in that house with Grant so that he could take care of the fucking problem.”
I take a step back as Lincoln pushes to his feet, all six foot five of him. He’s a big guy, broad like Ari, his gaze intelligent and assessing.
But there’s no warmth in his expression. No weakness in his posture.
“You should fear the man that has you. He’s not right in the head. And for as much of a bastard that I am, Ari has me beat. He can be a cold son of a bitch when he needs to be, and my only advice to you is to stop testing him.”
He turns to leave, and I want to call out to him. To demand he explain. But it will be as useless as all the demands I’d made of Ari. I’ll be left angry and in the same place I’ve always been.
Stuck in this place. Surrounded by answers I don’t want and a life I wish to forget.
When the elevator dings and the soft whir of the motor lets me know Lincoln is gone, I brace a shoulder against the wall and glance around the penthouse.
My eyes flick over a photograph from my first show, the backdrop my old bedroom with the chaos of color and style, all the crap I’d collected over the years that I threw away or donated when I married Grant.
I miss that room. Miss my old home. Miss a life that wasn’t scheduled into neat blocks of time and didn’t carry the demands of becoming a person I’m not.
Focusing on the shadow standing over me where I lay in bed, I imagine Ari’s face looking down. I wonder how many times that cold son of a bitch, as Lincoln said, was in my house, touching my stuff, reading my journals while stealing my private thoughts.
Obviously, he was everywhere. He knew the train of boys and men I went through in a blur. He knew my habits, my embarrassments, my fears.
He liked them. Wanted them. Wanted me.
But I’m still afraid to go through his place and see the truth of it. Especially now after what Lincoln said.
I’m fooling myself by not digging deeper. I’m letting myself believe this is all just some random thing that isn’t far more dangerous than an abusive, controlling husband.
This is a man who has been stalking me for years. Learning about me. Studying me. And I’m defenseless against him.
He’s a man taking advantage of me in sleep without apology.
And I still have no fucking idea who he is or how he knows me.
It’s enough to freeze any person in place.
So, rather than investigating and freaking myself out even more with the truth, I spend most of my day doing nothing.
Eventually, I find my way to the wall of windows and watch a city move beneath me with no idea I’m staring down at it. I know Grant’s looking for me. I heard his lies on the news. I know many of the people marching around like ants on the sidewalks have heard of the abducted wife, the one who most probably believe is already dead.
Day turns to night as I stare out, lights blinking on all over, my stare locked to a large church front and center to the window where I sit.
What was Ari thinking when he watched me get married? Why didn’t he try to stop me on the day I told him I was getting engaged? Why obsess over a woman only to come rushing in after she’s promised her life to another man?
I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand him.
And I’m not sure I want to.
He wants me to fight, but all I can do is feel sorry for myself. Feel scared. Yet, also hide.
Alone.
I must have fallen asleep while staring outside because I wake up to strong arms lifting me from the floor and carrying me to my bedroom.
Despite all the warnings, I wrap my arms around his neck to cling to the constant shadow that hovers over me.
But when he lays me in bed, he grabs my wrists with firm hands and tugs them from his body.
The bed is cold when the nightmares begin.
The sheets are clean when I wake up the next morning.
Ari
“I take it you didn’t get that asshole on your little excursion.”
My jaw ticks as Lincoln comes strolling into his living room, his eyes locking to mine as I sit hunched over a computer, my fingers tapping over the keys.
“No. I didn’t. He must know