Page 21 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

That violent edge from earlier returns as I scowl up at the man. I have half the mind to tell him off, but the crunch of boots on the road attracts our attention.

My stalker holds up the bat, pointing the rounded end right at Chance’s chest before he grips the handle with both hands and rears back. The metal slams into the driver’s side window, shattering it with a high-pitched crash.

I suck in a breath, watching as the shards dance on the blacktop, the shine from the dim shop’s lights flashing on them like rain.

“MY FUCKING CAR!” Chance yells, running his hands through his buzzed hair. “STOP!”

My stalker ignores him, moving to the next window and lifting the bat again. The muscles in his wide back flex and I force myself to stop ogling him.

He’s destroying my date’s car! I shouldn’t be focused on how dangerous he looks as he delivers each blow to the vehicle. Powerful arms wield the bat as if it’s light as a feather, slamming the alloy end into each window with a sharp shattering sound.

Chance is having a meltdown beside me, sinking into a crouch as he blubbers over his losses. The bravery he showed earlier is long gone, replaced by the cries of a desperate man pleading for it all to stop.

I kind of feel bad for him. I didn’t enjoy our ‘date,’ but that doesn’t mean he deserves to have his car totaled by a psychopath. And I say totaled because my stalker is getting creative. He pried the hood open before removing the transmission and also smashing that to pieces.

Chance stands abruptly, shooting me a glower as he closes the distance between us. “This is insane! You and your friend are fucking crazy!”

“ Me ?” I rear back. “Why am I insane? I didn’t smash your car!”

He motions to my stalker with a hand, “If this is who you keep as close company, count me the fuck out!”

Okay, now he’s pissing me off. Granted, I did lie and say the man on the other side of the street was a friend, but that doesn’t seem to quell the rage burning in me.

I square my shoulders, but before I can give this asshole a piece of my mind, my stalker lumbers across the road, the bat pointed in Chance’s direction as a menacing aura surrounds him.

My date backs away from me, his hands up. “Look, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

My stalker blocks me with his body, shielding me from Chance’s view as his hand tightens on the bat’s handle. My anxiety jumps and I know if I don’t do something, he’s going to swing on the poor guy who’s just trying to make a clean getaway.

I step around him, throwing myself in front of the mountainous, intimidating man. I put a desperate hand on his chest, looking up into piercing eyes. I see the motion of his nostrils flaring under the mask.

“Stop, please,” I beg low, my voice a whisper in the dark. “Let him leave and I’ll do whatever you want.”

His eyes narrow on me before his free hand lifts and strong, warm fingers brush my cheek. My face feels hot where he touches, leaving tendrils of electricity in their wake before his hand dips and he grips my throat tightly.

I gasp, my mouth falling open as clothed lips brush my temple. Smoke invades my senses as he looms over me.

“It’s cute you think I wasn’t already planning to throw your ass over my shoulder and punish you for this,” he growls before he kisses the shell of my ear and a shiver shoots down my spine.

Familiar.

He sounds far too familiar.

Like a distant memory I’ve tried so hard to forget. Comfort washes over me as I stare blankly at his chest.

There’s no way…

He looks at Chance, straightening. “My girl. Fuck off.”

“Whatever,” my date mumbles, turning on his heel. “This is fucking insane. ”

A rumbling laugh comes from the man gripping my neck. “Good luck getting home.”

“Fuck you!” Chance shouts back.

My stalker’s grip loosens before he turns me to face Chance’s retreating form. He grips my cheeks tightly, forcing me to watch my date leave.

“Why don’t you wave?” He asks tauntingly in my ear. “You’re never gonna see that fucker again after tonight, sweetheart.”

“W-what?” I stutter, my heart pounding like a drum. Terror grips me, making my breaths shallow and strained. The lurking insinuation behind my stalker’s words is heard loud and clear.

A deep chuckle echoes in the quiet, heat pooling in my stomach at the sound.

His voice…

It sounds like—

I’m spun around before a shoulder plants on my hips and I’m hoisted up. The world tilts as I gasp. I brace my hands on his mid-back, a strangled cry leaving me as an arm bounds my legs so I can’t kick.

“What the fuck?!” I shout, balling my hand and pounding the fist against tough muscle. A hard slap comes down on my ass, causing me to yelp.

He walks in the opposite direction and I’m forced to watch as he carries me off into the distance, away from anyone who could hear my cries and offer aid.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he laughs, the sound bone-chilling. “I promise we’ll have fun tonight. I’m not a complete monster.”

For some reason, that doesn’t make me feel any better. A sick sensation circles my gut, and I know I only have myself to blame. I provoked him and now Chance’s life is on the line and I’m about to be punished.

