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The hairs on the back of my neck rose. ‘What?’
‘It’s screenshots. Of you.’
Lara held one up. A picture of me on my bed in one of my lingerie sets, with the word SLUT scrawled across the page. My stomach clenched as I took in page after page of pictures and slurs.
‘Oh, my god...’
‘It means whoever sent these knows where you live. It’s postmarked, so they didn’t hand deliver it at least. Hopefully not someone local.’
‘Christ. What am I going to do?’
‘Have you pissed anyone off lately?’
‘Footguy has been incessant in his messages, but other than that, I don’t think so.’
‘They all look like they are from open chat. Nothing too explicit is happening. Although a regular would have to be an idiot to include their own chat, I guess.’
I closed my eyes and took a slow breath. Why on earth couldn’t good things happen to me? I’d finally got the sex I’d been dreaming about for years, and it’s followed up with a nutter sending me photos of my cam videos.
‘What should I do with them?’ Lara asked, sifting through them.
‘Is there a note or anything?’
‘Nope.’
‘Just put them in my bedside table for now. I’ll have a look when I get home. Maybe tell Muhammad to be on the lookout in case anyone who isn’t usually around tries to get in.’
I didn’t want Lara in harm’s way because of me. Whoever sent the mail mustn’t know we live together, seeing as they didn’t send her the screenshots of herself.
‘Did Logan have your address?’
‘No. I don’t think so. He’s not the kind of guy to send stuff like that.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lara raised a brow and crossed her arms. ‘I need you to be sure.’
‘I’m the one who pursued him, remember?’
‘Who else could it be?’
Anyone who had enough knowledge to hack the site, I guessed. My payment details included my address...
‘I don’t know. I’ll be home in a few days and can get in touch with the site owners, see if it’s been hacked or anything.’
‘Okay. Just be careful.’
‘You, too.’ I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
LOGAN
A knock at my door woke me up. It took me a few minutes to figure out where I was before I noticed Valentina had disappeared. The bathroom and adjoining rooms were empty. I pulled on some boxer shorts and a clean tee on the way to the door.
There she stood, weighed down by a heavy metal tray and looking shyer than I’d seen her.
‘Good evening.’ she said, shifting from one hip to another.
‘So you didn’t decide to leg it back to Glasgow after all?’
