Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Wyn

I shut the bathroom door and sag against it. That conversation with Lucas was intense, and honestly, I just needed a second to gather my thoughts. Gabriel and Lucas' relationship makes so much more sense now, though. Why Gabriel was so angry, and why Lucas always seemed to let Gabriel have his way.

Gabriel was a master manipulator. He could turn anything into a personal affront, and I have no doubt that's what he did with Lucas, making him feel guilty for something that was a genuine accident.

Releasing a deep breath, I push off the door and walk over to the sink. I have a headache blooming, so I open the drawers in the vanity, looking for ibuprofen or something.

In the bottom drawer, I'm fishing around when I come across a brown bottle of liquid medication labeled "sodium oxybate." I blink at it down at it, rereading the label several times.

Is this…GHB?

It is. I looked up the first time my stalker drugged me, and I remember the generic name.

As I hold the bottle in my hand, an idea comes to me. Turning, I find Lucas' dark navy bathrobe and shrug into it, slipping the bottle into the large pocket. Then I open the door and lean against the doorframe.

Lucas is lying naked on the bed, scrolling on his phone.

My heart feels like a jackhammer against my ribs. "Hey, um, do you have any booze around here?"

"There's some whiskey in the liquor cabinet," he answers.

The cabinet is on the far side of the room, next to the fireplace. I wander over there, opening the cabinet, making a show of deciding what to try. This guy has every kind of whiskey under the sun, all expensive bottles that must have cost him a small fortune.

Grabbing two glasses from the shelf inside, I pull the GHB from my pocket and add a generous dose to his glass, then I pour in the whiskey and stash the medication behind the other bottles.

My blood pressure is through the roof right now, and I feel dizzy, like I'm about to pass out. But I struggle to keep my cool as I carry the drinks over to the bed and hand him the one that's been spiked with GHB. He tosses his phone aside and tips his head back, downing the entire drink in one swallow.

Oh. Wow, okay.

I take a sip from my drink, wincing at the strong smoky flavor, and then I set the glass down. "Ugh, that was horrible."

With a chuckle, he reaches forward and tugs on the belt of my robe, pulling me toward him. He spreads the terrycloth open and brushes his thumb over my right nipple. I suck in a breath as a shock of electricity shoots straight to my core.

Dear, God, how long before the drug takes effect?

"Come here," he says, falling back against the pillows. "Straddle me."

I blink at him for a second, then shake my head slowly. "No."

He laughs again but sobers quickly, a dark look crossing over his pretty rich-boy face. "I think we both know defiance isn't going to fly with me."

It's on the tip of my tongue to curse at him. Instead, I take a step back and bite my tongue. Soon the drug will work its magic and when it does, I'll be the one in control. I just need to bide my time.

In the end, he doesn't wait for me to comply. He reaches over and pulls me onto the bed, so I'm straddling his hips. The robe separates us, but I can still feel the bite of his rock-hard shaft pressed against my center.

Then he grabs my hips and forces me to rock back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm that simulates sex. He tilts his head back and releases a long hiss, his grip on me tightening. " Fuck, these hips will be my salvation."

I don't know what that means. I can't even guess. I'm too distracted, waiting for any sign that the drug is working.

And then something shifts, and his eyes widen. He releases my hips and tries to get up, but his movements are slow like his limbs are being weighed down by cinderblocks.

"Wyn," he says through gritted teeth. "What the fuck?"

Grabbing his face, I lean down and whisper, "How does being completely stripped of power feel?"

His eyes flare with anger, and he tries to shift his body again, but he can't. My hand lowers, so it's curled around his throat now, and I squeeze.

He's so much stronger than me, and I realize I'm only in control because of the drug, but still, it gives me a thrill to see this campus god at my mercy.

His head sinks deeper into the pillow as his muscles relax, his mouth open slightly. I'm squeezing his throat, not hard, but I can see the flash of fear in his eyes. He's used to getting his way through brute force. Now, he can't even defend himself. That feeling must suck.

I smile and shift off him. "Whose in control now, baby ?"

