Chapter 1 The man in the backyard

CHLOE’S POV

The friction of his rough denim against my bare thighs was a sharp, grounding contrast to the hazy heat pooling between my legs. 

Grey had me pinned against the cold concrete wall of the warehouse foyer, his mouth slamming into mine with an aggressive, clumsy hunger that tasted like the cheap cherry vapes and cigarettes he loved.

I didn’t really know what the hell I was doing though. I mean, nineteen years of being my father’s pristine, heavily guarded mafia princess meant my experience with guys amounted to zero. 

But right now, the freedom of having my own secluded place in the middle of the woods was went straight to my head. I ran my fingers through his thick hair, a soft, breathless moan escaping me against his lips as his hands roamed all over my body. 

One of his palms slithered under my shirt, cupping my bare breast and squeezing a little too hard making me whimper while his other hand clamped onto my ass, lifting me up and pressing my core directly against his hardness.

He groaned into my mouth, a low, desperate sound and without breaking the kiss, he hooked his arms under my knees and carried me up the stairs toward the bedroom, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty house.

‘Into you’ by Chase Atlantic was vibrating loudly through the floorboards from the downstairs speakers, the bass-heavy, dark rhythm filling the silence of the woods outside. 

Grey threw me onto the mattress, instantly climbing over me as he kicked his sneakers off while shoved his pants down to his ankles until they pooled on the floor, and ripped his t-shirt over his head. His mouth was all over my neck now, leaving wet, frantic trails as his fingers scrambled with the buttons of my blouse.

I closed my eyes, letting the heavy sensation wash over me. Finally, I thought. No bodyguards outside. No security cameras. Just me, being a normal girl exploring her fantasies.

Then, his hand slid inside my pants. My heart did a sudden, violent skip—half excitement, half pure panic—but before I could even process the feeling, a loud, piercing shrill shattered the mood entirely.

My phone was vibrating violently on the bedside table.

I blinked through the darkness, squinting at the screen. The caller ID made all the hot blood in my veins turn to pure ice.

Dad.

“Oh, shit,” I gasped, suddenly finding the strength to shove Grey’s heavy chest off me. 

“Grey, stop. Stop, I need to answer this.”

Grey grunted, trying to bury his face back into my neck, his hands tightening on my hips. 

“Babe, ignore it. Come on, don't ruin this right now.”

“I can’t,” I said, my voice shaking as I struggled to sit up. My blouse was completely unbuttoned, hanging off my shoulders. 

“It’s my dad. You don’t understand, I have to pick up.”

“He’s a grown man, Chloe, he can wait twenty minutes,” Grey snapped, his voice laced with heavy irritation. He reached for my waist again, trying to pull me back down onto the sheets, his lips brushing my collarbone.

“Just let it ring out. You’re always so tense about him.”

I slapped his hand away, a sudden surge of adrenaline making me completely detach from the mood.

I scrambled out of bed, leaving my pants entirely behind on the mattress. I stood there in the center of the dark room, shivering slightly, wearing nothing but a black lace bra, matching underwear, and my ruined, open blouse.

I placed a hand on my hip, staring down at him. 

Grey rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He rolled his eyes so hard I honestly thought they were going to fall out of his skull.

“Are you serious right now?” Grey scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“What the hell is wrong with you? We were literally seconds away from it, and you freeze up because your daddy calls? Why couldn't you just mute the phone and attend to me first?”

“Because that is my father,” I fired back, my voice dropping into a sharp, dangerous tone that usually made people back off. “I don't care if the world is ending. I don't care what I am doing. I will never miss his calls. Ever.”

“It’s a control thing, Chloe, and it’s freaking weird,” Grey said, sitting up and glaring at me through the dark. “You moved out here to get away from his suffocating rules, but you’re still acting like his little puppet. I’m your boyfriend. I’ve been waiting a week for this, and you’re treating me like an afterthought.”

“I’m treating you like a priority, but my father is a non-negotiable!” I yelled back, the frustration boiling over. “If you can’t handle the fact that my family comes first, then maybe you shouldn’t be in my bed!”

“Fine! Have fun sleeping with your phone, then!”

Grey snapped. He lunged off the bed, snatched his jeans and shirt from the floor, and shoved his feet into his shoes without even tying the laces. 

He didn't even bother buttoning his pants all the way before he marched out of the bedroom, slamming the heavy oak door behind him so hard the window frames rattled.

A few seconds later, the distant roar of his car engine tore through the quiet woods as he sped away down the dirt driveway.

I stood alone in the quiet room, my chest heaving, completely humiliated and furious.

The phone started vibrating again.

