I walked to my car with another hundred pictures or so. I felt good. It wasn’t the worst day of my life, which was a great thing. I met with Tate, and he made it very clear that his original plan was to have me gone by then. But the pictures I had been giving him were so good he wanted me to keep them coming. We agreed on more terms and money, which was something that had never happened to me before. I wanted to know what Tate was planning on doing with so many pictures, considering the cost, but I didn’t dare ask.

When I got to my car, I opened the passenger door and saw a coffee cup in the console.

I didn’t get coffee that morning.

I looked around.

My heart raced.

I reached for the coffee and saw something written on it.

Smile!

Then a quick drawn smiley face that was better than anything I could have ever done.

“I took a guess. Two sugars and two cream.”

I let out a gasp and turned to see Maddox standing with one leg up against a building, a cigarette in his hand. He took a drag and blew it out. The sun was starting to set, and the brilliant burning colors worked to make Maddox look even sexier.

I quickly got my camera back out and turned to get my own revenge.

I took a handful of pictures as he stood there, looking ultra-cool and even smoother.

“Done yet?” he asked.

“Coffee?”

He took one last drag and flicked the cigarette away.

He walked toward me, his intoxicating odor overwhelming me.

I felt pinned to my car.

“I figured our first coffee date didn’t go so well,” he said.

“That was a date?”

“You were there. I was there. What would you call it?”

“Having coffee.”

“Whatever, sugar. Just figured I owed you one. And I’m sure you’re heading home to go through all the pictures you took today. You could use the pick me up.”

“And where are you heading, Maddox? Going to get put in jail again?”

“Almost put in jail,” he corrected me. “Almost.”

“Right. Sure. Almost.”

“I’ve got nothing tonight. Why? You looking for company?” He winked at me.

I laughed. A weak laugh. A nervous laugh.

Shit.

This guy was getting to me.

“So, for the record,” he said, “the address on your site, is that current?”

Maddox grinned and winked again.

Then he walked away.

He left me in shock again.

Maddox knew where I lived.

* * *

The coffee was perfect. It left me smiling the whole ride home. My usual commute consisted of thinking about the day and what was good, bad, what I had to do next, and all that crap. That wasn’t the case now. I enjoyed the coffee. The ride. The sunset turning into night. In fact, by the time I got home, I was actually relaxed.

I grabbed my camera bag, the empty coffee cup, and hummed as I walked into the apartment building. I was looking forward to a hot shower and a glass of wine. I even promised myself pizza. I’d get one delivered. A perfect night.

I opened the door to the second floor and froze.

The coffee cup fell from my hands first.

Then went the camera bag.

It hit the ground with a thud.

I didn’t even care if there was damage done to it.

I stared into a set of evil eyes. Pure evil.

He stood there, arms crossed, leaning against my door. He then reached with his left hand and traced the numbers.

“One…four…nine…”

The impulse to run most the best sense, but I knew better. Experience taught me it was safer not to run. It was safer to stay put. To stand there. To wait it out. To let the situation resolve itself.

I watched my mother do it for years.

I did it myself for years.

It was my curse.

Standing there. Watching. Waiting.

Suddenly the caffeine had me jittery. Really jittery. I felt like my heart was going to explode.

I felt his name rumbling from deep inside me. I hadn’t said it in months.

He was supposed to be gone.

But they were never gone, were they? They never really left. Unless I made him leave…for good…like I did before…

“Mitch,” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

He pushed from the door. “Came to see you. Check on you. Are you doing well, Hazel?”

“Yes,” I said. “Just getting home from work.”

“Are you going to invite me in?”

“Mitch…”

“Sounds good,” he growled, louder than he needed to.

He turned and kicked the door. Then he punched the door. Then he slammed his hands against the door.

“Let me the fuck in!” he yelled.

I saw my neighbor across the hall—Mrs. McGonnough—look out her door.

Mitch pointed at her and he grabbed his leather jacket. “I got a gun here, bitch. You want to see it?”

I gasped.

Mrs. McGonnough shut her door.

I hurried to the entrance, leaving everything else behind. I fumbled for the keys, my hands shaking badly.

Mitch grabbed my arm.

Fuck. How stupid of me to get so close to him.

His grip was fierce. A reminder of his strength and his power over me.

He brought his mouth near my face and let out a breath.

“Did you miss me? Tell me you missed me. Right now, Hazel. I want to hear that you fucking missed me.”

“I missed you,” I said.

“Liar. Fucking liar.”

He pushed me, and I stumbled aside.

I put my hands up, my keys dangling from my right hand.

“I’ll open the door,” I said.

“I know you will. You always let me in. That’s why I like you. What’s for dinner, Hazel?”

“I don’t have anything. I was going to order pizza. And drink some wine.”

“Wine? I’m not a pussy.”

“I have beer.”

“Good girl,” he said. He touched the numbers on my door again. “When’s the pizza coming?”

“I only like Marcee’s,” I lied. The place was run by two elderly Italian ladies who lost their husbands and started making pizzas to kill time. They didn’t deliver. “You know me. Picky.”

Mitch sucked in a breath. He smashed a fist against my door again. “You’re lucky I love you, Hazel.” He stepped to me and grabbed my face. “I’m gonna go get us dinner. I’ll see you soon. It’s so good to see you.”

My back against the wall, the fear was like nothing I could describe. Experience and instinct came together, and I just nodded and smiled.

“Yes. Mitch. It’s good to see you.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. Then he backed up. He curled his lip, making it known he was still an asshole. Then he flexed his right hand and made a fist. He started to laugh.

I was shaking.

Mitch left, and I stood there in paralyzed fear.

I finally convinced myself to open the apartment. I rushed inside and looked around. This was my home. It wasn’t a beautiful apartment. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t expensive. But it was my home. And Mitch had come back, again. Each time he came back, my apartment felt more like a prison.

Mitch was gone though, for the moment. To get pizza.

Which gave me time.

Not to think, no. That luxury was stolen from me a long time ago. Not long after meeting Mitch, in fact. The time gave me a chance to get out. To hide.

I knew the punishment would be bad, but staying could end up worse.

I packed my emergency bag, grabbed my laptop, and I even grabbed the bottle of wine.

Fleeing my own apartment, my own home, I was probably the image of pathetic, but it was the only way I could survive.

Simply put—I was afraid that one of these times, Mitch was going to go too far and actually kill me.