What the fuck?
What the actual fuck?
I swear the bathroom door was closed when I stepped in. I know that because I always check to make sure it’s closed. But now, it’s open just enough for me to feel a light cold breeze.
That’s not right. The only way I’d be able to feel a breeze would be if my window is open.
But I always keep it closed. Especially now that I know he is out there. And if the window is open, then that means?—
My heart-rate spikes.
No.
No, no, no!
This can't be happening. That’s impossible! He can’t possibly have beeninhere while I was showering?
But why not?
He's already proven that he can come and go as he pleases in my home. Why wouldn't he be able to stand here in my home?
Was he watching me fucking shower?
I want to scream. It’s one thing to see all of my things be rearranged. To find roses on my bed. To know that he took Serena’s earrings.
It’s another fucking thing to know that he might’ve been here not two minutes ago watching me shower like he has any right to do it.
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
The towel clings to me for dear life, slipping lower each time I breathe. Steam ghosts across the mirror, but the oval smear where I wipe it looks like a mouth trying to shout at me torun.
Gun first, answers second.
I press the towel to my chest and walk over to my desk to grab my pistol. I click the safety off and freeze when I see the single red rose and a note written onmynotepad.
KNOCK, KNOCK, LITTLE VIPER.
- R
A rush of terror, and—God help me—thrill rips through my body.
He was definitely here. He was definitely watching me shower.
But… Is hestillhere?
Then, as if to answer my own question, a loud urgent knock pounds against my door. It’s the same exact knock I heard before I found that box with Ivan Tupolev’s hands inside.
Instinct takes over and I level the gun. The knock comes again, this time driving anger into my marrow.
I’m not fucking scared of you! I don’t care what pathetic little pet you think you’re turning me into. It ends tonight. I’ll make sureyounevertouch me again.
I imagine the look on his face when my bullet hits him between the eyes. Then this nightmare will finally be over. His grip on my psyche and the swirl of his fingerprints still leeching into my skin will finally fade.
That’s when I hear his voice, low and calm, sawing straight through the door:
“I know you’re in there, little viper. Open the door.”
I tremble and tell myself it’s anger, or maybe fear.
