used to lose all the time, placing it down somewhere and never finding it again.
My head rolls over the wood, and I stare down the line of cabinets, wondering if I might find all of it stuffed in boxes, bits and pieces of my life like a trail he’s followed for years.
Anger wells inside my heart. Pure. Violent. So damn hot that I can feel it on my skin, beneath my hair. My fingers curl into fists, and my teeth grind together.
How much of my life has he orchestrated? What paths did I run down that Ari had planned for me? Was I just a fucking puppet? My strings tied to the fingers of a stalker and murderer?
Pushing away from the bookshelf, I spin on it like the cabinets have personally offended me. Throwing them all open, I stare at the myriad of boxes and binders, notebooks I recognize as mine, photos, trinkets, little parts and pieces of my life that he’s collected and stored away.
Not giving a damn about the mess I make, I rip it all out, spread it across the floor, begin tearing open the boxes to find all the evidence of just how close he’s been.
I dump one small box to find all my old fake IDs, every one of them. The clatter of plastic against wood a hushed tone until the IDs lay flat with my photos staring up at me.
In another, I found neatly folded journal entries I’d made in the spiral notebooks I wrote in all the time. My private thoughts invaded. All the words scribbled out with hasty ink, the color smeared by the tears I’d shed writing them.
There are photos of me in random places, sometimes with a friend, most when I was by myself.
He’s stolen several articles of clothing, dumped them all in one box together with the panties he took from me on the night of Grant’s company event.
More concert ticket stubs and wristbands for bars come tumbling out of another box. And this is just the beginning of it.
I feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of crap he’s managed to take from me.
One box contains a wallet I don’t recognize, a fake diamond earring jammed into the leather, and I freeze when I remember where I’ve seen it before.
“Oh, my God.”
I’m too afraid to flip open the wallet, but I have to know. Have to see the truth of just how many of my friends who’d left me behind hadn’t been given the actual choice.
Ripping the wallet open, bile shoots up my throat to find Jason Ayer’s ID staring up at me.
He was a fucking abusive creep, but he didn’t deserve to die for it.
But he’d left that night after sitting in my driveway when we fought, and he never contacted me again.
Dropping the wallet, I sit back and run my eyes over all the stuff still tucked away.
How many people did Ari kill because of me?
Would he kill me, too, now that I know about it?
I have to get out of this place, have to get help. And the only way I can do that is to somehow get Ari’s keys. I still won’t be able to access the elevator, but I can unlock the stairs, run down thirty-five flights and beg somebody to help me.
It’s the only way.
With that thought in mind, I stop worrying about the stuff stacked up and hidden away that proves how well Ari knows me. I start looking around the penthouse instead.
I start deciding what will be the best weapon to knock him out and take his keys to escape him.
Having barely escaped a man who is dangerous in his own way, I’m not about to lie down and die for another who is a danger I never saw coming.
Ari
There she is.
Reclining against my headboard, I watch Adeline through my cameras, my laptop balanced on my thighs as she begins tearing through the cabinets to see what other secrets they might hold.
A lot. I’m not going to lie about that. I’ve always had a bit of a problem when it comes to her.
It didn’t take her long to start the process once I’d reminded her she’s trapped, her eyes rounding as she opens box after box, anger staining her cheeks pink as she discovers everything I’ve stolen.
The anger becomes panic the minute she finds the box with Jason’s wallet and earring. I shouldn’t have kept the mementos. It’s stupid to save any evidence that connects me to a crime. But after