31. Oakley

Chapter 31

Oakley

A s I sit at one of the library's ancient wooden desk, surrounded by towering shelves of books I can't wait to read, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. I really do love working here. It's almost dusk, and the golden light filters through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the room. The musty scent of old books mingles with the faint aroma of my chai tea. My fingers trace the embossed letters on the cover of a worn-out novel as I attempt to focus, but my mind keeps drifting.

A sudden creak of the heavy door pulls my attention away. My heart does an involuntary flip when I see Jeremiah standing there, his tall frame silhouetted against the dimming light.

I'm unable to hide the smile that tugs at my lips. For a moment, the world feels right again. He strides toward me, each step deliberate and confident. His expression is serious, yet there's a softness in his eyes that's reserved only for me. When he reaches me, he gently takes my hand in his, his touch sending comforting vibrations straight to my core. I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"I missed you," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. "I have to leave campus for a bit, but I wanted to see you before I do." He pauses, squeezing my hand. "But listen, we found the person who hurt you."

The words hit me like a tidal wave, washing over the jagged rocks of fear and uncertainty that have plagued me since that night. Relief floods my senses, making my knees weak. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I realize I can finally take a full breath.

"Thank you," I manage to choke out, my voice trembling. "Thank you so much, Jeremiah." I don't ask him who it is, because I'm too focused on how this nightmare is going to finally end soon.

His thumb brushes against the back of my hand, a simple gesture that speaks volumes. "I don't want to be away from you, but I think you understand why I need to be the one to take care of this," he says, his tone full of admiration and a feeling that stirs a longing within me.

"Your biggest qualm about what you're about to do is that you'll miss me?" I reply, attempting a light-hearted tone but failing to mask the emotion in my voice. I want to ask him what he's going to do to the guy, but I don't really need to. He'll kill him, it's just a matter of how. If I know my pretty boy the way I think I do, he'll make sure it's a painful enough retribution for what he did to me.

I lean into Jeremiah, our bodies melding together as he kisses me. His scent wraps around me, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist. I wrap my arms around his waist, seeking solace in his arms.

"Hurry back to me, Rem," I whisper against his lips, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against mine. It's a rhythm that promises safety, something I've never felt with anyone else.

"You know I will," he replies, his voice a gentle rumble. He strokes my hair, each touch sending waves of comfort through me as he groans, dipping his head to kiss me again.

But then, the moment shatters.

"Isn't it inappropriate to be making out while on the clock?" Cindy's snippy voice cuts through the intimacy like a knife. Her tone reeks of judgment, each word dripping with disdain.

I pull back from Jeremiah, my face heating with embarrassment and anger. My eyes dart to bitchy Cindy, standing there with her arms crossed and a smug expression plastered on her face.

I snap back, my voice trembling with barely contained fury, "Do you ever mind your own business?"

"Just saying," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Some of us are trying to work here."

"Seems like you're more interested in watching us than actually working," I retort, my cheeks burning hotter, and I feel Jeremiah's chest bounce with the laugh he wants to let out.

"Honestly, Oakley," Cindy sighs, adjusting her glasses. "It's unprofessional."

"Unprofessional?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Last I checked, you're not my boss."

"You should save the PDA for after hours," she insists, her voice grating on my nerves.

Jeremiah stays silent, allowing me to have my moment, but I can feel the tension radiating from him, coiled and ready to defend at any moment .

"Don't worry about it, Cynthia," he finally says, his voice calm but edged with steel. "We'll handle our relationship. You just focus on your own job. If you have one tomorrow, that is."

Cindy's eyes narrow, but she doesn't say anything more. She turns on her heel and walks away, her footsteps echoing in the suddenly too-quiet library. The fact that she doesn't give him a hard time tells me all I need to know. She's aware that Jeremiah could have her airlifted off campus if he wanted to. I think she realizes that he would do anything for me, including having her fired, maybe even maimed.

"You did good, baby," Jeremiah praises me, kissing the top of my head as I wrap my arms around him, not quite ready to let him go.

"I'm a real shark," I joke, pressing my forehead against his chest. The anger slowly ebbs away, replaced by the comforting steadiness of his heartbeat.

"Hey," he says softly, lifting my chin so I meet his gaze. "Don't let her get to you. She's not worth it."

When we pull apart, I finally ask him, "Are you going to tell me who he is?" The words are barely out of my mouth and Jeremiah is shaking his head in the negative.

"He's nobody. He doesn't deserve for you to know his name," Jeremiah says darkly, his jaw twitching with the anger that's running through him.

All I can do is nod because I trust him and if he thinks this is what's best, I'm going to believe him. What would be the sense of knowing his name? Looking him up so I can see his putrid face? I want to forget what little I do remember about that night.

"I love you, bunny. I was gonna have Ramsey take you home, but they have a game out of town. I've got the water boy coming to be your escort. Do not leave without him," Jeremiah tells me, and I parrot his I love you, meaning every single word. He kisses me quickly before leaving to go handle the man who set my world upside down.

