Twisting in his grip, I smacked his wrist to make him to release my hair. "It's not cute when boys pull girls’ pigtails because they like them. It speaks to some serious mommy issues. Maybe you should look into that." I batted my lashes sweetly, then dropped my smile to glare. "Come on, Bree. The air in here is a bit thick on testosterone for my liking."
I stalked out of the house with Bree close behind me, and shockingly, Archer didn't follow. I paused a moment, trying to catch my breath as the door slammed behind us, and Bree let out a low whistle.
"Girl," she said with a laugh, "the sexual tension between you two just made me wet. Please tell me you're planning on riding him like your personal pony. Soon."
I rolled my eyes at her, but couldn't find the words to deny that I'd thought about it. Just once or twice.
"Stop it," I murmured without conviction. "Let's go before the other two stooges get home. I don't think I can handle them right now. At least Archer is easy to be mean to."
My friend snickered and muttered something under her breath about how she'd like Archer to be mean to her. Naked. But I ignored her and popped the passenger door open. I paused a moment, looking back up at the house and second-guessing my plan for Archer. Was I going too far?
But then again, he'd hand-delivered me to the police with evidence of a crime literally in my pocket. Even more unforgivable was his total lack of remorse for derailing my life. So no. Fuck him. He deserved everything he got.
Resolute, I started to get into the car, only to spot something on the seat.
"What the—" I broke off with a small scream when I reached out to move the item. "Bree!"
"What's up?" she replied, sliding into the driver's seat. "Suddenly realized you'd prefer a hot and dirty hate-fuck with Archer D'Ath over a movie with me? I'm shocked."
I shook my head, my hand pressed to my own mouth as I stared down at my seat.
Bree followed my line of sight and froze.
"What... the fuck... is that?" she breathed, sounding just as terrified as me.
I shook my head, crouching beside the car to take a closer look without touching it.
"It's..." My voice was hoarse, and I licked my lips before trying again. "It's a doll."
A Barbie, to be more specific. Or something of that style. Hard plastic, about twelve-inches tall... that in itself was enough to spark fear in someone with mild pedophobia—a fear of dolls—but that wasn't the part that made me want to scream.
Her long hair was pink, and she wore a doll-sized version of sweatpants and a tank top. The leather seat was soaked, a pool of water spread around the doll, and she was totally drenched. Just like I had been last night when Dallas picked me up on the street.
Cold fear washed through me, but it was quickly chased away by blinding fury.
"MK?" Bree asked, her voice quivering. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm wondering whether I can get away with murder," I snarled, snatching up the offensive little doll. "Because I'm going to fucking kill him."
I didn't need to elaborate. It was pretty obvious which him I was talking about as I stormed back into the house. The thumping bass of music provided an angry soundtrack for my steps as I made my way through to the home gym and slammed the door open dramatically.
The smirk on Archer's face when he saw me there was pure satisfaction, and I wanted to claw his damn eyes out.
"I knew you'd be back," he admitted with a smug laugh. He'd been working the heavy sandbag, but as I stalked into the gym, he ripped his gloves off and tossed them down on the mat.
So much adrenaline coursed through my veins that I trembled as I tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. Not a single scrap of remorse reflected back at me, as per usual, and it only drove the inferno of my hate higher.
"You're fucking sick," I spat, throwing the Barbie at his chest. It bounced off his shirt, dropping to the crash mat with a soft sound, and Archer frowned down at it in confusion. "You think this whole stalker thing is funny?" I demanded. "What the hell is your end game here, Archer? What did I ever do to you?"
He gave me an incredulous look, then stooped and picked up the doll. His brows hitched, and my heart seemed to pause. Either he was a really good actor or...
"Madison Kate, this wasn't me," he said with total sincerity. Or so it seemed. That was exactly what he'd say if he was guilty, wasn’t it? Fuck, I didn't know what to believe anymore.
I scoffed. "Bullshit, Archer. Just leave me the hell alone. I'm done. I'm fucking done, do you hear me?" I was screaming by the end of this, but I was past caring. I'd had enough of their games when I didn't even know why they were doing it. At least I'd been clear from day one why I hated the three of them. They deserved my anger, and they damn well knew it.
Archer grabbed hold of me before I could leave again, his huge hands clamped over my upper arms like I'd been caught in a vice. "Madison Kate, I didn't do this." His eyes held mine, searching for something. "You have to believe me."
I just shook my head. I didn't want to believe him because the alternative was so much worse than a stupid prank from my future step-brother.
"Bree?" Archer pushed, not letting me go as he turned his slightly frantic stare to my friend. "You believe that this wasn't me, don't you?"
I shot my gaze over at her, and she gave me a helpless sort of shrug. She was pale, and her eyes were wide with shock. "I kinda do," she said in a small voice, looking at me, not Archer. "I'm sorry, MK. I don't think this was him... It's too creepy. Way too creepy. Didn't your dad confirm that this stalker is real?"
I shook my head again, wanting to deny all of it. Denial was my safe place.
"They could have made him say that," I said with weak conviction. Not even I believed me. "They could have..." I shrugged, tipping my head back to look at the ceiling while desperately fighting back the panic. Because, really, honestly? I knew better. I knew there was no freaking way Archer and his boys were behind this prank. They couldn't be... because they couldn't have known what significance dolls like that had to me.
They didn't know that one had been left on my mother's grave a year after her death. It had been a replica of her looking exactly as she had when I was released from that closet the night she was murdered. Bloody and beaten, her lilac-blue eyes lifeless and flat.
Tremors shook my limbs, and I slipped free of Archer's hold, crumpling to the floor in a puddle of fear and dread.
Archer barked orders at Bree, telling her to stay with me while he called the guys. But what help could they possibly be? This creep had been right here. He'd been inside the property gates, he'd placed that doll in Bree's car just minutes ago.
Holy fuck, he could still be here.
This was real.
I had a stalker.
I could only pray I didn't end up like my mother.
25
Hours later, after giving police statements and repeating my limited knowledge of the whole situation numerous times, I sank down on the couch. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep. Except... I couldn't sleep in my room. Not when I knew this creep had been able to take pictures through my window.