In which an exchange student falls into the hands of a dangerous man.
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Brazen and bold Freya Cannon finds herself signing up for a study-abroad opportunity presented to her by her college counselor. When her and her close friend Mia learn that...
WARNING! this chapter contains graphic scenes that might be harmful/triggering to some readers.
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WOULD IT BE CONSIDERED borderline psychotic if I theoretically stalked my girlfriend?
Okay. Not theoretically, I mean literally.
And I don't mean that soft shit. I've pulled up her entire background; all the schools she's been to, her medical records, the passwords to her social medias. I'm great at torturing people, but I'm also pretty damn good at cracking codes too.
I can't help it. It's like a disease. She's an obsession that I know for a fact I'll never get over. Freya is the first and last thing I think about. The damn woman has turned me softer than silk, and I sort of hate it.
"You're suppose to be tracking Massimo." Sergio mumbles when he peeks at the screen of my laptop while walking past me. I offer him an unamused stare.
He's right. Massimo keeps moving closer and closer to my territory and it's making me all fucking itchy. I don't know what the hell he has planned up his sleeve, but I'll do whatever I need to be ten steps ahead.
"I already did," I say. It's only a half lie. I know kind of where he's at. A general area, perhaps. But I couldn't focus much longer on it until my mind went crawling right back to my little spitfire of a girlfriend.
I still can't even believe I'm calling her that.
My girlfriend. Mine.
A smile creeps onto my lips.
"Alright," he draws out in subtle disdain, "so where is he then?"
"Why don't you mind your damn business?"
A guilty smile lightens up his features. "Yes sir."
I stay quiet, watching as Sergio snatches a mint from my desk and exits the room without so much as another stare my way. As much as I try to keep things professional with all of my soldiers, I've known Sergio for quite some time. He's more of a friend of mine if anything, but I'd never admit that to him.
My imagination blots with images of Freya again for the umpteenth time today. Nah, fuck that. For the umpteenth time this minute. Her soft, silky brown hair. Her big green eyes that remind me of the Amazon during the softest moments in the morning. Her pouty lips that make me feel like a prepubescent teen all over again.
I grumble and click open the security app on my laptop. My fingers hover the cursor over the camera positioned in the library; the one place I always seem to find her. Dissatisfaction burns at me when she's not there. I click open every single camera and with each and every one that comes up empty, the more and more anxiety starts to build inside of me.
