Page 2 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Frantically, I nod. It’s best to play along for now, to pacify him.

When the protagonist is more clever than strong, this is how they outwit the antagonist. I turn into an easily squashable little mouse to get Butterfly Man to show off his power.

Then I find a chink in his armor, a flaw to exploit, or a need I make him believe I’ll fulfill.

All I need is time.

Soon enough Tristan will spot Butterfly Man on the cameras. My bodyguard will assess the risks and come with enough men and firepower to save me without getting caught in the crossfire. No one should die tonight. Neither Tristan and his men nor my stalker.

Not yet.

“Good girl.” He releases my face but keeps his gloved hand near my throat.

My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. They collide with the calm and steady exhales seeping out of him. “There are cameras in the room. They can see you, and they’ll come in any second now.”

“No, they can’t see us, darling. All that’s playing on their monitors is you alone in this bed, sound asleep.”

Cold sweat trickles down my back. “You hacked it?”

“And your knight isn’t the one standing outside your door either. He’s out, leaving your protection in the hands of his team. So don’t worry, darling. No one will interrupt our time together tonight.”

Oh God. Tristan isn’t here, and the rest of my bodyguards think I’m sleeping safely in my room. The only way to get help is to scream, and someone will end up dead.

“Even if they could see me, they couldn’t stop me,” he whispers, the bed sinking on either side of me, and the weight on top of me shifts but not enough for me to move. I think about wriggling my way out of bed anyway. Blake’s gun is in my dresser drawer. If I get to it, I—

Swiftly, as if my stalker could read my mind, he cages my thighs in between his knees, killing my plan. “No one can stop me from having you, Reagan.”

I curse the way my name sounds so sinful and sacred all at once on his tongue. His words are marred by the darkness his soul embraces so willingly, dangerous and toxically alluring. His voice, a deep, velvety timbre, wraps around my heart and squeezes ever so gently.

“Reagan,” he repeats, as if savoring the sound, the air between us thickening.

“You’ve been a very, very naughty girl.” He switches the gun from the hand holding my wrists to his free one.

“A date with another man when I move heaven and earth, delivering the souls that have wronged you to their hell? And this bullshit you had him say to the whole country? Do you know what happens to naughty girls like you?”

“You’re angry,” I breathe.

“Yes. I’m not a prank or a joke.” The gun muzzle presses at my temple and tracks its way across my forehead. “I’m not an illusion you conjured from this beautiful brain.”

I freeze. The rough metal sends violent shudders down my spine. I’m one wrong move, one wrong word away from getting myself killed.

He traces my jawline with his weapon and then presses it to my chin. “I’m the man you’re destined to be with for the rest of your life, and I am very, very real.”

The ignorant mind, with its infinite afflictions, passions, and evils, is rooted in the three poisons. Greed, anger, and delusion. “I know you’re real. I’ve always known.”

He leans closer, his breath, warm and quick, against my cheek. “Then why the games, darling?”

I’ve provoked him out of his hiding for a reason. My plan has worked, but the outcome is unexpected. I made my move, and this is his. Not exactly how I’ve hoped he channels his anger. “I think you know why.”

Silence stretches between us for a thrashing heartbeat. I picture him smirking under that mask in response, a cruel awareness of the desires he unravels deep within me.

“I do, my naughty, impatient queen. But I need to hear you say it.”

My throat constricts as fear and a perverse excitement war inside me. “I want you to finish what you started.”

Moving the gun off my face, he brushes the pad of his leathered thumb over my lips, and another quiver runs through me.

“Oh, my darling, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words, coming out of your beautiful lips, while I am here, looking straight at your face.

” A hushed chuckle escapes his chest. “I knew you’d understand.

Like Enzio and Bianca, we’re two sides of one dark soul, and I know exactly what you want. ”

“Do you?”

“Blake,” he says, the name dripping with venom. “You want him gone as much as I do. Like the pervert, like the thief.”

A plain confession that leaves no room for doubt. He killed them. He killed Aaron and Saldana.

My heart races, torn between exhilaration and terror. I’ve crossed a line, one I can never uncross. But isn’t this what I’ve wanted all along? “When?”

He laughs under his breath again. “Patience, darling. I promise you I’ll make him pay for what he’s done, just like the others, the ones you know about and the ones you haven’t known about yet.”

