The arrogance drips off her. She’s so proud of herself, so busy basking in this little victory that she doesn’t even realise the scale of what she’s done.
And then it clicks.
The broadband technician from a couple of days ago. Unbelievable! I let her in. I fuckinginvitedher through the door.
I really am losing my edge.
“My friend, Darcy Miller. Have a little obsession with her, do you?”
You have got to be kidding me.
“I’ve watched you watching her. I’ve seen the way you follow her around, and I heard you talking about kidnapping her. So, what was in the bag? Your kidnapping kit? Is that what you were doing when I caught you? You sick pervert.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done—”
“Oh, I knowexactlywhatI’vedone. I’ve protected my friend from a predator.” The cat stretches in my lap, still purring incessantly. She scowls, snatching it from me and drops it in the other room.
She thoughtIwas the one trying to kidnap Darcy? Christ. Someone really didn’t do their homework.
“Let me guess,” I say, voice low, teeth bared more than smiling. “She’s not answering your calls, is she? Gone quiet?”
The flicker in her expression is all the confirmation I need.
“Well then. If that isn’t poetic justice, I don’t know what is.”
She hasn’t just put her friend in danger—she’s practically served her up. And if I’m right, she’ll be next on their list. They always move onto their next victim quick, and nine times out of ten it’s always someone close to their last victim. And in Darcy’s case, this girl, I believe, might be her closest friend.
“No,” she says, but her voice is hollow, the start of a denial that doesn’t even convince her. “She’s just… busy.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t stalking her. I was protecting her. And thanks to your little head-thumping ambush, you’ve just handed her over to something that’ll haunt your dreams.”
I watch the colour drain from her face. That smug, self-righteous shine vanishes in a blink. Good.
“I don’t believe you,” she says, though it’s more reflex than certainty. “I saw you. You’re seriously expecting me to think you weren’t following her?”
“Oh, I was following her. Closely. And I was two seconds away from taking the shot that would’ve saved her life. And you? You took me out, right before the moment that mattered.”
Her breath hitches.
“You’ve been playing vigilante with half a story and a bat. Meanwhile, there’s a whole operation hunting her down—and now they’ve got her. Because ofyou. So, congratulations. You didn’t just catch the wrong guy. You handed her over.”
She leans in, eyes narrowed, scanning my face like she’s hunting for cracks. A scowl tugs at her mouth, but she doesn’t speak. Instead, she shifts slowly and raises a wooden rolling pin into view, its surface dark and sticky with dried blood.
My blood, most likely.
The grip she has on it isn’t hesitant. It’s practiced. Steady. Suddenly, it’s not just an improvised weapon—it’s a statement.
“Wait here.”
Like where the hell else am I going to go?
The moment she turns her back, I make a half-hearted attempt to shift the chair—not that it gets me anywhere. Until I can wriggle free of these overachieving knots, I’m about as useful as a rug.
From the doorway, the cat watches. Judging me with those devil slit eyes.
It waits precisely until she leaves the room before sashaying back in, tail held high like royalty returning to court. It hops onto my lap—its throne, apparently—and settles in with a purr that sounds downright smug.
Perfect. Held hostage, and now I’m a cushion too.