His eyes narrow, and a tic pulses in his jaw, but that's the only movement he can manage. Thank God. Because I know he'd rip me to shreds right now if he could.

But with Lucas now at my mercy, I can't help but give into curiosity. You don't walk away from a tranquilized lion without reaching out a shaky hand to touch him first. You may never get the chance again.

Watching his face, I brush my fingers up his solid thigh to the patch of hair nestled between his thighs. His cock juts up, fully erect, and I run the tip of my finger along the underside of his thick, veiny shaft.

My clit pulses, and I swallow.

Inching my fingers higher, I explore his narrow hips, his navel, and the ropes of muscle that outline his torso. It's wild that anyone could be this hot in real life. Lucas might be an asshole, but his body is a work of art—all tanned skin and hard muscle, dusted with flecks of delicate blond hair. And I'm betting he has the same fat percentage as a slab of marble.

Biting my bottom lip, I continue my study of this exceptional specimen, my fingertips sliding over his skin, causing goosebumps to erupt in their wake. His nipples tighten, and his head moves a little, a faint moan escaping from his parted lips.

I pause, watching him. It's too early for the drug to have worn off, but then again, I just kinda guessed on the dosage. So I wait a few seconds, and when he doesn't move again, I carry on with my exploration.

My hand travels across his collarbone, over the swell of his muscular bicep, then down his arm to the mess of boho surfer bracelets he always wears. I'm looking at each one individually, wondering if they have some kind of special meaning when I notice something on the inside of his wrist, partially covered by the bracelets.

It's a scar—a single red line that starts at the base of his palm and runs upward about three inches. I've seen this scar before. On Gabriel. And on the masked man…

No.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I drop his hand like it's radioactive, scrambling off the bed. What the fuck…? I stand there staring at him, trying to make sense of what I just saw, but I can't.

How can two people have the exact same scar?

No, no, no.

I feel nauseous, and my mind fights against what I already suspect. Lucas is my stalker. I mean, it makes sense. He knew Gabriel's nickname for me, they have the same coloring, the same build, and now the scar…

With my mind a jumble, I do the only thing that makes sense—I look for irrefutable proof to confirm my suspicions.

In a frenzy, I search through everything in Lucas' room—his desk, his drawers, his cabinets. I finally find what I'm looking for in his huge walk-in closet. Shoved on a bottom shelf next to his shoes is a black gym bag.

Pulling the bag out into the middle of the closet, I unzip it carefully. Right off the bat, I see a knife, a leather lock-picking case, a black ski mask, and zip ties. Everything my stalker used to get into my apartment and subdue me…

Standing abruptly, I try to pull in a breath, but it feels like a ten-ton weight is sitting on my chest. I can't expand my lungs. It feels like a panic attack coming on.

Could Lucas really do something like this? Why?

My mind is swirling around that thought, trying to make sense of what I just saw, when I hear something out in the bedroom—a click like a window closing.

Oh, my God. Is awake? Already?

Ziping the bag quickly, I shove it back onto the shelf, then make my way back to the bedroom. It's dark and there's a gentle ocean breeze drifting in from the open patio door. That definitely wasn't open before. Maybe the wind blew it open?

From where I'm standing, I can see Lucas lying in the same position I left him in, so I move closer, swallowing past the knot of fear that's lodged in my throat. I'm terrified. This is so fucked up. But as I get closer, I can see Lucas is now unconscious. His head is turned toward me, eyes closed, mouth open slightly.

But on his chest is a white flower.

I stare at it, blinking, convinced I'm seeing things. Stepping closer, I reach out and pluck the fragrant bloom off his chest.

Gardenia.

The same flower my stalker left for me. But how ?

A million questions race through my mind, but before I can even isolate one, a warm puff of breath brushes across the shell of my ear. Ice-cold fear trickles down my spine, and I can't move. I'm trapped inside my own body.

"You still smell like gardenia," a voice whispers harshly, smoothing my hair over my shoulder. I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. "Did you miss me, Pretty Thing?"

Swallowing, I gather every last ounce of strength I have and turn my head, confirming what I already know. There's a dead man holding a knife to my throat…