Wicked Love - Michelle Dare Page 0,82

ball is rolling, and she won’t know what’s about to hit her until she’s right up against the fence. Not literally, more figuratively.

I lean in, inhaling her sweet scent, reveling in the floral perfume she’s wearing. Her hair, long and wavy, I gently twist in my hand, as I ensure her head is tipped backward.

“I suggest you run, little mouse. Run fast.” My voice is drenched in warning before I release her and step back. “Remember, Micaela, Finders Keepers,” I remind her, before I watch her twist and head for the exit of the maze, just behind the cage.

9

Micaela

The shoes I’m wearing aren’t conducive to getting me through the forest and away from Creed, but I ignore the fact that my feet hurt. Thankfully, the ground is hard underfoot, and my steps only crunch the fallen leaves. If this was later in the year, when the snow started, this would be a nightmare.

I spent my life running from assholes who wanted to hurt me, but there is something different about Creed. He didn’t hurt me even though he certainly had enough opportunity, which begs the question as to why he’s doing this.

I can’t deny he’s handsome, breathtakingly so, but he’s also a psychopath, and he didn’t even deny it. He looked like he was proud of it. He reminds me too much of him, of the man I had to leave my home for.

The moon is full, shining down on me, as I make my way through the long tree trunks that loom over me. It’s as if they’re closing in on me, and I won’t have any way to escape. Only the silver light illuminating a path for me is calming my erratic heartbeat.

My stomach is in knots, twisting tightly as I breathe deeply. Thankfully, my father was always adamant I keep fit. Running on the treadmill daily has given me strength to get through this. Even though I’m not at the house yet, I see it, the colorful strobe lights shining up into the sky.

I don’t know how long I run for, but I can see the tree line change from forest to lush, manicured gardens. I’m almost at the house, and my lungs are burning, my heart racing, thudding wildly against my ribs. The taste of freedom is at the tip of my tongue, but even as I see the clearing, I don’t know why I stop. Call it intuition or call it sixth sense, but my feet come to a halt. And then I see it. I see him. The reason all the breath is knocked from my lungs.

The man, tall, dark, and handsome, steps out into the path that leads to the house. A manic grin curls his lips, those same lips I used to want on me, on every inch of me.

Devon McCleary.

“What?” The word falls from my lips in a gasp. My nerves are electric with both adrenalin and fear. He couldn’t have found me. My father ensured I would be safe in Thorne Haven. There is no way Daddy would’ve allowed him to even step foot within a ten-foot radius of me.

“Hello, little girl,” Devon speaks. He used to call me that. It was an endearment I basked in because I was so little compared to him. I was his; he owned every part of me, in every way possible.

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, as anger surges forward. “What are you doing here?” I’m shaking, my hands trembling when I wrap my arms around myself. But Devon doesn’t respond. He merely stalks closer, coming toward me as if we didn’t break up. As if my father isn’t looking for him, wanting him six feet under.

“You know, Micaela,” Devon says, his Irish accent thick, just like Daddy’s. Mine isn’t as noticeable since I was born and raised in New York, but you can tell where my roots lie. “I’ve missed you.” The deep baritone that skitters along my skin causes goosebumps to raise on every inch of my body.

“Devon, why are you here?”

But it’s not the man in front of me who answers. It’s the one behind me. My hunter. “Well, when this beautiful redheaded woman stepped foot inside my town, I wondered what on earth she’d be doing in a place like Thorne Haven.” Creed’s voice is filled with amusement. “And when I did some digging, deep into the dark rabbit hole that your family is, I found out a few truths I was shocked by.”

“Thank you for contacting me,” Devon