Page 24 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

Loxley

As soon as I open my eyes, my heart sinks. I sit up quickly; the covers falling to my naked waist as I take in my surroundings. The sun is just rising, little streams of morning light seeping through my sheer curtains and casting rays on the floor.

I listen for movement from my living room. When I feel the coast is clear, I cautiously slink out of bed. The floor is cold on my bare feet and my whole body aches.

My ass is the most noticeable, throbbing from the new, fresh handprint bruises inflicted last night.

I reach a hand back, wincing as my face screws up at the slightest pressure from my fingers.

My scalp is tender from the hair-pulling and my thighs have a deep soreness around the crooks from the restraints.

Then, the processing I couldn’t do last night, slams into me with full force.

My stalker destroyed Chance’s car and brought me back home.

He tied me up and fucking edged me until I was sobbing and begging for it to end.

He forced me to give him a blow job.

I shift in place, remembering the massive beast I could barely wrap my lips around. It should be illegal for a penis to be that big.

And pierced!

I feel the wetness shamefully coating my pussy and my legs fly apart. My hands shoot to my hair, tangling in the locks as I pace and have an existential crisis in my bedroom.

I didn’t like it!

There’s no way I liked that!

No, no, no!

Get it together, Loxley!

You were taken advantage of. This monster ruined your less-than-pleasant date and brought you back home to do unspeakable things to you!

“Oh, god!” I mumble to myself, squatting down as if it’s going to ground me to reality. “What the fuck! He tattooed my name on his neck!”

Pressure builds behind my eyes, and an overwhelming feeling surrounds me, causing the room to tilt. I plant my hands on either side of me, sucking in a breath as I close my eyes and force myself to stay present.

I need something.

I need a shower.

Right. A shower is going to make this all better. Excellent idea, Loxley.

Not.

But it’s a way to clear my head. I nod to myself, slowly lifting from the floor.

I take another breath before numbly walking to the bathroom.

I flick on the light, following second nature as my body functions without thought.

I turn the water on, setting it to my normal scalding temperature before setting out my towel and washcloth.

I climb in, letting the spray hit me as I dunk my head under repeatedly in an attempt to calm my wild thoughts.

I wash my hair, remaining utterly silent as I go through the motions. I decide to start from the beginning, feeding myself little bits of information at a time.

Okay, I’m at least seventy-five percent sure I know who my stalker is.

I had my suspicions that the big, burly man hunting me was Atlas. I still don’t have definitive proof, but it’s becoming obvious. He said last night that he’s waited a long time for me— whatever that means.

I know what that means.

This person either knows me, or they’ve been stalking me for an unbeknownst period of time and I’ve been none the wiser.

The thought of someone I don’t know watching me for months— years, even —makes me shiver.

But as I think back to my friend’s promise long ago, I feel more confident that my stalker isn’t someone I don’t know.

So, seventy-five percent sure it’s Atlas.

No, eighty-five percent.

Great. Wonderful. My best friend from high school is probably stalking me and made me see God with how hard I came.

“Fucking fantastic!” I shout, sounding delirious as I reach for my body wash. I frown when I don’t feel the bottle near the tub’s edge. I look down, taking in the spot that usually houses my Winter Sugar soap.

I blink.

“HE TOOK MY FUCKING SOAP!” I rage, slamming my washcloth to the floor as I scream for all of my neighbors to hear.

After I have a meltdown in the shower and begrudgingly wash my body with shampoo, I stomp to my bedroom and throw on some tights and a T-shirt before storming into my kitchen.

I notice the plated breakfast first. Two fried eggs, two slices of bacon, and buttered toast rest on the counter’s top, a note folded beside it.

I walk over to it, hovering a hand over the food.

It’s still warm.

I eye the eggs, cooked just how I like them, as if they’re going to explode as I snatch the note and unfold it.

Eat. I have some business to take care of, but I’ll see you soon, baby. — Your future husband ; )

I crumble it, my rage becoming palpable as I toss the paper right into the trash.

First things first.

I thought I was imagining things when I first noticed the blinking light in my kitchen. I convinced myself I was tired from spending late nights at the bakery, but now I know better.

I walk over to my cookie jars lined near the corner of my kitchen and scoot them aside. It takes me a minute to find it, but when I spot a small black lens, I swipe the micro-camera up before holding it up to my face.

“Caught you,” I grit before slamming it down on the counter until it breaks into little pieces. When I’m satisfied, I grab the trash can and scoop its remains into the bin. I slam it down, putting my hands on my hips as I gloat.

My phone dings and I go to my room to retrieve it. The new message flashes on the screen and I unlock it.

My Stalker 3 : Rude. That’s another punishment.

Me : Bite me.

My Stalker 3 : Right over your bruises, baby. Good idea.

Ugh! Fuck this! Who does he think he is?

Me : Fuck you! And bring my body wash back!

My Stalker 3 : I need it. It’s not the best lube, but I love the fucking scent. I’ll get you a new one. How does a gift basket sound?

HE’S USING MY SOAP FOR LUBE?! ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!

Me : STOP DEFILING MY SOAP AND GIVE IT BACK!

My stalker 3 : Our soap. Don’t get into any trouble today. I’ll be watching.

Me : Eat a bag of dicks.

I grumble when I receive no response, then catch myself when I realize the feeling circling my gut is disappointment.

No! I’m not disappointed he won’t answer back. I’m normal. Calm and collected.

