8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Kayla

Three hours later, I'm exhausted, beyond annoyed, and still haven't taken that shower or had that cup of tea. The police are tracking dirt all over my floor as they move around the house and have yet to come up with anything useful.

All the doors and windows were locked, and there are no signs of forced entry. As far as I can tell, they didn't steal anything. My electronics and the few pieces of jewelry I own are all still here. The police even had me check my clothes to see if anything was missing, like my underwear—which is disturbing to think about—but nothing seems to be gone.

I don't get it.

What kind of burglar doesn't take anything? What kind of person enters someone's home to leave flowers behind?

Bluebells. All the flowers were bluebells. How fucking poetic.

Is someone trying to welcome me to Bluebell Springs? Or is it a threat? I've only been here for two days. I don't know anyone outside of work. The only person I've had a conflict with was Laurel, and I don't see her doing this.

Watching the deputies wander around aimlessly, I rub the bridge of my nose and let out an exasperated sigh. They took the vase to check it for prints, but I can already tell they won't find any. Whoever did this wouldn't be so stupid to leave fingerprints behind, not with how they entered and left the house without a trace.

Amy's words about locking the door ring in my ears, but this time, I'm not laughing. I need better locks.

The sheriff approaches, and I already know what he's going to say before the words leave his mouth. "There are no signs of forced entry, Ms. Reynolds. Are you sure it wasn't just a friend stopping by? Or someone welcoming you to town? The flowers are bluebells," he points out like I'm stupid.

"No one has the keys but me and my landlord, and he's abroad right now," I explain for the fourth or fifth time. "Someone must have picked the locks to get inside."

Sheriff sighs. "That is certainly possible. Or made a copy of the keys while the real estate agency had them. But since nothing was taken, I wouldn't think much into it. This town is full of good, law-abiding people. No serial killers," he adds, grinning as if he just made a hilarious joke. "I'd recommend you change the locks. If you feel unsafe, I can leave a cruiser stationed in front of your house. They'll keep an eye on things and make sure there aren't any more pranks."

Pranks? Seriously? How did this incompetent idiot become the sheriff? I want to scream at him, but I hold back since he already thinks I'm overreacting. As if there's such a thing as overreacting when it comes to a stranger invading your home. "That would be great, thank you." At least they'll find my fucking body faster when I get murdered in my sleep.

I should probably be scared out of my mind, but right now, I'm just angry. At the sheriff and his gaggle of idiots, but also at the person who came into my house.

How dare they?! They ruined my good mood. Now I'm tired, hungry, and still haven't had that shower I desperately need, just because some asshole thought it'd be funny to break into my house and mess with me.

I'll be afraid later, when I'm alone here, but right now, I'm livid. And I need to get these damned cops out of my house before I start screaming at them. Fortunately, they leave quickly, the sheriff promising to keep me updated on the case.

One car remains behind, parked by the curb. The two deputies inside look bored out of their minds already. It's probably a good thing they can't have phones while on duty, because they'd be glued to them the whole time.

I'm tempted to scream out, just to see if they'll come running over or ignore me, but I stop myself. There's no need to piss them off. Besides, I might not like the result of that little experiment.

I shut the curtains on all windows, including the ones facing the patch of trees in the back. Is that bastard out there, watching me? Laughing? I flip the trees a finger before shoving the last curtain closed. There. They can watch the stupid floral pattern now.

I set the biggest kitchen knife I have on my nightstand. If the bastard comes back, I'm totally stabbing them.

The hot water washes away some of my anger, but it's not a good thing. Fear creeps in instead, sending shivers down my spine as I towel off. The bathroom has a frosted window, and I pulled the curtain over it too, but I still feel eyes on me.

I clench my fists to stop them from shaking, then scowl at my reflection. "I'm not afraid," I tell myself, steeling my voice. "I'm not fucking afraid. This is my house. My life. I will not let some manipulative asshole ruin it."

The pep talk works until I get into bed and turn off the light. Every time I close my eyes, I hear a rustle that jerks me awake. My mind is reeling, conjuring vivid images of someone breaking in and murdering me in my sleep. Or worse.

