Page 46 of The Monster I Am
Dread and horror rolls through me because as I turn to tiptoe to my bedroom, the front door clicks open behind me.
I know I locked the door. I double checked after walking Soph out.
Spinning around, my heart pounds in my chest at the sight of a dark figure standing outside the doorway in the shadows.
Immediately, I can tell it’s not one of the guys from the person’s physique, and my fists curl defensively until a familiar face steps inside.
“Ms. Spencer,” he says coldly. “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but we both know I wouldn’t be speaking the truth.”
What the fuck is Max Astor doing in my house?
Chapter fourteen
Bexley
“What are you doing here?” I ask carefully, voice cold and reserved.
That’s clearly not the most important question here, but it’s better than asking the alternative first. Doing so would leave me exposed—revealing the fear attached to needing to know the answer.
Max Astor lifts his chin, top lip sneering slightly as he scans my frame purposefully. Disdain is written all over his face, and I doubt this visit is anything warm or welcoming.
This man’s picture would be in the dictionary attached to the definition ofcalculating. Everything about him is deliberate and tactical—a means to intimidate with his presence. It’s where Rylan learned everything, after all.
Let’s be honest though—breaking into somebody’s house at night is definitely worthy of an intimidation label. But even if I wasn’t the wonderful, stubborn individual that I am, it would still be a grave error to show the genuine fucking fear I feel right now.
“We need to talk, Ms. Spencer,” he answers simply. “This won’t take long but you’re a smart young woman. I’m sure you can deduce as to why I’m here.”
The way he says it is actually terrifying. The logical part of my mind knows he’s referring to Rylan, but the words strung together like that also have me believing that he’s referring to the concept of time.
As in… this visit will bequickbecause I’m in severe danger.
Maybe it’s both.
Crossing my arms, I lock my knees painfully to resist the urge to run and appear taller. “I would have been more than happy to schedule a meeting at your office if you had requested it, Mayor Astor,” I say with a quiet scoff. “No need for house visits.”
He sighs heavily at my remark, clearly exasperated. My heart aggressively pounds faster when he closes the door behind him. If it’s open, then there’s a chance someone will hear me yell for help. But closed? That’s a problem.
I need to get him out of my house.
I need… Rylan.
“As I’m sure you can imagine, this is a conversation I’d prefer to remain private. Thus the need for a more…intimate… setting,” he murmurs, trailing off as his beady eyes glance around the house observantly.
“I can’t even begin to wonder what business you would have with me,” I utter carefully.
Mayor Astor's eyebrow sharpens with intrigue. “I work in politics, Ms. Spencer. You’ll have to lie a little better than that if you want to convince me.”
“Get out of my house,” I demand, clenching my teeth.
I’m terrified, no doubt about it, but I’m also livid at his audacity. What kind of grown ass man breaks into an eighteen year old’s house? This ridiculous feud is maddening, and I refuse to be a casualty in whatever sick game this is.
Ignoring me, he takes a sharp left and strolls into the living room, leaving me no choice but to follow.
My phone is in my bedroom and I contemplate racing for it. But I’m paralyzed by the hesitation that comes from the thought of being caged in there if Max Astor decides to play ball and take this up a notch.
Heading into the living room, I mentally beat myself up for second guessing the decision to dash for the phone when I find him on the single-seat armchair, sitting in a relaxed figure-four position.
“Sit,” he insists, warningly, motioning to the sofa. “My time is valuable.”
