Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 26
the lamb
to celebrate my potential new employment by treating me to my favorite restaurant. It’s one of the most expensive places downtown Styx has to offer and we only come on special occasions.
I tried telling them it really wasn’t that big of a deal. That my getting a real corporate job for the first time was not in the same bracket as something as significant as anniversaries or holidays. Or that technically, I haven’t even accepted the position yet. But they insisted, furthering my insecurities about being their charity case.
Truthfully, though, I'm excited about the prospect of finally rejoining the workforce and breaking out of the constant hustle of taking on odd jobs wherever I can find them. Steady income is a privilege I haven’t been afforded in a very long time, and it makes the offer that much more tempting.
No one wants to hire the weird girl with an unexplainable gap in her resume. Unless I want to openly confess that I’d spend that time in a rehabilitation facility, I just had to stumble through that expanse of time on my resume whenever it was brought up. For some reason, the hiring manager at Lancaster Tech didn’t even bother asking about my work history. In fact, she didn’t ask me much of anything of value. If I hadn’t obsessively researched the company myself, I’d think it was a total scam.
I suppose it still could be, but I'm not going to admit that to Halen and Kennedy after I've seen how excited they are for me.
We follow the hostess to a table off to the side and the waiter takes our drink order immediately. On instinct, my eyes scan the room and the faces of the people we’ll be sharing our environment with. It’s a habit I learned at Sunnybrook, never wanting to be caught off guard by any outbursts or random attacks.
Of course, I doubt that Paul’s Chop House would be filled with anyone like the people I encountered at Sunnybrook, but it calms me just the same. Besides, I haven’t seen Bash in a while. It’s only a matter of time before my crazed stalker makes an appearance.
As I'm about to give up and drop my gaze on the menu, it locks in on him, and my breath catches in my throat so abruptly, I nearly choke. It’s almost as if my thoughts have conjured him before me.
He’s already staring my way, green eyes shadowed by thick eyebrows and the ambient lighting. The mask is gone from his mouth, exposing his sinfully gorgeous features in broad daylight. I'd know that face anywhere. Those haunted eyes. That structured demeanor. I'm absolutely positive it's him.
He meets my confused scowl with a slight tick in his eyebrow—the only break in his unreadable mask.
It can’t be.
He can’t be here.
He’s not even real. At least, not in my fragile mind.
Maybe it's not the same him.
But that wouldn't explain why he's staring at me that way.
Like by simply existing here, in the same space as him, I’ve just earned the spot as his newest conquest.
“Are you alright?” Halen asks from my left, but I’m too afraid to tear my gaze away from his face and have him disappear.
He’s sitting at an intimate round table in the middle of the room, hardly big enough for two. A blonde woman sits across from him, and though I can only see her profile from here, I can tell she’s stunning.
They’re obviously on a date.
But ghosts and stalkers don’t go on dates.
“Jovie…” Halen snaps her fingers in front of my face. When I finally look at her, I’m met with a worried expression. “Are you good?”
Nodding into my lap, my chin tucked firmly against my chest, I answer, “Yeah, just a little claustrophobic.”
“It is a little more packed in here tonight than usual,” Kennedy agrees easily, sending a warning glare at my sister.
I don’t miss the silent argument they have over Kennedy defending me before my eyes swing back over to the middle of the room. To his table.
He’s got a whiskey glass tilted back against his lips this time, but his eyes are still focused on me over the rim, instead of on his date. When he notices me looking again, his brows raise in a question.
Am I going to confront him in front of all these people?
The answer is a strong and resounding, hell no.
I know better than to start spewing some insanity about a man who breaks into my house at night and buries his face between my legs. That kind of story doesn’t bode well for the girl who just got out of the mental hospital.
But, Jovie, if this guy was breaking into your house, why didn’t you call the police?
Oh, no reason. I just thought he was a fucking ghost.
What a complete idiot?
So, no. I’m not going to confront him here, in a crowded restaurant, where he appears to be on an intimate date.
But am I going to hide away in the bathroom until he leaves?
Why yes. Yes, I am.
