Page 5 of Always Watching
Stalking. Okay, yes. I maybe…occasionallystalk Ranen.
This time, it’s not about that. It’s instinct ripping through me and telling me something bad is going to happen. I don’t know if it’s his expression, or the way his eyes double-check the chat before he settles back on his chair with a fake version of his usual smile, but Iknowsomething is wrong.
I know I’ll feel better if I’m close by, even if I’m not going to do anything about it. I haveoccasionallyentertained the idea ofsimply snatching him one night when he comes home late from the grocery store, but I don’t want to dim his light. I don’t want to cage him, even if there’s a huge part of me that wants to keep him.
I’ve been watching him for months, and I’m pretty sure that Ranen Greer was born to be mine.
“Hey, everyone.” His voice spills through the speakers on my phone, and I have to force myself not to glance away from the road too long to watch the way his lips form the words. “I wanted to make the show this week special, since we had some difficulties last time.”
Difficultiesdoesn’t cover the way he’d practically run from the screen, but it’s obvious he’s trying to avoid bringing attention to exactly how affected he’d been by whatever had bothered him. I was probably a little rougher than I should have been with Austin after, but I’m not really used to dealing with emotions like worry and concern.
If it meant I’d spent an hour trying to find out how many ways I could make Austin scream, it wasn’t hurting anyone but a dead man.
Ranen’s voice spills out again, and my knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “You know, I’ve been expecting a shipment of new toys. It got here today, so I thought we could open them together, then put it to a vote to see which one I use. What do you think?” He sounds coy and sweet. Saccharine and seductive. He’s also smart as fuck, because he adds, “I thought it would be fun to lay everything out on the bed behind me. Whoever donates the most can pick which package I open first.”
Something else I admire about him is how unabashed he is about making his body a business. He knows what he looks like—he knows how sweet he sounds when he says things like that. And he knows people are willing to pay entirely too much to feel like they have a place in his life, a place in that room whilehe fucks himself into a whining, whimpering, writhing mess. It’s hot as fuck.
I’m about ten minutes away from his place and he’s already opened two boxes. One is a dildo that seems entirely too big for his own good, though some small part of me feels smug when I realize it’s around the same size as my cock. I don’t have to wonder whether he could take me, because I’ve seen him bounce on a fake dick like his life depended on it, riding it so deep it made his eyes roll back in his head.
When anotherpingof sound spills through the speakers, and he softly thanks the donator before reaching back onto the bed behind him, I can tell the instant something changes. Ranen’s voice goes softer, and there’s a slight tremble to the tone.
“I… what is this?” My eyes flick to the screen, but he has his back to me. I can’t see what he’s holding, andhecan’t see when the door to his left slowly opens.
“Ranen.” I say his name like he can hear me, and something in my chest feels like it’s going to squeeze the life from me. I’ve only seen him do shows with one other person, and he always announces it first.
He can’t actuallyhearme when I shout his name louder and stomp my foot on the gas pedal. I can turn ten minutes into five—I can break my promise not to reveal myself to him.
But as the figure of a man slips into the room and shuts the door behind him, I don’t know if I’m going to be fast enough.
Chapter 3
Ranen
“What is this?” Iask again, more to myself than anything. Someone has a sick sense of humor.
But what I find in the box isn’t funny.
It’s a photo album that’s titled, “The Life of Ranen.” What the fuck?
With shaky hands, I reach into the box and pull out the album. The live feed for tonight’s cam session is long forgotten as I flip it open. In the first photo, I’m wearing a pair of blue joggers and a tight black shirt I’d worn last week—the day before my disastrous cam session. The next picture is me at the grocery store the next day, pulling down a can of tomato soup.
I was obviously oblivious to the photos being taken. Someone is stalking me. I had a feeling that was the case, but I didn’t have concrete proof. This is it. This is what I need to take to the cops so they can do… something.
I look back up to my session just in time to catch someone in my room. Someone in my room? What the fuck?
The intruder has a mask on, so I can’t see his face. All I can make out is the brown of his eyes and what I think is tan flesh before he leaps at me.
I try to scurry back, to get away from him, but he’s too fast. When I turn, trying to reach my window so I can climb down the fire escape, the intruder grabs me by the hair and slings me back across the room. I bang into the wall by my bed and land on the floor in a heap. I hold my wrist that took the brunt of my fall, but still try to scramble away.
I manage to clamber over the bed, and I’m almost to the door but the assailant grabs me again, and with a hand around my throat, slams me onto the bed. The man straddles my chest and pulls his balled up fist back as if to strike me.
To protect my face from any hits, I throw up my arms, trying to fend him off, but he swipes my hands away like it’s nothing, landing a good shot directly to my nose. A sharp cry rips from me just before another hit lands, this time to my mouth. My lips throb and blood coats my tongue.
Even though I’m hurting, I try to fight. My fists land a few times against flesh, but I’m not sure if I hit anything vital. My strikes aren’t very powerful and the man resting practically on my chest is strong.
Punches rain down on me—my face, throat, chest. Anywhere this man can reach, he hits. Blood leaks from my mouth and nose, the hot liquid staining my face and pooling under me. I feel my nose crack and I shout in pain. A backhand lands across my face, and my head snaps to the right… and I’m staring at my live feed.
Yes! My subs can see this! They can help me. I’m not completely helpless. I look over at the camera, hoping my subs don’t think this is some kind of elaborate hoax, and say, “Help! I live—”
