Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 87943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
He crossed back and up the stairs to the second floor, where there was a second spare bedroom and Finn’s room. Both were empty.
The entire house was unoccupied. He jerked open the door near the spare bedroom on the ground floor to the garage—his cars were there and the garage door was closed. He circled back, prepared to lock the front door…but it was already locked.
Gasping, he backpedaled, staring at the deadbolt. It was locked. He stumbled back to the various doors leading to the back courtyard and patio…the last places the person could have exited the house…and they were locked. How? How did the person who brought him home leave and lock the doors? The only other person who had a key to his house was Finn and Finn was in fucking Europe with school friends.
Panic built in his chest and pounded against his skull. This was wrong. No one else had a key. Where the fuck were his keys? His friend, his savior, wouldn’t have taken his key off his key ring.
Back in his bedroom, he easily found them sitting on the nightstand and his house key was still on the ring. His phone chimed and Geoffrey jumped, causing him to drop the keys with a muffled thump to the thick carpet. With trembling fingers, he reached out to find a new message waiting for him…from his stalker.
Good morning, beautiful!
Hope you slept well.
So cute when you’re sleeping…
The message was followed by a picture of him sleeping in his own bed. He was stretched out across his sheets, wearing only his boxers. The clock said 4:56 a.m.
The stalker had been in his house. The stalker had been the person to bring him home, to strip him down and put him into his bed. The stalker…touched him.
A muffled clatter rose over Geoffrey’s soft tormented moan. His phone slipped from his numb fingers. He ran through his closet to the en-suite bathroom, barely making it before the entire contents of his stomach came up. Bile burned his throat and his knees ached as they hit the cold tile. With one shaking hand, he clutched the back of the toilet as his stomach emptied itself and then continued to clench in a series of painful, dry heaves.
When his body stopped heaving, he gasped in several gulps of air as he fell back on his ass. Pulling down a fluffy towel, he wiped his mouth. While the heaving had stopped, the shaking wouldn’t. Someone had come into his home, violated his security and privacy. Had this person touched him? Violated him?
Pulling his legs as tightly as he could against his chest, Geoffrey sobbed, the fractured sound echoing in the bathroom to fill the entire empty house as terror ripped through him. His entire body shook, teeth chattering. He felt like he was going to be sick again, but there was nothing left in his stomach and he didn’t want to move from the tight ball he’d curled himself into. He didn’t want to think about what had happened during those hours he’d been unconscious and helpless. Didn’t want to think about the fact that this person had a key to his house. Didn’t want to think that he’d trusted them.
Oh God…he would never feel safe again.
Chapter 2
By the time Geoffrey pushed through the doors of Ward Security, his blood had boiled over so much, his normally pale skin had to be chalk-white from the loss. He’d finally stopped shaking, but fear and fury lay like a toxic lump in the back of his throat—he couldn’t taste anything but metal.
The police hadn’t been any help. He’d called and they’d come out, but he could tell they hadn’t taken him seriously. As far as they were concerned, someone he knew had brought him home. He hadn’t been hurt. There were no signs of rape. All he had that was threatening, was a note and a neatly folded pile of clothes. They hadn’t even taken the online threats he’d showed them seriously. They’d just told him to make a log of every instance of stalking.
Furious, he balled his hands into fists and swept past the training mats to the stairs, hardly noticing the noise of the self-defense class currently in session on the first floor. Several people called out loudly to him, but he merely waved over his shoulder as he hurried toward the large office at the top of the stairs.
One of those cops apparently followed him on Instagram because he’d murmured something about reaping what he sowed after some of the pictures he’d posted.
Asshole.
He may have been reckless a few times, may have gone a little overboard with the partying after his brother had gone off to college, but he didn’t deserve to be violated. Nobody deserved that. It might not have been physical, but it had been a violation. Someone had been in his house. Had taken off his clothes.