Stranger in my Ass-Chapter 279

Olivia’s POV

I shot to my feet so fast the blanket fell to the floor in a heap.

"Who are you?" The words came out shaky, my voice high with fear. "What do you want?"

The man stepped further into the firelight, and I got my first clear look at him.

He was older - how much older, I couldn’t tell. His face was covered in thick, coarse facial hair, a mixture of gray and black that obscured most of his features. What I could see of his skin was weathered, lined with age and something harder. Cruelty, maybe.

His eyes caught the firelight, reflecting it back like an animal’s.

And that knife - God, that knife looked like it could gut a person.

"Who am I?" He chuckled, the sound terrifyingly menacing. "I’m just someone who wants to see Maxwell suffer and pay for what he did to me. And after watching him very closely this past week, I’ve realized something important."

He took another step toward me, and I took an automatic step back, my hip hitting the arm of the couch.

"Your death," he continued, tilting his head like he was examining an interesting specimen, "will do the trick quite nicely."

Ice flooded my veins.

"How did you know I was here?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady even as my mind raced through possible escape routes. The front door was behind him - no good. Kitchen to my left - back door, if I could make it. Windows - too small, and I’d have to break the glass. "What do you want?"

"I told you what I want." His voice was patient, almost amused, like he was explaining something simple to a child. "I want Maxwell to suffer. And killing you seems like the most efficient way to accomplish that."

"But I..." I edged slightly to the left, toward the kitchen, trying to make it look natural. "I don’t even know Maxwell that well. We’re not - we’re barely even talking right now. If you kill me, you’ll be making a huge mistake. He won’t even care."

The man laughed - a full-throated laugh that made my skin crawl.

"You must be really dumb," he said, his amusement fading into something colder. "Or deaf. Didn’t you hear me say I’ve been watching you? Watching him? I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he searches for you like a lovesick puppy. The way he’s been falling apart since you disappeared. You are his weakness. His ultimate weakness. And that’s why I stood guard outside your house, waiting for the perfect opportunity, until you provided me one by coming here."

"So you wasted your time following me here?! Maxwell won’t care what you do to me. We’ve gone our separate ways."

He took another step forward, and I took another step toward the kitchen.

"Who do you think you are to play with my intelligence? I’m warning you, girl, if you open your mouth one more time to utter words that make me look like a fool," he said, his voice becoming deadly quiet, "I won’t give you a befitting burial when I kill you. I’ll simply feed what’s left of you to my dog. Piece by piece. Starting with your fingers."

My stomach turned, bile rising in my throat.

But I kept moving. Slowly. Carefully. Maintaining eye contact so he wouldn’t notice how close I was getting to the kitchen doorway.

"Who are you to Maxwell?" I asked, stalling for time, trying to keep him talking. "Why do you want to hurt him?"

The man stopped walking, a smirk spreading across his face - or what I could see of it beneath all that hair.

"Family," he said simply.

The word hit me like a slap.

"Family?" I repeated, genuinely confused now. "But if he’s family, why would you want to..."

"This isn’t an interview, little girl." His voice hardened, the amusement draining away completely. "I’m not here to answer your silly questions. I’m here to kill you and send Maxwell a message he’ll never forget."

He started walking toward me again, faster now, and I could see his grip tighten on the knife.

"I know what you’re trying to do," he said conversationally, like we were discussing the weather instead of my imminent death. "Edging toward the kitchen. Planning to make a run for the back door. It’s quite predictable, really."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

"But here’s the thing," he continued, his smile widening. "You can’t escape this place no matter how far you run. I’ve made certain of that. I cut the phone lines. Disabled your wifi. The nearest neighbor is three miles away, and no one’s going to hear you scream."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"But I do love a good chase," he added, and there was something genuinely gleeful in his voice now. Something unhinged. "So if you want to run, be my guest. I’ll indulge you. Chase you around this beach like the scared little rabbit you are. It’ll make the kill so much more satisfying."

That was all the invitation I needed.

I spun and ran.

Through the kitchen, my bare feet slapping against the hard floor. My hand caught the edge of the counter as I rounded the corner, using the momentum to propel myself forward.

The back door - thank God, thank God - was unlocked.

I yanked it open and burst outside...

Straight into a wall of rain.

It was pouring. Absolutely pouring. The kind of heavy, relentless rain that soaked you to the bone in seconds.

I hadn’t even noticed it starting inside the house, too focused on the fire and the music and then the intruder.

But now it was coming down in sheets, so thick I could barely see five feet in front of me. The wind whipped it sideways, stinging my face and arms.

The beach stretched out before me, dark and endless, the ocean a roaring presence in the darkness.

I ran toward it, my feet hitting the wooden steps of the back porch, then sinking into cold sand.

Behind me, I heard him laugh.

"There she goes!" His voice carried on the wind, delighted and deranged. "Run, little rabbit!

I didn’t look back. Couldn’t look back.

Just ran, my lungs burning, my legs pumping, the sand making every step harder than it should be.

I headed for the water, some desperate part of my brain thinking that maybe - maybe - there would be someone out there. A late-night swimmer. Someone walking their dog. Anyone.

But even as I ran, I knew the truth.

It was past nine PM on a Wednesday night. The beach was deserted. The houses along this stretch were dark, most of them vacation rentals that wouldn’t be occupied until the summer holidays.

I was completely alone.

"I love a good chase!" the man’s voice called out behind me, closer than it should be. "Keep running! Make it fun for me!"

My foot caught on something - a piece of driftwood or a divot in the sand - and I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell.