Chapter 4

“The scariest kind of danger is the one that makes your body lean in before your brain can scream ‘run.’”

— R.M. Thorne

CAMELLIA

I’ll let it be.

That was what I told myself after I saw the text from Bobby and the box sitting at my doorstep.

I’ll find a way around it.

I told myself again after the first rent notice came in, a payment I hadn’t missed once.

I was going to be fine.

I reassured myself, but more than half my paycheck vanished the moment I bought Lilah’s meds.

Six years old, and already battling such an illness. Not cancer, technically, but the drugs she needed might as well have been made of crushed diamonds.

The gift boxes came every day,each one larger than the last, but they remained unopened. All from the same guy, with the same sloppy cursive writing and the same address scribbled on it.

> “For the moon that lights up my darkest hunts.”

I scoffed at the cheesiness of the notes that always came with the gifts. What the hell does that even mean?

Still, gotta admire his consistency, even though he was a complete sicko.

I sighed, eyes flicking to the clock. Lilah was at her kindergarten for another three hours, and the studio didn’t need me till later. The silence in my apartment crept in, thick and loud, coiling around my thoughts.

I didn’t mean to think about him, but I did.

Hazel eyes and that voice. I remembered it brushing against my ear when he leaned in too close. What would it sound like if he was desperate? If he said my name like it hurt him not to touch me?

No.

I shook the thoughts off immediately. I should be thinking of a second job that paid high enough for just a high school degree, not some guy with attractive features and boundary issues. I wasn’t about to go down bad enough for CPS to come sniffing around again. Bobby wanted more than stripping for me to get my job back, and I wasn’t giving it to him.

The doorbell rang on cue as soon as the clock hit noon, signaling the appearance of another postman with yet another package.

Yes, I’ve learned to expect it. I have nothing else to do.

“Please tell him to stop with the gifts,” I muttered as I opened the door. “I’ve got enough on my plate already.”

As usual, I got minimal response, just a nod, a heavy box shoved into my arms, and quick footsteps as they scurried away. This was getting out of hand. He didn’t listen, no matter how many times I refused the packages. What if Lilah picked one up one day? What if he showed up in person next?

He saw me one time, and now I was getting big boxes with fat envelopes and cheesy notes strapped to the top that called me his queen. I was sincerely two gifts away from being on a N*****x documentary.

But could I even go to the cops? What would I say? “Help, I’m a stripper and a man keeps giving me expensive things”?

No one suspects stalking when you’re in heels and glitter in a man’s world.

Still, something itched under my skin now. This wasn’t just some rich creep with bad poem-writing skills anymore, this was every day. The job at the studio barely kept me afloat, the second job interviews weren’t calling back, and I had a six-year-old who didn’t need a stranger knowing her address. I had to keep her safe, even if that meant going to him first.

It wasn’t all about curiosity or the way my stomach turned traitor every time I pictured those damn hazel eyes. If he wouldn’t back off from a distance, maybe it was time I gave him a reason to.

To his face.

---------

I clutched the envelope attached to the latest gift tightly in my hand as I neared what looked far too massive to be considered just a house.

People of all ages moved across the wide compound, some chatting quietly, others bent over various tasks, but what struck me most was the way some of the men stood next to the women.

Not just protectively, but possessively. The kind of silent claim that made it feel like the women were made to be theirs.

A few glanced at me curiously before going back to whatever they were doing. I reached the front entrance, where two broad-shouldered men stood. They were dressed casually, with dark shirts stretched over thick arms and jeans, sharing a confused expression as they stared at me.

I swallowed hard and stepped forward, clutching the envelope tighter. I stopped as I neared the door, like my nerves were trying to tell me something my mind hadn’t caught up with yet.

I scanned the compound, trying to shake off the feeling and ground myself as I glanced back at the tall building, my entire body freezing almost immediately. High up, in what looked like an attic window, he was watching me. What looked like blood trickled down the corner of his mouth as his lips parted in a slow, amused smirk.

