“T-I don’t even know why I’m talking to you,” she finally stutters out. “You’re a sick, deranged individual. And I already made another police report against you, asshole.” Lies. The last report she made about me was the night she pretended to call when I stood outside her house. She was attempting to scare me away, but once I called her out on it, she followed through with the threat. My girl doesn’t back down from a challenge. I walked back to my car with a stiff cock and a smile on my face. I don’t back down, either. A bark of laughter bursts from my throat before I can stop it. “That’s funny?” “That’s sexy. But we both know that’s not true.” I’ve been deleting them since she started making them and sent a guy in to destroy any physical evidence. The policemen will recall going to her house, but the second they try to investigate—if they ever got off their asses, that is—they would have nothing to go off of. Not that stalking cases are ever taken seriously anyways, which is why so many women end up murdered. She growls and hangs up on me, and I can’t keep in the fucking laughter. Especially when I pull the feed up and see her stomping her cute little feet around the house mumbling to herself, probably berating herself for even picking up the phone. The fun has only just begun, little mouse.