𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Chasing You (Book two review)

The small bits of sunlight filtered through the almost closed blinds. I hated the sun.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the scattered pictures that lay around me. My fingers brushed over one of the photos. My stomach churned.

"Bullshit," I muttered under my breath.

Grabbing the lighter from the table, I flicked it on and watched the flame dance for a moment before holding it to the edge of the photo. The fire caught quickly, curling the edges of the picture.

I tossed the burning photo into the bucket of water, watching as it hissed and disappeared among the others. The bucket was full of other picuters.

I rubbed my palms over my face, exhaustion pressing down on me as I looked up at the wall. It was covered with more photos, carefully pinned.

Newspaper clippings, only the parts that mattered, camera shots taken from far away, blurry but unmistakable.

And in the middle, one picture—clear, focused, centered.

I sniffed, my eyes narrowing as I stared at the wall, illuminated only by the weak sunlight creeping through the blinds. This was truly annoying.

How had I gotten here?

Two years of obsession, two years of chasing the truth, was all in this wall. This wall was my life now—my purpose. And yet, it was still so far from what I needed it to be. Nothing was clear. Nothing ever would be.

But something told me I was getting closer.

Closer to what, though?

The knock at the door startled me. I stiffened, glancing back at the wall one last time before rising slowly to answer it.

I cracked the door open, barely enough to see who it was, when I felt cold metal press against my forehead. My breath hitched.

Standing in the doorway was a man I had never seen before. He had dark hair, slicked back, and a deep scar running down the right side of his face, cutting through his brow and cheek. His eyes were dark, cold, like they had seen too much.

"Ruby Grimaldi," he said, his voice almost casual. "Nice to finally meet you. One wrong move, and I'll blow your brains out."

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to suppress the panic rising in my chest. My heart was hammering, my body trembling. What the hell was happening?

The gun pressed harder against my forehead, the pressure making my head stagger back. I winced but nodded slowly, every muscle in my body on edge.

"Good," he said, his lips curling into a half-smirk as if he enjoyed the fear in my eyes. He tilted his head, studying me. "We're going for a little walk. No sudden moves."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. This was no random robbery, no coincidence. He knew me—knew my name, and there was intent in his every move.

My stomach twisted as I realized this wasn't just about me. It was about everything I had been running for the past two years.

This was connected.

To be continued...