I find myself back in the basement, pulling out the files I kept of Lucy. Memories of when I first found her brighten my mind like search lights seeking her out in the dark sea of my mind.

Throwing some onions into the pan, I brown them and add the cooked chicken. I like to cook for Rowan. A balanced diet is important, and it gives my mind reprieve from thinking about finding my next girl. I haven’t found anyone since Rebecca, and it’s making me jittery.

“Hey, Daddy,” Rowan says, coming into the kitchen and sitting on a stool opposite where I’m preparing dinner. “What would you say to me and the Pearson boys staying at one of Mr. Blackstone’s beachfront properties for the summer?”

My hand slows the stirring and my head begins to haze with a storm rumbling within it. She’s so casual with her words, reaching forward and swiping a fresh piece of pepper from the chopping board and popping it in her mouth like she’s just asked me for a pony.

“Is that a joke?” I ask. Because clearly, she’s fucking joking.

“He owns like the entire seafront. Well, all but one Hayden said, but he has a different one he said we could use over the summer months. It’s totally safe. The boys and I thought—”

“No!” I snap, the spatula slapping against the counter. She startles and looks to where my hand grips the handle. My knuckles are white. “You’re seventeen. A child.”

The boys and I thought. Goddamn those little bastards.

“Daddy?” she breathes. “Please? You know them. Nothing is going to happen.”

“You and four boys, Rowan? Do you know what people would say? What those boys will try?”

Her eyes narrow on me, and her lips draw into a thin line. “That’s not fair. They’re my friends.”

“The answer is no,” I warn. “Now, wash up for dinner.”

She huffs and slips from the stool. “I already ate pizza over at Eric’s house.”

“Eric?” I fume. “It’s Mr. Pearson to you, and I don’t like the amount of time you’ve been spending over there lately.”

Her cheeks burn pink, and her hand rests on her hip as she glares at me. Not like my precious Rowan, but like a moody teenager. She thinks she’s grown just because she’ll be a senior this year. Her mother looked at me like that once too. Once.

“I’m nearly an adult.” She stomps her foot, as if reading my mind. God forbid if she ever were able to actually read my mind. What a chaotic minefield that would be.

“I know how old you are, but no matter your age, I’ll always be your father and looking out for your best interests,” I try to placate, but I’ve learned over the years reasoning with a child is nearly impossible. Especially a teenage girl.

“You mean controling me?” she bites out.

Who is the girl standing before me?

It’s like she’s becoming someone else overnight.

Definitely been spending too much time with the little assholes next door.

“If it comes to that, then yes,” I warn.

Her eyes widen in defiance.

“Eric…I mean, Mr Pearson said he could stay there too to keep an eye on us,” she pushes the issue.

“Rowan,” I warn. “The answer is no.”

I’ve never wanted to be tough on her, but if she forces my hand, I’ll take steps to keep her in line. She’s not ending up like Eric Pearson’s kids—or under them, for that matter. Their influence is spreading through my sweet Rowan like a disease and I’ll cut those fuckers out like one too.

Her eyes water, and I hate to see that look on her face. She’s the only person who can bring me to my knees. She will thank me one day for being firm with her when it comes to those boys, though.

“I’m going to bed,” she announces, swiping her face as tears leak out before storming out of the room and up the stairs.

Something has to change. Maybe Eric needs a warning, not Rowan. If he pushes me, he better be prepared for the shove he gets in return. How dare he make her think it’s okay to abandon me and stay with him and his four sons—to get the whole town talking and casting their eyes our way. No. Fuck no. It’s not happening.

* * *

I finish the chicken stir-fry on my plate and clean the kitchen before booting up my laptop and checking out Trevor Blackstone’s properties. The fact that there’s one he doesn’t own intrigues me, and could be a potential opportunity for me to purchase and rub it in his face if the need ever arise.

I note down the address and add it to my list of things to do tomorrow.

* * *

Trevor Blackstone, property tycoon at the rate he’s going with all these investments. These beachfront properties are a gold mine, and he owns all but one—the one I’ve been staring at for the past twenty minutes. I skipped my morning run to stake out this place and although my legs are already getting jittery, it’s been worth it. You can learn a lot by just watching. Waiting. Biding your time.

The woman who used to own this house was ancient. When I looked her up, she was nearly ninety by the time she died. From my research, I discovered the property is in the name of a trust. Trevor is beyond rich and could afford to offer her any price, so why is the trustee not selling? I couldn’t find any other useful information, which is why I’m here to get a closer look.

I ponder staking out the place, seeing if the trustee took possession of the home. I might slip inside and hold a pillow over the unsuspecting fuck’s face in the middle of the night. That way, I could see what happens with the property and take the next step to acquiring it before Trevor can.

I may have a better chance with the trustee still breathing, however. I could just convince them to sell to me.

I’m about to get out my car to go sweet talk the new owner, which I’m hoping is a woman. No female has resisted my charms in the past eighteen years, and one way or another, I always get what I want. This place could be for Rowan. She wanted the beach, and I could give it to her. A gift for me upsetting her at dinner last night. One rule. No boys. Not a harsh rule for such a prize. She could stay here on weekends, and that would give me more privacy and stop the pack of animals next door from trying to sneak over.

