Page 20 of Alaric

Because he’d been at that meeting.

He’d not only seen me, but he knew to correlate me to my profile.

He knew exactly who I was.

He had information I swore that no subscriber would get to know.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

My hand was shaking as I stabbed my finger at the screen to end the video call.

Then, because that wasn’t enough, I closed the chat, then the entire damn window, making myself go offline.

“Oh, God,” I hissed as I climbed out of bed, going into the bathroom to run a cool shower, then scrubbing at myself like I could wipe away the whole thing.

But when I climbed out, goosebumpy and cold, I was even more frazzled than I’d been when I’d gone in.

Walking back into the living room, I found Frida looking expectantly at me, her internal clock telling her that we had one more quick walkie planned before bed.

“Your mother is a moron,” I told her as I slid on her leash, then walked with her toward the stairs, deciding that I clearly needed more activity in my life to try to offset my overactive libido.

If I was sore and exhausted from exercise, I wouldn’t have the energy to have freaking cyber sex with someone who wasn’t as anonymous as I’d been trying to convince myself.

“We’re taking a long walk tonight, girl,” I told her, then walked us both until I was slick with sweat, and Frida was panting and shooting me sideways looks. Like she wanted to know what the heck she was being punished for.

“Alright. Let’s go home,” I said, taking us back to the apartment.

Where I decided that I was going to block the hot biker guy in the morning.

Except, of course, my resolve somehow evaporated as soon as I woke up in the morning after having sweaty, bedsheet-tangling sex dreams about the guy.

I barely made it a day before I was toggling over to his profile.

And waiting.

I didn’t have to wait long.

I never could have expected though, that this time, the orgasm wouldn’t be chased by shock and a small bit of embarrassment, but by a hail of bullets…

CHAPTER FIVE

Alaric

What the fuck was that?

If ever there was a solid throat kick to the ego, it was a woman immediately ending a video call the second she saw your face.

I sat there in stunned inaction for a long moment, staring at the chat box that declared she was now offline.

Objectively, I knew there was nothingwrongwith my face. Sure, attractiveness was subjective. And some women might not care for light hair or green eyes. But as a whole, I knew I was technically good-looking. Getting women had never been an issue.

So what was it then?

I tossed my spare phone to the other side of the bed, then got up and jumped in the shower.

It wasn’t until the cool water cascaded down my body that a potential explanation came to me.