Page 30 of Little Spider

Because I’m scared they won’t believe me.

Dots appear. My skin prickles with tension.

Right answer. See? That wasn’t so hard. Next question: Do you think about me when you’re alone?

My breath catches. I hate how my heart pounds harder at the question, how the fear bleeds into something else—something dark and confusing. I can’t admit that to him. I won’t.

No.

Three dots. Then his reply.

Liar.

A sob bursts out, and I press my hand to my mouth. I don’t know how he knows, but he does. It makes my stomach twist with something I can’t name.

That’s one strike. Careful now. You’re almost out of chances.

I wipe my eyes, forcing myself to breathe.

Next question: Do you want me to stop?

My hands hover over the keyboard, fingers frozen. I should say yes. I should scream it, type it a hundred times. But the truth lodges in my throat, hot and bitter.

My phone buzzes again before I can answer. Another voice message. I hit play, my pulse hammering.

“Do you want me to stop, Raven? Do you want me to walk away, leave you trembling and alone? Or do you want me to wrap you up, whisper in your ear how pretty you look when you’re scared, make you feel every inch of my obsession until you can’t think of anything else?”

My vision blurs. I can’t think. I type without meaning to.

I don’t know.

His reply is instant.

Good girl. Honest this time. I like that.

I curl tighter, knees drawn to my chest. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve frayed and exposed.

Last question. Answer carefully: When I finally catch you, will you fight me? Or will you let me ruin you?

My fingers hover, trembling. I don’t know how to answer that. The fear is eating me alive, but underneath it, there’s something darker—something I hate myself for feeling.

I don’t respond. I can’t.

A knock at the door. I freeze, breath hitching. Another knock, louder.

Time’s up, Little Spider. I’m done waiting.

I crawl backwards, pressing myself against the headboard, eyes glued to the door. My phone buzzes one more time. A photo. I force myself to open it.

It’s the motel door—my door. Taken from just outside.

Another knock.

Let me in, Raven. I want to see how much you’re shaking.

I can’t move, can’t breathe. My phone slips from my hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud. I stare at the door, waiting for it to splinter, for him to push through and finally take me.

The doorknob jiggles. A slow, deliberate twist.