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The last word clicked in her brain, and she remembered how he had found her here. A crazed obsessed paparazzo with wannabe dominant tendencies. Perfect. The word “obey” from his mouth made her sick to her stomach, but she would use it to her advantage.
She nodded, and felt his body relax against her. “I’m going to let go now, and you’re going to be quiet. Only speak when I ask you a question. Do not scream. If you do, I will have to punish you, understand?”
Her eyes were wide with fear and unshed tears as she nodded her acquiescence. Relief flooded her body when he let go over her and moved back towards the bed.
“I just want to talk,” he told her, putting his hands up in front of him, in a gesture that was surely meant to create a false sense of safety—like she was the one keeping him instead of the other way around. “I don’t want to hurt you, Diamond. I love you.” His voice was thick with emotion as he whispered his sick confession.
She wanted to argue, to point out that he didn’t know her—that they had never had a conversation—that he had only spent years worshipping her from afar—that she wasn’t her mother. But she couldn’t speak. He had warned her not to. Her eyes were glued to the gun in his pocket.
He sat on the unmade bed, pulling the backpack into his lap, and unzipping it as she watched with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Fitch was shaking as he slowly pulled out items one by one, setting them on the bed beside him. It was a mixture of unambiguous and foreboding. A water bottle. Rope. A photo album of some sort. A pocket knife. A roll of film. A pair of handcuffs. Altogether, with the gun, it looked like the survival kit of a serial killer. One by one, the items went back into the bag until only the water bottle, rope and album remained.
Fitch patted the bed beside him, and motioned her to come, leaving the rope, but setting the photo album in his lap.
“I know you don’t love me,” he stated flatly, his eyes sad. “It’s okay. You don’t know me yet. That’s why I’m here. We can change that. I know everything about you. I’ve watched you for years, collecting information until you disappeared. When she died, I thought I’d have my chance. I could comfort you. I could be the man you needed to get you through that horrible time. I waited until a few days after the funeral, to give you space and time to mourn. Then I was going to come to you. We were going to be together. But you never came back. I waited and waited. You never came.”
Dread settled like a boulder in her stomach. If only they had known that she was his target. They had thought of him as the harmless paparazzo, snapping pictures of their day to day life for the purpose of making a quick buck. They had never suspected that he was really just lying in wait—for her—the object of his maniacal affections.
She opened her mouth to speak, questioning him with her eyes as she silently begged permission. Appeased, he nodded.
“It was too painful.”
His eyes were sad as he acknowledged her pain. “I know. I knew you were hurting. I knew you would come back when you were ready. We would be together then.” He put his arm around her, one large clammy hand gripping her shoulder.
Her skin crawled underneath the thin fabric.
“But you came with him.” His eyes narrowed, and darted around the room frantically. She hadn’t known eyes that bright could look that dark and eerie. “You didn’t wait for me. You were supposed to wait!”
Fitch was growing agitated. Terror flooded her veins as his grip tightened on her shoulder, pulling her close to him. She could smell him then, a mixture of sweat and cheap deodorant. His right hand raked against the denim of his jeans as he clawed at himself frantically.
“I’m sorry!” she squeaked, praying she wouldn’t anger him by speaking. “I didn’t know! You never told me. How was I supposed to know?”
The calm was instant, and frightening. He looked at the album sitting in his lap as if he had just remembered that it was there. “I know,” he whispered. “I was going to. I had it all planned out. I worked on it all the time. I was going to show you. But you never came back.”
Bile was rising in her throat as she stared at the album in his lap—knowing that what laid inside was the work of an obsessed stalker. She didn’t want to see it, but it seemed to be the only thing calming him at the moment.
Laying her hand on his leg, she squeezed his thigh softly, fighting the tears that were still threatening to fall. “Show me now.” Her heart was pounding in her chest as she ran through her options. She could only keep him calm for so long. Whatever was in the album might set him off again if she didn’t respond appropriately, and her limited acting skills were sure to fail her at some point.
At her touch, Fitch jerked his head up hopefully, and gazed longingly into her eyes.
“Show me,” she repeated again, fighting not to stumble through the words she didn’t want to speak. “Show me now. I want to see. But,” she gulped, forcing herself to meet his eyes with a look that conveyed trust and promise. “Not in here. Let’s go into the sitting room, where the light is better.” Shrugging his hand from her shoulder, she gripped it in her own and stood, pulling him with her.
To her gratified amazement, he followed, taking only the album with him.
Diamond chose the bigger of the two small leather couches and sat, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon. There were only a few lamps, and a small wooden chair near the window where Pax often ate his breakfast. Pax kept the room tidy and devoid of personal belongings. Why couldn’t he have had a baseball bat behind the door or something?
Fitch’s gaze followed her own, and he noticed something she hadn’t. A photo of Pax and Jason outside Rojo rested on the armoire. He was instantly agitated. “This is his room.” His voice was cold. “You didn’t wait for me. You were supposed to wait. We’re supposed to be together. The fact that you’re here—at Rojo—it just proves that we are made for each other. You’re supposed to be my sub, not his.”
He turned on her, and stood, pacing around the room, filled with rage. “She’s mine. She’s mine.” He was muttering under his breath. His hand rested on the gun in his pocket, but he didn’t pull it out.
“Yes!” she cried, breathing through her tears that were now falling fast and free. “I want to be yours. I always wanted that, I promise. He means nothing to me,” she lied desperately, willing to say anything to subdue him. “I want you. I-I just didn’t know you felt the same.”
It was working. His pacing slowed and his breathing grew ragged. He looked at her with uncertainty, wanting so desperately to believe the words she was speaking. Then he shook his head. “You’re tricking me! It’s a trick!” he roared, crossing the room to where she still sat stiffly on the couch. A clammy hand grabbed her elbow, and yanked her up, pulling her body tightly against his. His change in demeanor was instant as he shifted, holding onto her tightly with one hand, and grabbing the gun with the other. The cold metal grazed her cheek, and she closed her eyes with a whimper. This was it.
* * *
“Are you the owner?” A short man dressed in full swat gear, clutching a semi-automatic, approached him carefully.
“That’s me. How much longer is this going to take? It’s been hours. My staff and customers are terrified.”
