Page 100 of Mine To Hunt

How can fear and desire mix like this inside me? Why does my body betray me every time he touches me, even when I tell him to stop?

I splash cold water on my face, trying to pull myself together before I go back out. He is gone, but the feeling he left behind stays with me, strong and heavy.

I look at myself in the mirror one last time. My cheeks are still flushed. I feel a deep sense of shame and confusion that I know will follow me home tonight.

Chapter 31

Her

The man from that night keeps filling my thoughts. I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every second in my head.

How can the same man who terrifies me also ignite that strange spark of desire? I feel foolish and weak for letting my thoughts wander there, yet I cannot seem to stop them.

I force myself to get up and walk straight to the shower, hoping the water will wash away some of the confusion. I turn it on and step under the spray, closing my eyes as the warm water runs over my body.

My mind drifts back again to that night in the club bathroom. I keep thinking about how he touched me, where his fingers had been, how he had slid them inside me so slowly at first and then faster, curling them just right. The memory makes my breath catch. I relive every second of it.

His voice was so low and filthy when he called me names, yet it sent heat straight to my core. Every time a droplet of water hits my nipples, a sharp sensation shoots down to my pussy, making me clench.

I glide my hand down my stomach, remembering exactly how he had rubbed my clit and pushed his fingers deeper. My fingers brush over my folds and I feel myself getting wet again just from the memory.

I am about to slide a finger inside when my phone rings loudly from the counter. The sharp sound snaps me out of the moment. I turn the water off quickly, feeling stupid.

What am I doing? How can I touch myself while thinking about a man who wanted to kill me? I feel dirty, like my body is betraying me in the worst way possible.

I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I check the phone and see it is just my alarm reminding me it is almost time for work. I dry myself quickly and get dressed in a simple blouse and pants.

I cannot believe I was reliving that moment so intensely. He is dangerous. He is a monster. Yet my body keeps reacting to him like it wants more. The thought makes me feel weak and pathetic.

I leave for the office, scanning the street the entire way, looking for any sign of him. I see nothing unusual, but the feeling of being watched never really leaves me.

When I reach office and settle in my desk, Hazel comes over with few files. "Good morning, Iris. Here are today’s assignments. Take your time with them."

I thank her and start scanning through the files. One of them catches my attention immediately.

As I read the details, I realize a body has been found in the same club I was at this weekend. It was discovered in one of the bathroom stalls.

The victim’s right hand had been cut off completely, and the hand was nowhere near the scene. His entire face was stuffed with cocaine, and there were other packs of cocaine found on him, which clearly indicates he was selling them in the club.

The victim is named Justin Mills. He is a 28-year-old man. The picture attached shows the guy who tried to grope my ass that night. And now his hand is missing. The picture also has a small iris flower placed beside the body.

I feel a strange smile forming on my lips as I look at the flower. He did this for me. He removed the man who touched me without permission.

But then I realize what is happening to me. I am smiling at a murder. I am feeling grateful to the same man who stalks me and terrifies me. What is wrong with me?

I think about how he has always been protecting me in his own twisted way. He has always been there whenever someone tried to do something to me.

The drunk guy in the alley, Mike at the office, and now Justin at the club. He removes them one by one. The realization hits me hard, and a warmth spreads through my chest that I do not want to feel.

I take the file and go to Hazel’s desk. "Hazel, can I show you something?"

Hazel looks up. "What is it, Iris?"

I place the file in front of her and point to the iris flower in the photo. "Look at this flower beside the body. I’ve seen the same flower in other cases I worked on. The drunk guy who was murdered around my neighbourhood had one too."

Hazel studies the photo carefully. "You’re right. It does look like a pattern. The same flower appearing at different crime scenes. That cannot be a coincidence."