I swiped the screen aggressively, bringing the phone to my ear as I walked downstairs to turn off the music. Streets by Doja Cat was playing now, the moody melody mocking my current state of absolute sexual frustration. I hit the power button on the stereo, plunging the entire warehouse into a heavy, dead silence.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, forcing my voice to sound completely calm and regular.

“Chloe,” my father’s deep, gravelly voice echoed through the line. There was a subtle edge of suspicion in his tone. “Why didn't you pick up the first time? You know the rules about keeping your line clear.”

“Sorry, Dad. I was playing some music pretty loud while unpacking some boxes. I didn't hear it ring at first,” I lied smoothly, leaning against the kitchen counter, rubbing my temples.

“Are you safe? Has anyone been lingering around the perimeter of the property?”

“No one, Dad. It’s completely quiet out here. I’m perfectly fine, just tired.”

“Good. I’ll have a team do a drive-by check tomorrow morning just to be sure. Go to sleep, princess.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

When the call clicked shut, I threw the phone onto the couch. I was so angry I could taste it. My first attempt at exploring my hidden desires, and my boyfriend storms off because he can’t handle a phone call.

I stomped back upstairs, kicked Grey’s discarded socks out of the way, and grabbed my heavy, noise-canceling headphones from the desk. I shoved them over my ears, turned on a playlist of weird, ambient thunderstorm sounds, and pulled the heavy duvet over my shoulders.

I closed my eyes, forcing my brain to shut up, desperately trying to sleep off the annoyance humming through my veins but a few hours later, I stirred awake, the ambient rain sounds were still drowning out the world in my ears, but my throat felt completely parched, dry like sandpaper. 

Worse than the thirst, though, was a bizarre, prickling sensation on the back of my neck.

It was that specific, instinctual feeling of being watched.

My eyes fluttered open in the darkness. I lay completely still for a few seconds, my heart rate spiking as my gaze darted around the shadows of the bedroom. The door was cracked open an inch. Hadn't I shut it after Grey left?

Slowly, I sat up and slid the headphones down around my neck. The silence of the house was absolute. I stood up, creeping over to the hallway, checking the bathroom and the spare rooms. Nothing. There was no one here. I was completely alone.

Shaking my head at my own paranoia, I walked downstairs in my lace underwear and unbuttoned blouse, my bare feet making no sound against the polished concrete. I walked into the kitchen, poured myself a cold glass of water from the fridge, and drank it down in three heavy gulps.

As I set the glass down, a faint, rhythmic sound from the backyard caught my attention.

Thwack. Shuffle. Thwack.

I froze. It sounded like metal hitting dirt.

I crept toward the heavy glass backdoor, the moonlight pouring through the panes and illuminating the kitchen floor. I peeled back the edge of the dark curtain and peered out into the backyard.

The breath completely left my lungs.

A large, deep trench had been dug into the center of my lawn, the fresh dirt piled high into dark mounds. Standing right beside the pit was a man.

He was ridiculously tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely shirtless under the silver moonlight. His chest and arms were covered in a horrific, glistening smear of dark crimson. 

Blood. It was splattered across his collarbone, smeared down his abs, and even painted across his jawline. But despite the gore, he was stunning—his sharp, aristocratic features looked like they had been carved out of marble by a twisted god.

As I watched, paralyzed, he bent down and effortlessly lifted a massive, heavy black plastic bag. A pale, blood-drenched human arm spilled out of the top of the plastic, the dead fingers twitching slightly as the man carelessly threw the bag into the open trench.

My gaze drifted past him, and the horror multiplied.

Laying in a neat, orderly row on my grass were three more limp, bloodied human bodies. Next to them sat three empty black plastic bags. And a few feet away, the crumpled, lifeless shape of a large dog lay in a pool of dark fluid.

My stomach violently turned. I slapped both hands over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut to stifle the piercing scream that was tearing its way up my throat. My knees shook so badly I had to lean my entire weight against the glass door just to remain standing.

A serial killer. There is a serial killer in my backyard.

Before I could even think about running, the wet, heavy thud of the last body hitting the pit echoed through the glass. The man stood up straight, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh. He dusted his bloody hands off on his dark sweatpants, entirely unbothered by the massacre around him.

Slowly, his head turned toward the house.

The moonlight caught his eyes, and my heart completely stopped. They were mismatched—one a striking, icy hazel, the other a deep, void-like brown that seemed to swallow the light. He locked his gaze directly onto the exact spot where I was hiding behind the curtain. He knew I was there the entire time.

A slow, dangerous sliver of a smile curved his lips.

“Hey there, love,” his voice cut through the glass, a low, smooth, terrifyingly polite drawl that sent a shiver straight down my spine. “I really tried to keep it down. Sorry if I woke you.”