It's almost closing time, and the library is quiet now, the soft hum of the overhead lights the only sound breaking the silence. I move through the aisles, checking that all the books are in place and the chairs are pushed in. The familiarity of the routine is soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos that Cindy always seems to bring to my shifts.

As I make my way back to the front desk, something catches my eye. Cindy's car is pulling out of the parking lot. I roll my eyes when I see her purse, abandoned and forlorn under the counter. Typical. She probably left it behind in her huff. My curiosity piques, and I think about picking it up and looking through it. She's so uptight and snobby, I'm curious how she lives. Is it neatly organized? Or a haphazard mess because she focuses so much on trying to control other people.

I decide to just leave her purse where it is instead of taking it to her dorm when I leave tonight. My luck she'll claim I stole her identity or something. I can't believe she just left me alone to shut and lock up this place. What a bitch.

I'm only a few feet away from the counter when the creak of the main door sounds. Cindy must have realized her bag wasn't with her. I turn slowly, every muscle tensing as I see Mr. Bryant, a teacher from my old high school, standing there. His lips twist up in a smile, making my stomach churn. Definitely not Cindy.

He was always a nice teacher, meek even, from what I remember, but something isn't right. I feel icy dread from all over and my gut is screaming at me that I need to run as far away from him as I can get. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are so much darker than I remember.

"Good evening, Miss Ashford," Mr. Bryant says, his voice dripping with an unsettling tone. He sounds colder, harder, like he's angry at me.

"Mr. Bryant," I reply, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I was just about to head out. My boyfriend is waiting for me." It's half a lie. This is why we're supposed to always have two people closing together at night, but I guess Cindy doesn't care about being unprofessional in this situation.

My former teacher seems to ignore everything I'm saying and steps closer as if I've said nothing. "I've been wanting to talk to you, Oakley. Alone. I've been trying to get a private chat with you for a long time." It doesn't register at first, but then it clicks. He's the viewer I kept blocking for asking for a private cam show.

My heart pounds in my chest. This isn't right. Why would he be here and how did he know about my cam shows? I decide that if he's capable of all of this, there's no guarantee that he doesn't have a weapon on him. I don't know why, but my instinct is telling me that I need to placate him until I can figure out how to slip away. "I'd love to catch up. I'm sure my brother and boyfriend would love to see you again," I say, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. Royce may have disappeared out of my life, but this guy doesn't know that and even back in high school, everyone was afraid of my brother. Except for the Blackwoods.

"Now, Oakley," he murmurs, stopping just a few feet away from me. His eyes gleam with something dark and dangerous. "You see, I've been watching you for a very long time."

"That's...can I ask why?" I manage to ask, taking a step back. My hand instinctively moves toward my phone, hidden in my pocket.

He tilts his head, smiling wider. "I found your little cam shows quite captivating. You have no idea how much joy they brought me."

A wave of nausea hits me. I was right. He knows. He really was the pushy guy who wouldn't take no for an answer. He must have sent the flowers and the creepy pictures. I can't have two freaking stalkers, my karma isn't that bad. "What are you here for? I mean what do you want?" I ask, though my voice wavers now.

"Don't play coy, Oakley. You know exactly what I want from you." His smile fades, replaced by a look of pure obsession. Smirking and reaching out to stroke his hand down my hair, he says sternly, "I was disappointed to see that you threw away the flowers I sent you. Did you know I was the one who sent you them? What about the photos I left for you?"

"You're sick," I whisper as the confirmation slaps me across the face, and I back up further until I bump into a bookcase. The room seems to close in around me and I feel like I'm being strangled.

"Am I?" he asks, moving closer. "Or am I just someone who appreciates beauty? Someone who sees you for who you truly are?"

"Stay away from me," I warn, though my voice sounds weak even to my own ears.

"Why would I do that?" His expression hardens, his eyes boring into mine. "I've waited so long for this moment, Oakley. So very long."

"Jeremiah will be here any minute," I bluff, hoping to scare him off. "You don't want to fuck with him."

"Jeremiah Blackwood," he sneers, the name twisting in his mouth like a curse. "He can't protect you from me. No one can. He's a fuckboy with too much money and sucking on daddy's teat."

"Get out," I demand, feeling desperation clawing at me. "Now."

"Not until I've said everything I need to say," he replies, stepping even closer, "and done everything I need to do to you."

"Please," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Just leave me alone."

"Alone?" He laughs, a chilling sound that echoes through the empty library. "Oh, Oakley. You have no idea how alone you really are."

I grasp my phone tighter, praying for a miracle, for anyone to come through that door. But deep down, I know it's just me and him. And the night has only just begun.

"You're nothing but a little girl, Oakley," Mr. Bryant sneers, his eyes narrowing in disgust. "Running to that Blackwood brat like he's some kind of knight in shining armor."

"Shut up," I snap, the words coming out harsher than I intended. But I can't let him see my fear.