Oh, god. What if it’s like the last one?

My cheeks flame as I remember the big purple and red bruise that’s slowly fading from my ass. I couldn’t sit on my right side for three days. It’s still tender to the touch.

“What… what are you going to do to me?” I ask, my voice wavering.

He hums, rubbing a hand over my left ass cheek before giving it a hard, appreciative squeeze, leaving pain in its wake. My channel clenches in response and I try to fight my body’s reaction to him.

“Bad girls don’t get to know their punishment,” he responds, the hint of a smile in his tone. He stops in front of a really expensive-looking black car, opening the passenger door before lowering me off of his shoulder. He places me down in front of him, looking at me expectantly.

My eyes shift to the pavement before I make a break for it. I get two steps closer to freedom before rough hands grip my hips and pull me back into a hard chest. Something long and hard grinds into my lower back and my legs turn to jelly.

Fuck. No.

That’s not happening!

I would prefer for my guts to remain where they belong.

“You’re not helping your fuckin’ case, Loxley.” He growls in my ear. Hearing him use my name makes my insides quiver and I have to force down my arousal.

I push at his hands, my nails digging into his tattooed wrists as I claw at him. I move around, trying to jerk my body side-to-side to throw him off, but I’m halted when he moves me to the passenger seat, forces my head down, and shoves me in.

He holds me down with one hand to my chest before grabbing the seat belt and sliding it across my front. He buckles me in before slamming the door and walking to the other side.

I breathe heavily from exertion as I watch him climb in and start the car. He’s silent, face stoic as he pulls away from the curb and the engine revs.

I should be alarmed we’re barreling down a forty-five going seventy, but I’m currently so inside my head, I can’t even process the speed .

I’m clearly in trouble. That much is clear by the threats and the white knuckles gripping the steering wheel in a death hold. Not to mention I tried to run. But can he blame me? He basically kidnapped me. Did he expect me to come willingly?

I glance over at him, taking in his disheveled hair and the outline of a straight nose. It juts proudly from his face; the mask hiding the curved tip.

Fuck me.

My face heats at the thought of that nose brushing my clit. I shake the image away, attempting to focus on the task at hand.

I have a suspicion, but not enough to say for sure.

My friend, Atlas, was violent, but he wasn’t like this. He wasn’t obsessive—because that’s what this is—pure obsession. This man is consumed by my every move, even watching me when I’m alone.

But the more I look at him, the more my stalker looks exactly like Atlas. An older, more well-defined jaw with slight stubble poking out of the edge of the mask, tattooed, and a look that could kill, version of my friend.

I shift in my seat, my hand reaching for the balaclava. He snatches my wrist quickly, never taking his eyes off the road.

“You’re up to ten,” he says as he places my hand on my knee.

My head swivels around to him, my heart sinking. “Ten? Ten what?”

The movement is subtle, but I catch the quirking of his lips under the mask. “How’s your ass?”

I gasp at the audacity. “Why are you doing this? What do you gain?”

He stays quiet, pulling the car onto the curb outside of my apartment. He parks it, cutting the engine before throwing his door open and slamming it behind him. He stalks around the hood before opening my door and leaning across me to unbuckle the seatbelt.

A hand grips my bicep, forcing me out of the car before pushing me forward on the sidewalk.

“Move your ass, beautiful.” He commands before grabbing a box off the backseat and slamming my door.

I give the box a weary glance, but my stalker raises his brows. “What did I just fucking say? Twelve, now.”

I jolt, turning on my heels as my feet move subserviently along the path to my building. I can feel his presence close to me, heat seeping into my back from his proximity. The anticipation of the unknown is killing me.

I’m shaking from fear and something else I refuse to acknowledge.

I’m not turned on.

I’m not.

We’re silent as we take the elevator up to my floor. My eyes stray to him, but I look away when I find haunting blue orbs watching me, hunger and dark intent swirling in them.

When the doors open, I nearly stumble out. Hands catch me before I’m dragged to my apartment. I look around, checking to see if any of my neighbors are out, but the halls are just as empty as they always are.

He confirms my suspicions when he punches in my security code and it opens with a positive chirp. He places his free hand on the small of my back, urging me forward and into the darkness of my home.

My mind buzzes, heart thumping painfully, as I swallow and step into the living room.

It takes all of two seconds before something lowers over my face. I’m startled as a ball is forced into my mouth. Muffled sounds come from me as my head is tugged back and lips ghost my ear.

I get a look at myself in the mirror by my bookcase, and my eyes widen.

A pastel pink ball gag is lodged between my teeth and my stalker grips the straps tightly, using it to control me.

“Let’s make a fucking movie, baby,” he growls.