7. Layla

7

LAYLA

The night air hits me like a wet slap—cold, damp, and angry.

I can actually taste my heartbeat as I scramble out of my house and into my car, like my heart just might slip over my tongue and out of my mouth in a similar panicked escape attempt.

All I've taken with me is my red cross-body purse, the thumb drive safely tucked into my bra, and a kitchen knife I impulsively tucked in the front pocket of my hooded sweatshirt.

My hand shakes as I turn the key into the ignition, then I skid over gravel and over-correct when I press on the gas too hard.

Earlier, I amazed myself at how calm I was while figuring out how to outsmart my watcher, first by ensuring his focus when I used tactics trying to break into his system, then subtly recording pleasuring myself to upload.

His system went through routine maintenance reboots—brief windows I observed over the weekend. During this short period, I uploaded the loop directly into the system's local storage via a hidden access point I discovered in the house's network infrastructure, bypassing the main security firewall that my watcher monitors. I figured my striptease would be surprising enough to give me precious time to escape.

Grinning, I imagine the shock he must've felt at the sudden appearance of his victim in barely-there silk pajamas, fondling her breasts. I didn't have to imagine the heat pooling between my legs as I did it or how hard my nipples became when I pinched them, thinking of my invisible watcher on the other side, watching me with hooded eyes.

It turned me on when it should have repulsed me. I actually felt the beginnings of an orgasm when my hand wandered down my stomach, reaching for the ache between my legs.

He could be anyone. A pervert. A greasy, elderly, moth-bitten man. Yet I, the large, scarred man who saved me, all angles, muscle and jagged lines, came into my mind the minute I cupped my breast, and then it never left.

It's him I pleasured myself for .

And holy shit, that is so unlike me.

Maybe that's why I'm out here now, driving as if for the first time,adrenaline shooting out of my hands and throat and into the road ahead.

I'm so consumed by what I've done and who I put myself on display for, that it takes me a full three minutes to figure out if this watcher outfitted my home, he sure as fuck would've put a GPS device on my car.

"Shit!" I pull over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes.

My phone pings the instant I turn the engine off.

"Double-fuck," I hiss.

Clambering out of the driver's side, I pull the SIM card out of my phone then throw both on the ground, stomping on them multiple times .

See, this is why one should never record naked or sexual videos of themselves. The possible repercussions become so mentally all-consuming, you then make stupid goddamned mistakes like me.

With all possible electronic monitoring behind me, I race into the surrounding forest, scrambling over rocks, downed branches, and bushes full of thorns.

I don't hike. My hobbies include napping and reading, so with only my wits about me and a visual map of Greycliff in my mind, I take a circuitous route through the outskirts of town, staying off the path and the full moon to give me guidance.

Within fifteen minutes, I can't breathe. I'm used to computers as my muse, my mouse as my movement, my mind as the ultimate weapon.

But here in the forest, my body is in charge.

And it sucks.

"Keep moving," I heave out to myself, forcing my legs to push forward despite the agony coursing through them as I trek up a sharp incline.

The ground beneath me is treacherous, uneven, threatening to trip me up at every turn. But I have no choice. The fear of what might happen if I stop is far worse than any pain I'm currently experiencing.

The farther in I go, the darker it gets, and I curse my decision to seek refuge in this godforsaken forest. In my haste to escape, I'd failed to consider just how disorientating it would be to navigate through the oppressive gloom. I can barely see a foot in front of me, let alone find my way back to civilization.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid ," I mutter under my breath, my voice shaking as much as my body. Yet, even as I chastise myself, I know I couldn't have stayed where I was. Not with him watching me.

Branches claw at me, tearing at my clothes and scratching my skin. The once comforting chirps of forest creatures have given way to an eerie quiet that leaves me exposed and vulnerable. It's as though the very trees are conspiring, closing in from all sides and trapping me within their suffocating embrace.

My pulse hammers in my ears, ragged breaths escaping my lips. But still, I listen, praying for some indication that I've managed to put enough distance between myself and the man who's haunted my every waking moment for the past forty-eight hours.

"Please," I sob, my voice barely more than a breath as the weight of my terror threatens to crush me.

I was so brave with my hacking skills, so cunning with my erotic idea to escape. Now? Not so much.

But even as the words leave my lips, cold tendrils of fear wrap around my chest. Because deep down, I know that it's only a matter of time before he catches up with me. And when he does...

I force myself not to think about what might happen next, focusing instead on putting one foot in front of the other. It's all I can do to keep moving, to keep fighting for the chance to escape this sudden nightmare.

"Keep moving," I urge myself again, trying to ignore the fear that rises within me like bile in my throat. "You have to keep moving."

And so I break into an uneven run, my body fumbling with exhaustion and terror, my mind filled with awful thoughts of the man who shadows my every step. The invisible man who will soon overtake me.

I hear it.

The sound of a twig snapping not too far behind me. The knowledge that he's out there, relentlessly pursuing me with his uncanny tracking skills, sends relentless shudders into my bones. The fear grips me tighter, making it hard to even wheeze.

My legs grow weaker by the second. Panic threatens to consume me entirely. My mind is a jumbled mess of thoughts, a jumble of emotions crashing against each other like waves upon the shore. But above all else, I feel betrayal—the bitter sting of my smarmy supervisor who put me in a position where I'm being hunted down like prey.

It has to be that, doesn't it? The thumb drive, now coated in sweat, shoved in my bra is the culprit of all this.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm being observed even now, hunted for entertainment, and that every step I take only brings him closer to capturing me.

"Stop!" I cry out, my voice breaking with exhaustion. "Just leave me alone!"