" Oh, pretty boy ," he spits out the name, rolling it around his mouth like its poison. "He's just a boy playing hero. He doesn't even know you, not like I do."

"You're delusional," I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. "You don't know anything about me."

"Don't I?" His laugh is chilling, echoing through the empty library. "I've seen you, Oakley. I've watched you. I know every move you make, every thought that crosses your mind. You're mine, not his."

I clutch my phone tighter, my thumb hovering over Jeremiah's contact. I need to act fast, but I can't let him see me do it.

"He is going to kill you," I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Jeremiah and I...we have something real. Something you'll never understand."

"Real?" He steps closer, his breath hot against my face. "Your so-called ‘boyfriend' is nothing more than a distraction. A toy you've been playing with. But that's all over now. It's time you face reality, my dear."

My heart pounds in my chest, each beat beating against my skull. I can't wait any longer. As he rants, I subtly unlock my phone and hit Jeremiah's number. The screen lights up, and I drop it behind the desk, praying he doesn't notice.

Mr. Bryant slams his fist on the desk, and I jump, thinking he saw what I did, but he's still mid-rant. "Are you listening to me, Oakley?"

I manage a bitter laugh. "The only reality here is that you're a pathetic old man who can't get over a teenage fantasy." I need to keep him angry and talking because the louder he is, the better chance I have of Jeremiah hearing what's going on.

"Watch your mouth," he hisses, stepping closer until his face is inches from mine. "Or I'll make sure your little fuckboy sees what happens when someone gets in my way."

"You're not going to touch him," I say, my voice trembling but defiant. "He'll be here any minute. This is your last chance to walk away."

"Brave words," he mocks, his hand brushing a lock of hair away from my face. "But we'll see how long that bravery lasts once your little hero is out of the picture."

I flinch at his touch, nausea rising in my throat. Every second feels like an eternity, but I hold on to the hope that Jeremiah will come through that door at any moment.

"Until then," he continues, his voice dripping with malice, "you're all mine."

I swallow hard, my eyes darting to the door. The seconds tick by like hours, and the air feels thick with tension. My breath hitches as Mr. Bryant pulls out a knife from his coat pocket. Its blade catches the dim light, reflecting a glint of madness in his eyes.

"You're not going to get away with this," I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Get away with what?" He chuckles darkly, twirling the knife between his fingers. "All I'm doing is taking what's rightfully mine."

My skin crawls at his words. "You were always so nice. What happened?"

"Was I?" He steps closer, the knife now pointed at my throat. "Or was I invisible? A doormat everyone stomped all over?"

I ignore him because I have no idea what he's talking about. "You're wrong about him," I say, though my voice wavers. "He'll come for me."

"Perhaps," he concedes, his smile twisted, "but not before I have my fun."

He grabs my arm roughly and drags me toward a chair. The scent of his cologne—overpowering and sickly sweet—fills my nostrils, making me want to retch. He forces me down, the cold metal of the knife pressing against my skin as he ties my wrists to the arms of the chair. The rope digs into my flesh, abrasive and unyielding.

"Just relax," he croons, tightening the knots. "It'll be easier if you don't struggle. "

"Go to hell," I spit, but my bravado feels thin, like paper against the storm.

"Such fire for a pretty, sweet-looking girl," he mocks, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "It's no wonder you've captured my heart."

"Heart?" I laugh bitterly. "You don't have one."

"Maybe not," he shrugs, "but I do have plans for you."

"Plans?" A chill runs down my spine.

"Yes, plans," he continues, his tone almost conversational. "I've watched you for so long, Oakley. Tick Tock, while I bided my time. Your every move, your every smile. And now, you're finally here with me."

"I'm going to enjoy watching Jeremiah gut you like the spineless bastard you are," I say, clinging to the hope that he's on his way even though I know he's not nearby. I could have called 911, but I'm afraid if they roll up with lights and sirens that this psycho will take us both out rather than be captured.

"By the time he finds you," Mr. Bryant's grin widens, "it'll be too late."

"You're wrong," I hiss, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

"Your defiance is adorable," he says, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. "But it won't save you. Trust me, sweetheart. Nothing will save you from me. I've waited entirely too long."

"Please," I whisper, desperation creeping into my voice. "Don't do this."

"Shh," he soothes, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. "Just let it happen."

My heart races, my mind screaming at me to do something, anything. But with each passing second, the reality of my situation sinks in deeper and deeper. I'm trapped, bound, and at the mercy of a madman.

"Just remember," he murmurs, his lips curling into a sinister smile, "this is all because you chose him over me. I would have quit my job to give you whatever you wanted, but you always wanted him, even back then. Robert Blackwood's heathens were always the bane of my existence. They never had to work for anything, just because of who their daddy is."

I don't even know what to say to his admission. I never realized what a sick, demented man he was, and he's right. All I cared about back then was Jeremiah. I must have missed so many signs, and now all I can do is hope that Rem makes it to me in time.