I should have felt creeped out or simply turned around. But instead, every part of me leaned in.

Every alarm in my body went silent, overridden by a strange calm, like finally seeing the missing piece of something I didn’t know I was building.

One of the guards, who’d looked ready to intercept me, suddenly stepped aside. No words or gestures. On any other day, my instincts would have screamed at the oddness of it. But instead, I stepped toward the heavy door and wrapped my hand around the ornate handle.

Standing directly in front of me was him. Shirtless. A black dagger tattoo slashed across his chest like a warning. His chest heaved once, then stilled, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees buckle.

How did he even get down here so fast?

I faltered backwards from the shock of our proximity, the words I’d rehearsed in the cab scrambling in my mind, but before I could fall, another pair of hands caught me from behind.

“Careful,” the voice behind me sounded smooth, amused, and masculine. I glanced over my shoulder at the man who had steadied me, but something shifted. The bare-chested man in front of me, who had locked eyes with me, was no longer studying my face.

His eyes were on the hands still resting on my shoulders. His nostrils flared, lips twitching like he was holding back something. The veins in his neck stood out, and something feral flickered behind his eyes, similar to the same thing I had seen in the club.

I recognized the man behind him as well as the one who came forward to whisper something in his ear, causing his stance to change entirely.

“Wasn’t how I planned our date to go,” he said finally, his voice low and amused.

The man behind me suddenly let go, like he was doing me a favor, straightening with slow, deliberate arrogance. He made it halfway to the door before pausing, hand on the frame, and threw a glance over his shoulder, dark and unreadable.

“You’ve got your hands full with this one, brother.”

Then he was gone, leaving the door open and a pulse in my throat I couldn’t quiet.

And for someone who’d practiced a whole speech in the cab, full of clever lines and smart comebacks, I found myself speechless.

The smirk of the bare-chested man in front of me deepened as the silence stretched, like he could hear every thought crashing through my head. Maybe he could. My pulse thundered so loud I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned it.

Speak, Camellia, damn it.

“I didn’t mean to make you fall,” he said, taking a step closer. “Although I would’ve preferred catching you myself.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore how warm the room had suddenly become, or how his voice sounded like it was sliding straight down my spine.

“I c-came to tell you to stop,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “With the gifts.”

His eyes dropped to my lips, lingered, then came back up. “Didn’t like them?”

“That’s not the point,” I breathed.

Another step. Too close. Close enough that I could smell him, pine, sandalwood, and something darker. Something wild. My knees brushed the hem of his jeans, and I forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Then what is?” he asked, and this time, when he leaned in, his breath fanned my cheek. His fingers reached up, brushing a curl from my face, knuckles grazing my skin like it was an accident. “You came all the way here just to tell me no?”

Now don’t make me sound stupid now.

My skin tingled where he touched it. He tilted my chin up with two fingers, gentle but firm, holding me there like he was waiting for a lie.

My voice failed me again.

“You don’t want whatever you think this is,” I whispered, hating how breathless I sounded. He shouldn’t.

It’s always been me and my sister, just us, surviving while I stripped under cheap lights. There was never room for anyone else. Especially not some stranger who looked at me like I already belonged to him. Whatever this pull was, it felt like a trap wrapped in heat, and I didn’t fall for that. Not anymore.

“Oh, I think I do,” he murmured, and for a heartbeat, I swore I saw his pupils darken. Every inch between us felt like it was catching fire. “But I’m trying to behave.”

He finally let go of my chin, and I should’ve felt relieved, but I missed the heat almost instantly.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, like it amused him.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He stepped back, finally, but his gaze raked over me like a slow drag of fingers down my spine. My thighs clenched like they had a mind of their own, traitorous and needy. It was humiliating being this reactive to someone I barely knew. Especially someone who gave off such a dangerous vibe. Why did I even come here?

“Jesus.”

“Not Jesus, darling — Lucien.”