My ringtone jolts me right out of my ease and I answer without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey!” Addison replies in bright surprise. “It’s your day off. What are you doing awake so early?”

I plop down on my bed, running a hand over my face. “Why are you calling so early?”

She laughs, “Touche. I just wanted to check in. I’m almost done packing. Is your stalker still on the down-low?”

My face heats, images of last night’s activities flashing through my mind.

I’ve been so distracted I didn’t have the opportunity to tell my closest friend that the man stalking me is potentially the man I’ve been obsessed with since high school or that he ruined my date last night and did naughty, unspeakable things to me.

Or that he cornered me in my own bakery…

“Lox?” She questions, snapping me out of my trance.

I groan, “It’s so bad, Addie.”

She gasps, rustling the phone around before her voice gets close to the speaker. “What happened?”

I delve into it all, telling my friend the PG-13 version of the night in the bakery, and last night. She’s quiet on the other line, only her subtle gasps being heard when I go quiet during a particularly dirty detail.

“He tied you up?” She asks, sounding utterly invested. “What did he do? You can’t just give me half of the story!”

“Why do you sound so normal about this? This man is stalking me!” I say incredulously .

“Hey!” she interjects. “I’ve listened to your late-night drunken rambles long enough to know that you’re in love with this Atlas guy. You’re living out all of our book fantasies and I can’t help but be a little curious!”

“I don’t even know if it’s him!” I shout. “As my best friend, I’m going to need you to be a little more concerned about my safety.”

“I am concerned for your safety!” She shouts in return. “I’m the one who suggested you come and stay with me for a few nights while you search for a new apartment. Did you follow up with the police report or even call them when he showed up to your date?”

“I…” My words die as I run through everything. I had ample time to call someone, but didn’t even consider it. I also turned down my friend’s proposal to stay with her while I searched for a new residence.

“Mhm,” she hums. “Because whether or not you like it, you know who your stalker is. Despite the terrifying shit, your mind knows he isn’t going to hurt you.

But that leaves another question. Is his attention wanted?

Do you feel safe and comfortable enough for this to continue, or do you need me to come and scoop you up right now?

Just say the word and I’ll get in my car. ”

I mull her words over, really thinking about this. If it is Atlas— still not one-hundred percent sure —then why wouldn’t he just speak to me without the mask? That seems like the normal thing to do…

But has anything about our past ever been normal?

We became friends quickly, finding a comfort in each other that exceeded past platonic. I was always attracted to him, drawn in by his secrets and devilishly good looks. Not to mention the ways he doted on me, always making sure I was okay.

Do you need anything?

His words from last night hit me like a freight train.

The four worded question was on repeat back in high school.

It didn’t matter what I needed—a hug, water, help in P.E.

, just someone to vent to—he was always there.

He never turned down my requests, no matter how needy I sounded.

He was always happy to help, his normally thinned in agitation lips twitching into the slightest of smiles at being my shoulder to lean on.

He was so different back then…

No. He was restrained.

The hold his dad had on him held him back from a lot. Our relationship never saw the light of day outside of Columbus High School, thanks to the very man who raised him.

Something must have happened.

Where is his dad now?

It’s safe to say they aren’t on speaking terms, but I feel like there’s something much deeper there.

Okay, so ninety-five percent sure my stalker is Atlas.

My stomach flips, a fluttering sensation taking flight as my heart pounds.

He’s Atlas. He has to be.

If he isn’t…

I’m falling back into the daydreams. There was a time I imagined him coming for me, imagined my best friend and first love whisking me away like he had promised all those years ago.

I yearned for it. I wanted it so badly I couldn’t go anywhere without looking for him.

Any deep voice I heard on the streets, or tall man with dark hair I encountered, I always hoped it was him.

I wanted it to be him.

“It’s wanted,” I say quietly.

Addison breathes a sigh of relief. “Good, because I was starting to think you had done a one-eighty and didn’t want the guy anymore. How are you feeling now that it’s out in the open?”

I lift a shoulder, “Nervous? Is it bad that knowing it’s him is making me feel like— ”

“Like a teenager in love?” My friend finishes, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Exactly like that,” I bite my thumbnail, trying to tamper down the long-buried feelings that seem to have revived with my epiphany.

“So, what’s the next move?” Addison asks. “It’s going to take me a few days to get out there, but I need the rundown.”

Right. If I’m doing this, it would be best someone knows in case anything goes South.

Wait. What exactly am I doing?

It’s a given that as long as my stalker is Atlas, I want him. Hands down. I can’t even deny the attraction and intense feelings I’ve harbored for him.

But that still leaves the not knowing one-hundred percent…

Dammit! Why didn’t I fight past my shock and lift his mask last night? I would have known for sure it was him and this wouldn’t feel so complicated.

“The next step is to confirm his identity,” I say, determination sweeping through me.

“Good choice,” my friend agrees. “Then what?”

I stand from my bed, my eyes straying to the note that still rests on my nightstand from the morning of the grand opening. I couldn’t get rid of it. Seeing it there felt like some sort of connection my mind couldn’t grapple with losing. Now, I understand why.

“Then I beat him at his own game and take the winnings for myself.”

“Boss bitch moves,” Addison praises in a purr. “And what would those winnings be?”

I pick up the note, taking in the jagged handwriting that I can’t believe I didn’t recognize.

I had seen it time and time again, carved into every note and test Atlas took by my side.

He had left me so many clues, yet I had ignored them.

He gave me everything I needed to figure out who he was without outright telling me.

“Him.” I smile.