I open the car door, but falter when I see a petite auburn-haired female walking toward the house.

My stomach coils in a good way, and a sigh passes my lips. Pulling the door closed, I just watch her through the pane of glass, transfixed by her. My soft intake and exhale of breath is the only sound around me.

God, who is that?

Is she the one who now owns the old woman’s house?

She’s wearing tiny jean shorts and a tank top that shows a sliver of her taut, tanned stomach. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head, but some strands have fallen free, framing the delicate features of her face.

She saunters rather than walks, a sway to her hips, a carefree, confident swagger to her movements. The world stops and she’s all there is. My heart races, and my palms sweat.

If she’s the one I need to encourage to sell, this whole idea just got ten times more intriguing.

She’s holding a cell phone to her ear and shaking her head, not happy with whoever is on the other end. With a huff, she ends the call, but still shouts at her phone animatedly before disappearing inside the old woman’s house. Out of my sight, she slips away, and I feel like I’ve fallen through a rabbit hole. I’m tumbling, my head dizzy.

My heart rate has increased, and my cock hardens. It’s a feeling I’ve become accustom to when the need overtakes me.

The urge, the overwhelming ache that grips me, strengthening until the only thing I know is…

I need her. Want her. Must have her.

A relieved breath leaves my body. I’ve found my new girl, finally.

And she’s perfect. No, she’s magnificent.

The good ones are worth the wait. This one, I could wait years for. Just watching and learning her every move. It would be so fucking sweet when I finally made my move.

She will be mine.

All mine.

I wait all day and night for my chance to inspect. Patience is a virtue.

Darkness has crept over the sky, shadowing the road I’m parked on. The streets are empty, and the lull of the ocean is the only sound outside the window of the car. Opening the door, I step outside and pop the trunk, taking out my camera from my stashed emergency bag.

I move to the brush by the side of the houses and then down onto the beach they overlook. Sand fills my shoes, and I curse myself for not going home to change before doing this. But I couldn’t risk her leaving and me not seeing where she goes. Maybe she’s just visiting and won’t be back for weeks, months, years? I can’t afford to let her fall through my grasp without knowing anything about her.

She’s mine.

My heart hammers in my chest when I see her through the window. She’s clearing things away and dancing to music muted to my ears. She’s young, carefree, beautiful. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Click. Click. Click.

I watch her through the lens that zooms right into the room as if I’m within reaching distance. Like I can just reach out and touch that soft, silky, golden skin. Feel her beneath my fingertips. Smell her. Breathe her in. Run my hands through the strands on her head. I’d strip her from that shirt and enjoy the bounce of those ripe, firm tits, then I’d remove those tiny barely-there shorts. I bet she’s clean-shaven. Soft, rosy flesh hidden away in plump, juicy folds. I’ll open her up, unwrap her like a prize. She’ll want it, beg with her eyes, “Take me.” And I will. I’ll take her. All of her. Until her last breath.

Eventually.

But for now, I watch and learn.

I wait.

So worth it, this one.

The lights suddenly turn off, plunging the house in darkness, my view robbed from me.

Fuck.

Checking my watch, I see it’s past eleven in the evening. Rowan springs into my mind.

Dammit.

I should have been home hours ago, but I became too consumed.

Giggling sounds from a little way up the beach, and a deep, throaty voice shushes whoever is lurking out here. That’s my cue to leave. I mustn’t be seen here at night with a camera. It’s sloppy. I’ve been too careless spending the day parked in one spot, and it’s got to stop. I can’t get careless now.

Once I hit the asphalt again, I empty my shoes and sling them in a bag before tossing it in the trunk. I drive home barefoot, determined to return when the time is right.

To watch, wait, take.

Present…

I breathe hard and stuff the images away. I kept all the data I collected because I assumed I would have taken her by now. But she became too high risk. Part of me knew I would always return for her; she’s too special not to have and reminds me so much of my first girl, the one I picked out just for me, the one who started my collection.

She was Rowan’s babysitter’s best friend. It’s amazing the things people tell you when they’re distraught. Her best friend was ill, suffering. The pretty little thing known as Aimee had severe asthma and had been having more attacks than usual. It was perfect really. It gave me the idea of hiding my urges and the consequences of those urges, a body count, in plain sight. If I could make her death look like the result of natural causes, it could be the perfect crime.

And so my collection began. At night, I would feed my darkness, and during the day, I would feed my daughter. Both worlds, both versions of me existing together.

But Lucy wasn’t Aimee. She didn’t have an illness, and she had become too intricate in the lives of those around me. It was seeing Lucy with Rowan one day at the middle school when Brock’s car broke down after picking up the youngest one that stopped me pursuing her.

Rowan was there talking animatedly to my sweet Lucy, and I became solidified to my seat. I couldn’t even get out the car. I drove away and sent a tow for them instead.

It was bad enough that I’d learned about her and Trevor, but her being part of Rowan’s world? It was all too close—too risky. It became clear, no matter how much she was fated to be mine, I couldn’t have her.