What? Does he mean Gia? Are there more? Unrevealed murders he’s committed in my name already or upcoming kills? I gulp. “I don’t want anyone else dead. Just him.”

“You have to trust me, my queen. I have a plan, and you’ll thank me for it when it’s all done.

I promise you Blake will be gone soon.” His fingers feather over my face, and then the gun traces a cold path down my neck, further down the line between my breasts, a chilling reminder of the danger I’m in.

“Sooner if you let me finish what you started.”

“What?” I shiver involuntarily, the weight of his words crushing me. Part of me wants to scream and end this madness. But another part, the part that dances with monsters and lays with them in the dark, the part I’m no longer ashamed to acknowledge, drips wet at the unforgivable.

Slowly, the gun slides with his hand down my abdomen, then, as it reaches my inner thighs, he tries to spread my legs apart. “You heard me, darling.”

“No.” I press my thighs as tight as I can, hyperaware my panties are below my knees. I’m completely naked under my gown. If he reaches under it… “Stop. This has gone too far. You can’t…” A sob rips out of my throat. “Are you going to rape me?”

His hand stills on my leg. “Rape you? How could you say such a terrible word? I’m breaking my back to earn your love, and you think I’m just gonna…

If that’s something I’m capable of, if that’s what I want from you, why go to such lengths to show you I’m worthy of you?

” His tone turns gentle, even sweet. “You’re much more than a body to me, my darling butterfly. You’re my queen.”

“But you’re touching me without my consent.”

Silence—the complete silence of a predator—slices the air surrounding us again.

My temples pulse wildly. He said he was never going to hurt me, but how can I trust a murderer who has broken into my house, armed, and cast implicit threats of violence?

Is he going to stop or have I angered him some more? Will he force himself on me? Kidnap me?

Kill me?

“You don’t want me to touch you?” His voice wavers with heartbreak and disbelief. The hurt is palpable, laced with a plea for reconsideration and a rawness to his tone that comes from having your deepest hopes shattered.

Despite the fear of the impending atrocity—he has a gun between my thighs—I can’t bring myself to lie or give voice to the truth; I crave his affection as much as I dread it.

“Then who is it you want?” His voice takes a harsher turn. “Who was touching you in your head tonight? Who was making you moan like a dirty slut?”

You. How can I want him so badly when every instinct screams he will be my demise?

“I’ve always thought it’s the characters that pleasure you when you need a release.

I mean, them I can forgive. They make me jealous, but I can’t kill them.

I can’t even hate them because they’re part of you.

” The heat from his body radiates closer, and then his mask touches my ear.

“And I worship every piece of you.” His breath falls on the hollow of my neck before it’s buried in my collarbone.

“You. All of you.” He takes sharp inhales along the side of my neck, like an animal sniffing his mate.

Then his nose, beneath the softness of his mask, glides up and down my shoulder.

“Your darkness, your light, every shred of your soul.”

I shut my eyes, my lips trembling. The intensity of his twisted emotions, his simplest touch… Everything he is ignites an unholy fire in me that forges rather than destroys. An abyss that sees right through me, ready to embrace me when I fall.

“But it was someone else tasting your pussy tonight, wasn’t it?” Abruptly, he lifts his face and tightens his grip around my wrist, his knees closing in on my hips. “I can’t have that. You are mine, Reagan. No one touches what’s mine. Not even in your head. Do you hear me?”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe. Yes. I cross the lines of sanity for you, but when you let someone else touch what’s mine, watch me cross the lines of insanity. Who is it?”

“No one,” I lie.

“Who is it?” he hisses. “The cop? The man with the motorcycle? Both of them together at the same time?” He presses the gun to my vagina. “Tell me.”

“It wasn’t them. I swear.” I’ve never been more terrified, and I’ve never throbbed harder.

“No more games. Tell me the fucking truth.”

I can’t. I can’t just tell my stalker how wet I’ve become imagining him in my bed in his creepy mask fucking me into oblivion. How curious I am to find out how many times he’s come watching me touch myself. How close, when he’s holding a gun to my pussy, I am to orgasm.

A gasp breaks on his lips. Then his breath hitches. “Oh.”

The room closes in on me. The arms of the abyss open wide. A chasm of no return. My stalker has figured it out. He knows he’s been my darkest fantasy. The secret I can’t hide in a grave.

Slowly, he takes my hands and places them on his chest, and his heart dances against my palms. “Then why lie and say you don’t want me to touch you when I’m here, ready to take care of you, darling?”

