“I thought you were different. That you saw me. But you’re just like everyone else—you can’t see past my condition. Well, I might not be able to recognize faces, but I know an asshole when I see one!”
And with that parting shot, Taylor turned again and walked as fast as she could without running down the hall.
But her heart broke when she got to the stairwell . . . and he hadn’t come after her.
The door closed behind her, and the first tear fell.
Eagle had just broken her heart, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get over it. Over him.
Eagle stared at his closed door, adrenaline still pumping, and ran a hand through his hair.
What had just happened?
When he’d heard Taylor had been in an accident, he’d almost lost it. He hated that he hadn’t been there, that she hadn’t called him.
He barely remembered what he’d said, but he’d never forget her words to him.
He had been an asshole, but he’d been so worried about her. He’d seen too many crime scene photos of the aftermath of women not being smart about their safety. Pictures of mutilated and tortured women who’d trusted the wrong person. And the thought of Taylor ending up like that had made him lose his mind.
He needed to go after her, apologize, try to explain, but if he chased her down now, she wouldn’t listen. Not that he could blame her.
“Fuck!” he swore, feeling sick inside. He’d fucked up. Big time. Now might not be the best time to talk to her, but he couldn’t wait until tomorrow to say he was sorry.
He strode over to the kitchen counter, where he’d left his phone after he’d texted Taylor earlier, and picked it up.
He quickly typed out a text. He’d meant for it to be short, but once he started typing, he couldn’t stop. There were errors throughout his apology, but he didn’t bother to correct them.
Eagle: I’m sorry. I didnt mean anyting the way it sounded. I was worrid about you. I obviously did a shit job of letting you know that. I shouldve hugged you and said I was glad you were all rigt. You arent stupid. Shit, you’re smarter than anyone I know. I’m the stupid one. Please, forgive me, let me mke this right. I see you, flower, and the person I see is the strongest person I know. I AM an asshole. Please let me know you got home safely.
He hit send and closed his eyes. He literally felt sick to his stomach. He knew Taylor’s past. Knew how she felt about being belittled because of her condition, and he’d gone and done just that. In his defense, he’d been freaked out and worried, but that certainly wasn’t the impression he’d given.
He went back to pacing. What if she refused to talk to him again? What if she decided she didn’t want him in her life at all?
Eagle wasn’t normally a man to panic. His experience as a Delta had pretty much beaten that emotion out of him—but he was panicking now.
He needed Taylor in his life. Couldn’t imagine not talking to her every day.
Somehow he had to make this right, but at the moment, he didn’t know how.
“Shit!” he yelled and slumped into one of his recliners. He held on to his phone with a tight grip and prayed she’d text him back soon and let him know she was home.
Brett sat in his basement and stared at the picture of Taylor Cardin’s insurance information. He’d had so much fun this evening. He chuckled at the name he’d given her. Thanatos. She probably had no idea that it meant “he who brings death.” Brett figured it was appropriate.
It was time to step up his game.
He had a lot more “random” encounters in mind for his Taylor.
He definitely wasn’t happy that she had a boyfriend. That would make things a bit tougher for him. He’d assumed no one would notice when she disappeared. That he’d have plenty of time to play with her, then bury her body in one of the many state parks around Indiana. But if the guy she was seeing filed a missing person report, it could drastically cut into his time to do everything he wanted.
No. Fuck that.
Taylor was his.
No one would know he’d had anything to do with her. She wouldn’t be able to describe him to her boyfriend. He’d seen her with a man once or twice, but for some idiotic reason, he’d never suspected they were dating. He’d just have to be more careful, make sure he was never seen by the man and that his interactions with Taylor were strictly when she was by herself.
Brett would be fine.
He knew there wouldn’t be a problem this weekend when he showed up at the Dementia Senior Care Center that she visited every Sunday. She was always alone. She stayed for three hours, then left. He’d already visited the disgusting place himself earlier that week and gotten the lay of the land.
It was just another step in messing with little Taylor’s head. He couldn’t wait, once she was in his clutches, to let her know all the times their paths had crossed.
Looking behind him at the cot he’d set up for her, Brett smiled. He could picture Taylor there in his shackles. She’d cry and beg for him to let her go—they all did—and he’d let her think that was his plan, but there was no way she was going anywhere.
He could almost feel his hands wrapped around her neck, her breaths stopping. Her eyes would bug out as he choked her—she’d thrash under him, but she wouldn’t be able to escape. He’d choke the life out of her—then breathe it right back in. Make sure she realized he had complete and full control. She’d be terrified . . . and it would be delicious.
Brett’s dick hardened. He stood from his desk and went over to the cot to lie down. He unzipped his pants and took out his cock, turning his head to look at his pictures as he masturbated. The eleven faces of the other women he’d played with looked back at him from the wall. Soon, he’d have lucky number twelve. Taylor. She’d know what was in store for her when she saw those pictures, and he’d revel in her fright.
He got off on the terror his guests experienced. He decided how long they would live and when they would die. Nothing was better than having that control. He had none in his real life, so he’d take it here in his basement world.
His excitement over what was coming was too much to think about, and Brett exploded all over his hand.
“Donald?” he heard his mother call out from upstairs.
He scowled in disgust. Donald was his father, who’d been dead for over two decades. He hated that his mother was so pathetic. But he couldn’t kill her. One, it would bring him no satisfaction; she wouldn’t even understand what was happening. And two, he needed her social security and disability checks.
He’d keep the old bitch alive for as long as possible, and in the meantime, he’d take his enjoyment where he could get it.
After zipping up his pants, Brett wiped his hand on the cot and then stood, liking the thought of his Taylor lying on his come. With a satisfied grin on his face, Brett headed up the stairs to deal with his mother. He’d give her some drugs to knock her out, then he could come back downstairs and fantasize about seeing Taylor again.
Chapter Eight
Taylor could barely open her eyes the next morning. They were swollen from crying all night. She’d only slept in snippets; nightmares kept waking her up.
She leaned over and picked up her phone and reread Eagle’s text . . . and knew that she’d overreacted. Yes, his words had upset her, but instead of admitting it, and talking with Eagle like an adult, she’d said things she hadn’t meant, then run away like she was ten years old.