Page 56 of My Girl

Either way, Iwantthis to happen. I want to see what Rae does when she has to defend herself. Will she take the first chance she gets to kill them, or will she stumble in fear, too afraid to fight back? Will they kill her, or will she kill them?

I lick my lips and get back into my truck. I can’t wait to find out.

Chapter18

Rae

This time,Crave’s note is in my pocket. A chill runs through the air, and I pull my hoodie tighter around me. It’s not just the winter weather, though. The Galloway House has a presence, and its claws are ice cold in my flesh. With each step I take closer to that basement, it’s like I’m becoming a part of the house.

Crave’s note reads:Meet me at one a.m.

The words are scrawled on the back of a grocery store receipt. The fact that he chose an old receipt from my trash can seems purposeful, like he wants to reiterate that he can come and go as he pleases from my apartment.

I don’t need confirmation anymore. Crave is definitely watching me. Maybe even right now.

My feet crunch over the dirt. The padlock is gone now. Ned gave me my own real key, without knowing that I already had one. We agreed that I could keep the gate unlocked for the time being since I’m preparing the space for the anniversary party. It’s the logical thing to do.

It makes things easier for Crave.

I open my purse, a sigh relaxing out of me as my eyes settle on the gun. Crave hasn’t hurt me—not in an unpleasant way, at least—but that doesn’t mean whatever this is with him is risk-free. Last time, he openly killed a man while I watched. Crave could kill me tonight.

Or maybe I’ll kill someone tonight.

Inside of the house, there’s a new canvas cover on the old couch. Newspaper prints hang up in picture frames on the walls. Caution tape lines each door. We started decorating, and it’s clean now.

I sniff; there’s something in the air that I don’t recognize.

A stranger is here, and it’s not Crave.

A tingling rush flutters over my skin and disappears. I bite my lip. I’m imagining things. If anything, itisCrave. At the very worst, it’s Crave with another victim.

My pussy clenches, my fingers wandering over the old wallpaper, imagining his leather gloves touching my bare skin.

“Crave?” I ask.

I glance toward the basement. The door is closed.

I reach for the handle. It’s locked.

What the fuck?

Burned fast food seizes my nostrils. I snap around.

A hood slams over my head.

I scream.

A set of hands grabs me, pulling me around. I thrash, desperately trying to twist out of their grip.

“That’s right,” a man says. “Dumb cunt was here, just like he said.”

Like he said?

“Didn’t say she was a screamer though.”

I kick—hitting what I think is a stomach—and the hands drop me. I scramble forward, flinging the hood off of my head and reaching for my purse. My gun is in there. I can defend myself. I can?—

“Yeah right, bitch.”