I wait until the waiter comes back to take our orders so Halen and Kennedy aren't stuck waiting to eat, then quickly throw my napkin onto the table and mumble an excuse about not feeling well. I practically fall out of my chair, rushing off to the restroom before they can argue with me. Kennedy's arm flies out in front of Halen before she stands to join me, and I send a silent prayer to whoever is up above for her.
Thankfully, the restroom is mostly empty. There's a woman standing in the mirror reapplying her lipstick, but each stall appears unoccupied. I stumble over to the last one against the wall and close myself in, taking a few deep breaths to stop my heart from beating in my ears. Lipstick lady leaves a few moments later, and I release a long, loud exhale through my lips.
My relief is short-lived. Not even a minute passes before I hear the door open and go completely still so whoever it is doesn’t hear me panicking, deciding that I'll wait for them to be done before I step back out. Hopefully, it isn't Halen trying to find me. My ears perk up, listening for whoever it is to enter one of the stalls, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is actually there.
Maybe I'm just hearing things.
Still, I linger in the stall for a few more minutes, taking the opportunity to empty my bladder before I gain the courage to leave the safe space.
But as soon as I do, he’s in front of me.
“What the hell?” I shriek, wrapping my hand around my throat. My heart stops in my chest, and I don’t think it starts back up until he speaks.
“We need to talk.”
“Were you there the whole time? Did you hear me?” I hiss, gesturing toward the stall I just walked out of.
And listen, I know having him hear me pee is a weird thing to get hung up on, given the circumstances. But that’s what finally sends me over the edge.
He just stares, as if he doesn’t even want to dignify the question with a response. Mortified, I turn my back to him and walk over to the sinks, watching him closely in the mirror as I wash my hands.
“We need to talk,” he repeats, a little more impatiently this time.
“No shit,” I throw over my shoulder, rolling my eyes. “But where do we begin? With you breaking into my home? Or how about you sexually assaulting me in my own bed?”
I look his reflection up and down in the mirror, finally allowing myself to take in his full appearance. For some reason, it's easier for me to face him like this through the mirror than head-on. Cowardly, I know. But my feelings about him and this situation are all over the place.
He’s dressed in a tailored black suit, his light gray shirt morphing his eyes into an odd, grayish-green color. He’s tapping black, polished dress shoes on the floor as his arms cross over his chest. It’s a stark contrast from the casual, all black attire I'm used to seeing him in. Although, that’s unsurprising, since a custom suit isn’t suitable for breaking and entering, and a bandana mask isn't appropriate for a restaurant.
“Sexually assaulting you? If memory serves, you loved every second of it. Never even told me to stop,” he counters darkly, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “In fact, you begged me for more.”
I flick my eyes back up in the mirror just in time to see the smug smirk that ghosts his lips before he schools his expression again, and I get the urge to smack it right off. I’ve never resorted to violence, but how far can a person be pushed?
“That was before I realized you were…” I trail off, too embarrassed to finish that sentence.
Before I realized you were real.
He doesn’t make me finish my sentence, either because he doesn’t care or because he already knows what I was going to say. Instead, he shrugs and tempts his fate by adding, “It’s technically more my house than yours.”
I narrow my eyes at his reflection. Every time he speaks, he confuses and infuriates me further. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I bought it.”
“You bought it?” I repeat childishly, and then it all clicks. I did receive a letter about a new owner taking over my lease. But him? No way. Why would he go that far to get near me? “No, a property management company took it over… SAL Properties, or something like that.”
His lips kick back up in that same simpering smirk, as if there's a joke in there that I'm somehow missing.
“I should call the police on you for what you’ve done,” I weakly threaten, refusing to engage in any sort of banter with this lunatic.
“You won’t, though,” he says confidently, stepping forward into my back until his breath hits my cheek and sends chills down my spine. My traitorous body instantly reacts to his presence.
He’s right, I won’t. No one believes the crazy girl who tried to kill herself. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“How can you be so sure?”
His nose grazes my jaw as his fingers swipe a few loose strands of hair away, fully exposing my neck to him. Sharp teeth graze against my skin until he nips at my shoulder, and I jump, hating the way it sends tremors pulsing between my legs.
“Because you like it too much.”