet miles long, but it’ll never see thelight of day.

Any charges were expunged as they were reported, leaving everyone in the organization with clean records despite the blood on their hands.

Thalia shoves a cake in front of my face, the white icing coating her fingers. I’m not good with baking, but I remembered the names of most baked goods for my girl. The little cake my sister holds out to me expectantly is something called a Petit Four. I ordered them once when I was looking to boost Loxley’s business. I had no idea what it was, but when a prepackaged box of heaven arrived at my door, I made it my job to remember what the fuck it was called.

I ordered dozens more over the years, giving them out to the syndicate members and always harboring a box for myself. They taste like mini moist wedding cakes and my mouth waters as I stare at the square.

I take it from my sister, popping it into my mouth as I type out a few messages.

Me: Ouch. Not even a thank you for the flowers? And my palm will be ready. I don’t make empty threats. You’ll learn that soon enough.

Me: Chance Miller, huh? Guess we can start with him. You even think of using the number he gave you, and I’ll fucking hunt him for sport.

I stare down at my screen, waiting for the text bubble to pop up. The seconds tick by, and there’s still nothing.

“You’re such a creep,” Thalia says, popping another cake into her mouth.

“I still don’t condone this,” Rowan grumbles, standing beside the bench we’re seated on. His arms are crossed over his chest as he surveys the crowd like another assassin is going to jump out at any moment. “And I’m ready to go. You both got what you wanted.”

I roll my eyes before peering down at my phone again. There’s still no response, so I type out another message, not caring if I seem desperate for her attention—because I am.

Me: Hello? Don’t ignore me, sweetheart. I’ll go in there and bruise your ass right now.

The threat about Chance is sugar-coated. I fully plan to fuck the guy up, but Loxley doesn’t need to know that.

Thalia pulls another cake from the box, offering it to our stiff brother. Rowan sighs before taking the treat from her.

“Two big, tatted guys eating Petit Fours?” A grating voice muses to my right. Addison has wandered over, her phone out as she holds it up in our direction. There’s a flash of light and Rowan stills, the cake halfway to his mouth. “That’s going on the Sweet Haven website.” The brunette announces proudly, her smile wide as she observes the photo.

“Absolutely not,” my brother growls, ripping the device from her hands.