I toss and turn for long hours, and the rising sun finds me in the kitchen, downing my fourth cup of coffee just to keep my eyes open.

I fucking hate this person, and I hope they die a terrible death!

Ethan

Guilt tugs at me as I watch my bunny pace her living room in the middle of the night, a knife clutched in her hand. She's scared, and it's all my fault. I mean, I knew she would be scared, but actually seeing her flinch at the slightest noise makes me feel like an asshole. A manipulative asshole, that's what she called me. Not that I was paying attention to her words at the time, too distracted by her beauty.

Her flawless umber skin glistened with moisture from the shower she had just taken, her wild curls dripping water onto the floor. Even without makeup and her fancy clothes, she still looked as beautiful as the first time I saw her, if not more.

My painfully hard cock jerked as I watched the camera feed and couldn't help but stroke myself, my motions becoming faster and rougher as she lathered lotion all over her body. When she bent over, presenting me the lush curves of her ass and her pussy, I exploded on the spot.

Fuck, she's so perfect! I don't know how much longer I can keep myself from going to her place and touching her. I've already ordered the drugs I'll need to give her to make sure she sleeps through the night, but I still have to figure out how to administer them without alerting her and, more importantly, without risking an overdose.

She doesn't keep much food at home and has either ordered food from a local restaurant or made herself a simple sandwich for dinner every night so far. There's no way for me to drug her food without her noticing. Her fridge only has some basic ingredients: a few yogurts, bottles of water, milk, and orange juice.

I contemplated using the orange juice, but there's no way to tell how much she'll drink each evening, if any. I need to use something she ingests regularly. I guess I'll just have to keep watching her every day until I figure something out.

Oh, what a hardship, I think with a grin as I replay the shower footage. As I watch her wash herself between her legs, my stupid cock gets hard again, even though I've already jerked off four times tonight. This obsession is worse than being a horny teenager.

The only thing dampening my excitement is the exhaustion and fear in Kayla's eyes. That's my fault. I need to somehow convince her she's safe. That I'd never hurt her. That I'd protect her with my life. Right now, Kayla's house is the safest place on earth. Too bad she doesn't realize it.

How do I calm her fears?

I think about bringing her gifts. Everyone likes gifts. But I don't know her well enough to pick something good, something perfect for her. What does she like? What does she crave? I've stalked her socials back and forth and didn't find anything other than her sharing cute horse videos, accompanying them with heart-eyed emojis.

She likes horses, I guess? I could get her a horse, but what would she do with it in her tiny house? I chuckle as I imagine her face if she walked into her living room and found an actual horse. I'm almost tempted to do it just to see her expression.

No, gifts won't do it right now. She'd just freak out and call the police again. I'm not afraid they'll find out it was me who broke into her house or find the cameras I left behind, but I didn't like them being there.

Watching men walk around her house, touching stuff they had no business touching, made my blood boil. The only man allowed inside Kayla's house is me. Only I can touch her things; only I can touch her . Well, not yet, but soon.

I don't want the police back, and oddly enough, I think that neither does she. The stupid fuckers brushed her off, anyway. If I really were someone set on hurting her, their negligence would have gotten her killed. It's a good thing she has someone watching out for her.

I turn my attention back to the live feed and watch Kayla lifelessly wade through her morning routine, stifling one yawn after another. Her clothes are much more conservative today and cover almost all her beautiful skin, as if she were trying to hide from the world.

"There's no hiding from me, Kayla," I murmur. Running my fingers over the screen, I imagine I'm actually caressing her cheek. "I'll always be here. I'll always watch. Now, I need to figure out what makes you tick. What is your passion? What do you desire? I'll bring you the stars and the moon. I'll bring you the heads of your enemies. Just say the word, bunny."

She doesn't say anything, though, just eats her yogurt in silence, then leaves for work. Once again, she leaves the cup on the table.

I roll my eyes. It looks like I'll be taking a detour before going to my office.