The shadows seem to come alive around me, reaching out with sinister intent as if urging their phantom to claim his prize.

I whimper, feeling my strength waning and my resolve crumbling.

"Please," I whisper one last time, tears streaming down my face as the moon becomes trapped behind clouds the minute I find a clearing. "Someone help me."

There's no answer, only the oppressive weight of the forest trapping me in my own terror. The isolation is maddening, making me question if perhaps I'm imagining it all—if the threat of pursuit is nothing more than the product of my own fractured mind.

"Am I going mad?" I murmur, my breath hitching as fresh tears pool in my eyes. "Is this what you want? To drive me insane with fear?"

A sudden, deliberate snap of another twig shatters the stillness, and my heart leaps into my throat. Every muscle in my body tenses, preparing for the inevitable confrontation. The surrounding shadows seem to shift, and I squint, trying to discern any movement in the murky darkness.

"You poor thing," said a voice cold and smooth as ice, so close I can practically feel his breath on my neck. "I'm already here."

My skin erupts in goose bumps, and I whirl around to find him standing just inches away, his light-dark eyes boring into mine under strands of thick, ebony hair.

Then the clouds part, and the puckered scar on the side of his face glows, his cheekbones curved like a skull when the moonlight touches them.

A broken whisper comes out of my throat. "It's you."

He chuckles, a low and dangerous sound that echoes through the night air. "You're brave, Wraithling. I'll give you that. But courage won't save you."

"Is that a threat?" I ask, my voice wavering despite my desire to keep it steady. "You saved me once only to kill me on your terms?"

"Consider it a warning," he replies softly, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're not safe. And running away from me won't change that."

"Then I guess I'll have to find safety elsewhere," I declare, rebellion burning bright within me now that I've caught my breath.

He hesitates for a moment as if considering his options. Then, with a sigh, he steps aside, granting me passage onto the logging road appearing behind him.

It could be a trick. After all the effort he put in, he shouldn't let me go so easily.

I take a look behind me, then turn back to the front. I've proven I'm no wilderness expert. If I run back the way I came, I'll end up in the same position. The logging road looks much better traveled.

Swallowing, I tuck my hand inside my hoodie's pocket. "I have a knife."

He cocks a brow.

"And I'm not afraid to use it if you try to touch me when I walk past you."

A ghost of a smile plays across his lips. "Noted."

As I sidestep around him, his eyes follow me. Even in the misty air, his gaze shines like he's seen too much and experienced so little when it comes to human emotion.My breath catches. A muscle in his jaw ticks. The clearing shrinks, air thinning. My skin prickles, hyperaware of the bare inches between us. I force my feet to move one step, then another. Even with my back turned, I feel the heat of his gaze searing my spine.

I stripped for you , I almost say, until my brain tells me to choke on those words before ever allowing them out.

Once at a safe distance, I hurry down the road, enjoying the taste of freedom, as fleeting as it is.

"You're good."

His words stop me. I turn, showing him my profile so he can't see my puzzled expression.

"At what you do," he continues. "A rare few have ever managed to keep me so occupied."

My throat works as I force myself not to shudder. "You're just trying to scare me. You're nothing but a psycho, breaking into my home, watching me, studying me, and probably jerking off as you watch me undress. It's you who wants me in a cage."

He doesn't flinch. "If I wanted you in a cage, you'd already be there. Tied up and at my mercy."

I recoil, disgust and— arousal— warring within me. This man, he scares me, but I can't deny the thrill of the unknown that comes with being in his presence.

"Then why aren't I?" I ask. The question is bold, but my voice is barely above a whisper.

"Because," he says, prowling closer. "You're not my prisoner. You're my lure. And I need you exactly where you are."

"Lure?" I repeat, confused.

"Yes," he says, his voice low. "I want to keep you until Morelli can't resist coming for you himself. Until then, I will own you."

"You're sick," I spit out, trying to keep my voice steady. "And I don't know why I'm still talking to you."

His chest rumbles before he moves so fast, he seems to teleport into my space and catches me mid-spin, preventing me from going anywhere. It's an amused sound that sets my nerves on edge.

"Admit it. You're curious. You want to know more about me."

"I don't want to know anything about you," I grit out, trying to wrench out of his hold.

He matches my backward dance, keeping our unnerving proximity to each other. "That's not true. You're drawn to me, just like I'm drawn to you."

"I'm sickened by you," I say, but my voice is weaker this time. "I'm afraid of you."

He reaches out with his free hand and brushes his fingers against my cheek. And instead of flinching, my lips go slack under his touch. "But fear can be so exhilarating, can't it? The rush of adrenaline, the pounding of your heart. It's been a while since I've felt that. But watching you experience it. Fuck, it's like an entirely new high."

I push his hand away in a surge of anger.

"You need help," I repeat. "And it won't be from me. "

"Is that so?" he says, his eyes gleaming with his own personal vendetta. "By now you realize the mistake you made. That strip-tease you did for me, you thought it was enough of a ruse to allow you to escape. Instead, all it did was mark you as mine. I've seen you, Wraithling, and I want all of you now."

A panicked noise comes out of my throat, one I've never heard before, but I wriggle enough to get out of his hold and stumble into a run.

His laughter follows me, carried by the wind, caressing my cheeks with the damp air.

No. My cheeks aren't wet from the atmosphere.

My hand comes to my face to confirm, puffs of air bursting out of my mouth as I sprint down the dirt road.

The tears burn trails down my face, each drop a shining scream of rage—at him, at myself, at this new life I never knew I had to fear.