Closing the door, I locked it and soaked in the peace and quiet. My phone was buzzing again, and I checked it, seeing that it was Alex, probably calling to check up on me.
But unless it was my mother, I wasn’t interested in talking to anyone.
I stood at the island, thinking about the assignments I had to get started on, the reading that was due in a few days, and the fact that I hadn’t checked my social media in over week.
But all of a sudden I was exhausted.
Kicking off my shoes and socks, I walked into my bedroom, dropped my phone on the nightstand, and collapsed on my bed, my body immediately melting into the soft, cool comforter and my eyes falling closed.
“MICHAEL?”
I popped my head up off the pillow and twisted it around, blinking my eyes open.
I thought I heard something.
The room was dark and silent, and I peered out the door, into the hallway, seeing it completely dark as well.
I noticed the light blinking on my phone, and I turned over, my back crashing to the bed again, knowing that’s what must’ve woken me up.
“Shit.” I rubbed my hands up and down my face, trying to wake up.
Turning my head, I glanced at the clock, letting out a frustrated sigh. Six hours. It was just after eleven.
I couldn’t believe I’d slept that long.
Picking up my phone, I saw several texts from Michael, the last one saying,
You better open the fucking door when I get there.
I hadn’t read his texts all day, but I guessed there was a progression of anger that was probably justified, since I’d failed to answer any of them.
Tossing my phone on the bed, I sat up and climbed off, padding my bare feet out into the hallway and toward the kitchen to make something to eat.
I’d skipped dinner, and I was starving.
But then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, and I swung around, my heart leaping into my throat as I saw the back door sitting wide open and the light from the stairwell pouring in.
A dark form, dressed in a black hoodie, with the hood drawn, stood in the doorway, staring at me through a white mask. The same mask that the guys wore when then lured me to the Crist house.
I breathed hard, my hands shaking at the rush of danger crawling on my skin.
But then I stopped and glued my teeth together, anger tensing my muscles.
Michael.
“What?” I demanded. “You need your midnight snack?”
Him and his goddamn games. This wasn’t the time, and I wasn’t in the mood for kink tonight.
“Just get out of here, Michael.”
But then he raised his hand, digging the point of a massive butcher knife into the wall of my hallway. My heart picked up pace again as I stared wide-eyed, watching him stalk toward me, the steel blade scraping as it dragged along the wall.
I expelled every inch of breath I had and backed away. “Damon,” I choked out.
And at that moment, he dropped his hand and broke out in a run, charging me. I screamed and spun around, racing for the front door.
I slammed into the wood, immediately grabbing for the locks, but it was no use. He crashed into my back, wrapping a hand around the front of my neck, and digging the tip of the blade under my chin.
The sting made me cry out. “Damon!” I dug my nails into the door. “Don’t do this!”
He squeezed my throat, and then the hand with the knife came down over my mouth, a cloth covering my lips, suffocating me.
“Who’s going to stop me?” he whispered in my ear.
And then everything went black.
Present
FLOATING.
My head was swaying, and for a moment it felt like it was lifting off my body and drifting up into the air. A seed of pain sat in the side of my head but quickly bloomed, spreading and searing across my skull as I grunted.
“What the hell?” I blinked my eyes open, putting my hand to the sore spot above my temple and hissing, “Shit.”
I checked my hand, not seeing any blood, but the spot was definitely tender.
Damon. I stilled, remembering that he’d been in my apartment.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed out, fumbling as I sat up and the room came into focus.
Where was I?
Planting my hands on the soft fabric under me, I quickly looked around, noticing the beige and wood furniture and fixtures, the glass doors leading to a wooden deck, the paintings and gold sconces in the walls, the carpets, and the impersonal but very familiar feel of the room.
And then I felt the hum underneath me. The hum of engines below.
Pithom. We were on the Crist boat.
I’d only been on it a handful of times growing up—parties and day excursions down the coast—but I knew it well.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I heard behind me, and I jerked my head around.
Damon stood on the other side of the couch from where I was lying, leaning a shoulder on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and his black eyes fixed on me.