“Because it’s wrong and sick.” It’s everything I’ve feared, everything I’ve secretly desired. “Even if you’re real, in my head you’re still a fantasy I control. But this…”

He caresses the back of my hands, his grip freeing my wrists. “This is what?”

The moment I’ve been waiting for.

I gather all my strength and speed and push myself back, yanking my hands out of his hold and kneeing him in the groin. Swiftly, I wriggle my feet out of my underwear and roll out of the bed, his groaning curses following me, and dash toward the dresser.

My fingers claw at the drawer and tear it open so hard it nearly comes off its tracks. I plunge my hand inside. The darkness thickens around me, mocking my fingers as they scrabble uselessly against wood and fabric to find Blake’s gun.

“No, no, no.” Panic rises in my throat. The gun is not there.

“Looking for this?” Butterfly Man’s voice cuts through the darkness. “Didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you?”

I whirl around. He’s already on his feet, towering over me, a dark silhouette against the faint moonlight.

My eyes strain in the gloom to see what he’s holding.

My stomach drops as realization hits. The gun Butterfly Man has is Blake’s.

My stalker has been holding me at gunpoint using my husband’s weapon all this time.

Backing up, I slam into the dresser. My mind races, cataloging everything within reach. Lamp. Books. Picture frame. But nothing that can match what he’s got. “If you take another step, I’ll scream.”

“What is this all about, darling? You want me, and I want nothing more than to make you happy. But then you call our love wrong and sick, and then this. I don’t understand.

Do you like to be chased, my love? Is this what’s happening here?

I’m more than happy to oblige, but tonight we don’t have the time. ”

“Just get out of here.”

He chuckles nastily. “No.”

My muscles coil, ready to spring. But he’s stronger, faster, darker. His big arms squeeze me from behind, a snake capturing its prey. “Go ahead. Scream, little butterfly.”

A knock on the door echoes in my bones. “Mrs. Abel. I mean, Birdie,” Brandon’s hushed voice calls. “Are you okay?”

Hope pulses through me. It’s not Marcus outside, it’s Brandon.

It’s Gatsby . A sign God hasn’t forsaken me.

This is it. My chance to scream for help without alerting Butterfly Man.

I don’t have to scream. All I need to do is say, “I’m fine.

Just trying to sleep, Gatsby,” and Brandon will know I’m in danger.

He will get enough help to take Butterfly Man down.

The gun clicks as my stalker chuckles next to my ear.

“As if on cue. The way I see it, you have two choices how this night is gonna end, darling. You either tell him you’re okay and come back to bed so I can give you the pleasure you seek like a good girl or you tell him to come in where he’s gonna get a bullet in his head. ”

As much as I dislike Brandon, he’s only an innocent boy. He’s too young to die. If you use your signal word, he won’t because he won’t engage alone. Marcus, Riley, Dixon and more, if needed, will be with him, too. You hired those men to protect you. Let them do their job.

“Birdie, ma’am?” The doorknob moves several times. “Please unlock the door or I’ll have to break it to make sure you’re safe,” Brandon says uncomfortably.

“What’s it gonna be, my love?” my stalker whispers, sending a chill down my spine.

I stare at the door. Images of Brandon’s face with a hole in his forehead trickling blood jump in my mind, and a sob clogs my throat. Then Butterfly Man’s face, naked but featureless, lies pale and bloody on my bedroom carpet freezes on display.

“I’m fine.” I try to force every ounce of composure I have into my voice. “Just trying to sleep…Brandon.” My shoulders slump in defeat as I swallow the tears threatening to give me away and feign irritation. “Do I need permission for some privacy in my own bedroom?”

The doorknob stills. “Oh, I… Sorry. Of course not. I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“That’s my good girl.” Butterfly Man plants a kiss on my neck and carries me back to bed. He lies next to me and folds an arm around my waist like an invited lover, not a sick man forcing me into submission with a gun. “I knew you’d make the right choice.”

When his hand slides under my gown and between my thighs, I don’t fight. With a mix of dread and exhilaration, with a twisted sense of freedom, I realize I can’t resist the pull of him leaning into the abyss, surrendering to the inevitable.

Later, I’d tell myself I did it to save a young man from dying, but deep down, my stalker and I would know I did it to save him.

Because I want him to kill for me. And because I want him.