Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,74

sucked in more air to explain why. To tell him how he made me feel safe, even amidst all the danger that surrounded him. How I wanted to be close to him in a way I had with only one other man. I wanted to share what that other man was. Not who he was, what he was. Because, when I did that, he’d understand what this meant.

But he didn’t give me time for that.

For anything.

He snatched the back of my head and yanked my mouth to crash against his. We were teeth, tongues, violence.

Bitter metal filled my mouth. Blood. Whose, I didn’t know. There wasn’t time to decipher. Distinguish.

There wasn’t time for anything but Saint.

Chapter 15

“She was sleeping alone. The man did not stay over. Did not care enough to protect her. That was his mistake. And he made the most of it. Doors unlocked, he slipped in. Her bedroom smelled of sex and whore’s perfume. He didn’t like that. But it was okay. The blood would soon fill up his senses.”

I didn’t know what woke me up. It wasn’t a nightmare. For once. But it was some kind of internal warning system. Though it was a little late since it waited until the person was standing over my bed, watching me sleep until it woke me up.

I didn’t jerk, or scream. Out loud, at least. Everything inside me was screaming, clawing at my insides. Panic clenched my throat, but a clarity settled over me. I couldn’t lose it here. That would achieve nothing.

“What do you want?” My voice was even, calm, controlled.

The figure jerked. I didn’t know if they weren’t expecting me to wake up, or sound so reasonable. Whatever it was, I caught them off guard.

“I’m your biggest fan,” they whispered.

My body tensed.

I’d heard that before.

Of course I’d heard it before. Everyone liked to think they were the most obsessed with the cult of Magnolia Grace. There were summoning parties for the family of Keke Gilead, who were murdered when their daughter summoned the devil. There were spell books, outlining every curse Angela Jericho cast on those that wronged her. People didn’t want my books to die at the end of the last page. So, they created ways to keep them alive.

That didn’t bother me. Not in the slightest. It pleased me. I was hungry to see how far my “biggest fan” would go to prove their dedication.

But at a distance.

This was too close.

Not just literally. But it brushed against something else.

“Can I turn on the light?” I asked, voice still scary cold, calm. “So I can see my biggest fan?”

A pause. I was still adjusting to the lack of light, to an obviously deranged stranger in my space. That meant I didn’t know if he—I was pretty sure it was a he, even though his voice was high, raspy, and feminine—had a weapon or not. My options changed if I assumed he didn’t, and tried to attack him and got myself shot. Or if I assumed he did, didn’t fight back, and got myself raped or murdered.

“Yes,” he said. More like squeaked.

I didn’t hesitate. Light illuminated the room.

No weapon.

Good.

He was pudgy, acne scars pocketing his face. He was wearing a Hill Creek Cemetery tee, one of the most famous settings in my books. People hosted séances at the one that inspired the book so often they had to put up fences and employ full-time armed security guards.

He was wearing stained sweats and had a manic, detached from reality glint to his eye.

So, no weapon, but he was crazy, which was obviously more unpredictable than a gun. At least with a gun, I could snatch it off him. No way would I be able to wrestle the crazy out of him.

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” he breathed.

I pushed myself up in bed and scooted closer to my nightstand, which held my gun, but didn’t make a sudden move for it. My biggest fan was jumpy and had his eyes fastened firmly on me. He was overweight almost to the point of obese, which would mean he might not be quick but he had the ability to overpower me.

“Who else’s house did you think you were breaking into in the middle of the night?” I asked, fury leeching into my voice. Sure, I should’ve been pleasant, agreeable, but I couldn’t find it in me. Anger was what was keeping me going, keeping me calm.

He smiled nervously, like he was coming up to me in a coffee shop,