“I played dumb because I didn’t want Herrin getting any information out of me. And I sure as fuck didn’t trust his golden boy son,” I say, and then I groan when he starts laughing under his breath.
“Can we skip this argument just once?” he finally asks, still sounding amused.
“Fuck off,” I tell him before hanging up.
It’s good timing, because she walks out of the bathroom, still naked, after presumably doing various girly things as part of her nightly ritual. I hate that the windowless bathroom hides her from me when she goes in there.
When she climbs onto her bed, she shoves the sheets down, settling in for another nightly ritual I love watching.
In fact, it’s the favorite part of my fucking day and has been for months.
She reaches over, grabs her bright purple vibrator, and I step out of my boxers after pushing them off as I grab the lotion and work it all over my painful hard-on. Leaning one arm against the wall beside my window, I fist my cock in my hand as she goes straight to work.
She runs the vibrator up and down, using her own arousal to coat the tip and prep it for her. Her body starts to move as she teases herself, giving herself the only foreplay she can get without a second party.
I’d kill a fucker if there was a boyfriend in the picture I had to watch touch her. It’s fortunate she’s single.
That vibrator moves inside her, and the little bunny ears at the top start moving doing their own job. I’ve broken in a time or two and studied that vibrator up close, wanting to know each detail about it so I could really appreciate my view at night.
Her back arches as the purple vibrator works her toward orgasm, and my hand pumps harder so I can catch up with her. When her mouth opens to make a sound I can’t hear—but distinctly remember like it was yesterday—as her body arches and her free hand fists the sheet beneath her, pleasure starts at the base of my balls, shooting up my spine, and I explode, shooting my release all over the wall in front of me and not giving a shit.
It joins the rest of the mess I’ve been making for months. I pity the fucker who has to clean it up when I’m finally gone.
After cleaning myself up, I move to my bed in the dark room. The windows have been specially tinted on my house specifically to keep anyone from seeing in without the lights on. They have a reflective surface during the day when the sun is shining.
It makes stalking a little easier. She makes it easy too.
Half the time I want to fuck her. The other half I still want to turn my back the second I know she’s safe.
If she’d told me she was actually going to run that night, I would have gone with her. At least that’s what I tell myself. If she’d have told me every-fucking-thing, I know for certain I would have gone.
But she didn’t.
She gave me half the information and a conversation that sounded hypothetical. Then she fucking left.
And when she was hurting and feeling alone, and finally reached the point where she wanted to call someone and ask them to come to where she was, it wasn’t me she called.
The only time Kara Caine has tried to reach out in all these years was the one time she called her brother.
She didn’t call me.
Doesn’t matter.
I have one job to do that Drex knew I’d never let anyone else handle, and that’s making sure she’s safe from Herrin without uprooting the life she’s made for herself.
So that’s all I’m doing.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Chapter 2
KARA
“I’m going to be running a little late today,” I tell Julia as I park behind the restaurant and hurry toward the street.
“How late?” she asks on an annoyed sigh.
“Not sure. I’m never late, so don’t act like it’s that inconvenient. I have an appointment at nine this morning, and it could be short or long, depending on the news.”
She mutters a curse and snaps at Pauly to get his ass in gear because the eggs can’t cook themselves.
“Fine. Whatever. Just try not to be too late. You know Pancake Tuesdays are the busiest.”
“I know. That’s why I keep pushing for Pancake Thursdays too, because Pancake tips are the best.”
She groans like she wants to kill me, but I love the busy days. The days go quicker and I make a hell of a lot more in tips.
“What’s the meeting about?” she pries. “If you’re thinking about taking that job over at Henrietta’s diner—”
“I’m not,” I butt in, jogging toward the back of the coffee shop and spotting my nine o’ clock sitting in the exact spot I expected, back turned to me as he feigns interest in the paper.