Tyrant Stalker (Tyrant Dynasty 2)

I take a moment to ponder the kid's words. The answer is probably not. She was more than eager to get rid of me a year ago. But in that time, my obsession has only grown darker, deeper. I thought I'd start getting over Dove by now. That I'd be balls deep in another pussy. But the sad truth is, I haven't fucked a single other person. It's just me and my fucking fist, and the thought of Dove ever-present in my mind.

"Probably not," I smirk at Willa. "We got into an argument before I left."

She shrugs, her clever eyes on mine. "Then fix it."

I laugh out loud. "It's not that easy."

The kid grins. "It's always that easy, monster."

"Hey, who you calling a monster?"

"You," she smiles. "The scar looks scary."

"Do I scare you, Willa?"

She thinks about it for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Monsters aren't scary. People are."

Her words hit me hard and I nod thoughtfully before pointing back into her room. "Get some sleep, kid. Call me tomorrow, if you want."

"Even if there's nothing wrong?"

"Yeah," I smile thoughtfully. "Even if there's nothing wrong."

She waves me off and I slink back into the shadows, my hands in my pockets as I walk away from her shitty place. Dove's next on the agenda. Of course, I have to be careful, so she doesn't see me. I don't want her to come through on her promise to call the cops if she sees me around her place again. I know it's been a year, but she seemed fucking determined to keep me away.

It's a long walk from Willa's to Dove's, and I take my time, dragging my feet and avoiding walking to Dove's neighborhood. As much as I want to see my little bird, I'm afraid of hurting her even more.

It takes me hours of walking around the city, dragging my feet along, to finally decide I can't stay away.

I tried to be good.

I tried to give Dove what she wanted.

But I fucking can't stay away.

It's early morning by the time I show up in front of her house. I don't recognize any of the cars parked on the street, which isn't much of a reprieve. Knowing that smug piece of shit Raphael, he probably upgraded his ride since the last time I was here. He seems like the smug type who always drives the newest model. Prick.

I find my spot in the shadows, remembering Sam. There's nothing left of him, not even the stack of newspapers and blankets Dove gave him. He's gone, erased. But he still left his mark on this world. I know, because I carry it in my rotten heart. And I think Dove does, too.

I wait in the shadows until the front door of Dove's house opens. My chest tightens as I watch him exit. Raphael. So, he was here. He was here all along, watching my woman, taking care of her when I fucking couldn't.

Instantly, jealousy and anger demand me to go over there and strangle the piece of shit on the spot. Is he fucking her? Has he been inside what's mine? The mere thought of it makes me enraged, threatening to unleash every single demon I've kept silent in my head. But I push it back, force it behind closed doors. He's not going to win in the end, anyway.

I watch Raphael walk up to a flashy car – just as I suspected, the newest Tesla. He gets behind the wheel and drives away while I grit my teeth and watch Dove's house for any sign of life. But there's nothing. She must be still asleep.

Jealousy's a dangerous fucking drug. Right now, it's making me lose my mind, imagining all the ways Dove betrayed me since I was last here. If this were a year ago, Raphael Santino would be dead fucking meat.

But in my year away, I've picked up some self-control.

Besides, it'll feel sweeter to rip her out of his arms. Make him fucking watch Dove pick me. Because the poor little photographer never stood a chance.

Dove Canterbury has always been my property. And I'm not letting anybody have a piece of what's mine.

With a satisfied smile, I pull away from the alley. It's not our time yet. But I know now for sure, I'm not giving up on the woman of my dreams. And I think I know exactly how to get my little bird back...

Whether she wants it or not.

Chapter 38

Dove

I examine my reflection in the mirror critically. I look good – even for my standards.

I'm wearing a skintight black dress which reaches the tops of my thighs, and a pair of black heeled boots. I slip on a coat over and take a deep, calming breath to steady myself. I can do this. I haven't promised Raphael anything. And he should know by now I'm not ready to do anything sexual. Aside from one very awkward kiss, we haven't even broached the subject... in a full year.