I locked my bedroom door. I checked all four windows in the room—all locked. At the fourth window, I paused, my eyes darting around in the inky black darkness on the other side of the glass.
I saw nothing.
Specifically, no Van.
But then, if he was out there, I knew he wouldn’t be standing right in front of me, staring back at me through the window pane.
I yanked the curtains closed, and then I stood there, frozen, still fisting the fabric in my hands.
What would he even come here for? If not to kill me?
I wanted him to come f**k me within an inch of my life. His hands felt like they belonged on me back in the alley. I knew what those hands could do, and I’d missed them. Nobody knew what I liked like Van did.
I squeezed my eyes shut. f**k, what was wrong with me?! I should’ve been
