Page 23 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Birdie

The silence that follows is a noose tightening around both our necks.

Since I saw Butterfly Man’s first sick note on my pillow, I’ve wanted to prove something to the deranged man who thought he owned me. I wanted to show him he didn’t.

Now, I end up with two of them.

“Tristan, I have to post that video we talked about. It’ll temporarily discredit Blake and buy us some time, giving us a chance to tell Butterfly Man he can’t touch Blake, until we figure out what to do.”

My bodyguard laughs incredulously. “Tell your stalker he can’t kill your husband now? What the hell, Birdie? He’s not your personal hitman. He’s a lunatic murderer who operates on his own psycho whims. I’m pretty sure you can’t just send him a memo to reschedule.”

I’m too angry to respond to the sarcasm. “Butterfly Man doesn’t kill on a whim. He does it for me. If he finds out about Shane, about Blake’s blackmail, he won’t kill him. If anything, he may come up with something that will help.”

“You’re not meeting your stalker, Birdie. End of story.”

“Do you not realize the kind of danger I’m facing? If anything happens to Blake, and that app sends whatever fucked-up story he plans to expose, I’m done. Everything I’ve ever worked for, my freedom, my life, is at stake, Tristan. I must update Butterfly Man on the situation or I’ll lose it all.”

“I can’t put you in danger!”

“Do you have another solution?!”

Tristan runs his hand through his hair. “That app… I think I might have a way to find it, and when I do, I’ll destroy the message.”

“ Might is not good enough, Tristan.”

“I will find it.”

“How? You don’t even know where Blake is.”

“You said he’s in Florida, and he’ll stay there. A coward like him won’t come back here, not after what happened to your assistant. I’ll track him down from that prison visit. Junkies are the easiest to find, Birdie.”

“You’ll go there yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me post that video and take me with you. We find both Blake and Butterfly Man and end this once and for all.”

Frustration etches across his face. “You’re asking me to put you face-to-face with a serial killer. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I hear a woman desperate enough to consider every option, even the unthinkable.”

“This is insanity.”

“No, insanity is sitting here doing nothing while my life implodes!” I push past him and walk deeper into the woods.

“Where are you going?” Tristan demands, following close behind.

“Away from here. Away from you telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“Birdie, wait.”

My steps widen. “Don’t follow me.”

“I’m your bodyguard. Following you is literally my job description.”

I spin around, fury shaking my voice. “Then guard me from a fucking distance.”

I head down the narrow footpath that leads away from the clearing.

The afternoon sun filters through the dense canopy of trees surrounding our hideaway, creating dappled patterns on the forest floor.

The thickets close in around me as I walk, wild berry bushes catching at my clothes.

I push deeper into the woods, away from the cabin that has become both sanctuary and prison.

Tristan’s footsteps crunch behind me, maintaining a distance but never straying too far. His persistence only fuels my anger. I take a deep breath of the pine-scented air to calm the storm inside me.

The ocean’s distant roar grows louder as I unconsciously head toward the hidden beach cove. Maybe the crashing waves will drown out the noise in my head, the constant fear that has become my unwanted companion.

I pause at a fork in the path, the trees opening slightly to allow more sunlight through. A flutter of movement catches my eye—something out of place among the static green of the forest.

Squinting into the dense part of the woods, I listen. Nothing.

“Tristan?” I call out, confused. He should be behind me, not off to the side.

No answer.

Then—there it is again. A flash of dark fabric between trees.

My heartbeat quickens. I scan the surrounding forest more carefully, piercing through the layers of foliage with my gaze.

A gasp chokes in my throat when I realize I’m not alone. About thirty yards away, partially concealed behind a massive pine tree, a figure in a dark hoodie stands perfectly still. Even at this distance, I can make out the grotesque print on the mask covering his entire face.

A butterfly.

My blood turns to ice. “Tristan!” I scream, stumbling back on my feet.

The hooded figure steps fully into view now, tilting his head as if curious. The butterfly mask catches the light, its intricate patterns somehow more terrifying in daylight.

I turn and run, no longer caring about the path, just putting distance between myself and the nightmare made flesh. Behind me, I hear Tristan shouting my name, the confusion in his voice telling me he hasn’t seen what I’ve seen.

I crash through ferns and low-hanging branches, the sound of my own panicked breathing drowning out everything else. Sharp thorns from berry bushes tear at my arms as I push through, but I barely feel the sting.

A quick glance over my shoulder, and my heart nearly stops. The hooded figure is following, his movements eerily smooth as he navigates the forest.

“He’s here!” I shout, hoping Tristan can hear me. “Butterfly Man is here!”

I trip over an exposed root, stumble, but manage to keep my footing. The path slopes sharply downward now, leading toward the hidden cove. If I can reach the beach, the open space will give me nowhere to hide, but at least I’ll be able to see him coming.

The trees thin out ahead, revealing glimpses of grey sky and the ocean beyond. Almost there.

The sky thunders, and rain pours out of nowhere. Something catches my ankle. A hand? A branch? I don’t know, but I’m falling, tumbling down the last section of the slope, loose dirt and pine needles sliding with me.

The roar of waves is now deafening, yelling over my screams. Dazed, I roll over, spitting wet dirt from my mouth. Then a shadow falls over me.

I look up, heart hammering in my chest. The butterfly mask stares down. My stalker has found me. Butterfly Man has come to claim what is his.