Stalk Her

And even though I’d only met Poppy hours before, when I’d first seen her, I knew she’d be mine. Therefore, she was under my protection. That meant I’d do whatever was in my power to make sure she was safe, to let her know she would never have to be worried or feel fear.

Possessive? Irrational? Fucking insane? Yeah, I was all those things. But that’s who I was. And I’d be like that until the day I died.

Chapter Five

Poppy

I was home ten minutes after leaving the bar, and I was exhausted, not because I’d worked especially hard, but because of the events after the fact.

All I could keep thinking about was Butcher beating the living hell out of that man. And even though it was a darkened alley with the muted yellow light washing over the dirty asphalt, I’d seen all the blood, like spilled ink across his face and on the ground.

And his face… God, the drunk’s face had been swollen and a mess, wrecked and distorted.

I tossed my purse onto the Formica breakfast counter, kicked my shoes off, and leaned against the door. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly, my entire body aching. The side of my face hurt, the feeling of the blood rushing beneath the surface causing this warm, thumping sensation below the wound.

I pushed away from the door and made my way down the short hallway and into the bathroom. After I turned on the light, the flickering glow filled up the small interior a second before it stayed steady. This apartment was a piece of shit, but the rent was cheap, the landlord happy to get paid under the table—which meant no paperwork. With my current situation, what more could I ask for?

I’d deal with filth to stay safe.

So I lived in a severely archaic one-bedroom hovel with outdated decor and appliances, my neighborhood sketchy, and with the occasional sound of gunshots in the distance. Why? Because all that meant was I was even more hidden.

I turned and faced my reflection, the girl staring back at me definitely having seen better days, but then again, this wasn’t the worst I’ve ever experienced. Having a drug addict for a mother meant she brought questionable men to the house. And when they drank too much, they got a little too grabby, a little too violent with her. With me. I had my fair share of bruises because of her drunken, cracked-out boyfriends.

But I learned early on to fight back, because when you fight back, they knew you weren’t weak, weren’t a victim. But Henry… Henry was different. Henry was dangerous. And it’s why I ran. Because I knew if I stayed, not only would he take what he wanted from me; he might very well kill me for having the strength to fight back.

I pushed away from the sink and walked over to the bathtub, turning on the water and holding my hand under the spray for a suspended moment. I felt it go from cold to warm, and finally to hot.

This was my happy place… sitting in a bathtub with nearly unbearably hot water, letting my arms and legs just float. I’d pretend I was weightless, that nothing else mattered.

And it didn’t in those moments.

After putting the stopper in the tub and watching it fill up for a moment, I made my way into the bedroom to grab a change of clothes. The flash of headlights moved in through the window, making it almost seem daylight in my room for a few seconds. I walked over to the window and stared out, the shitty little neighborhood I lived in no stranger to crackheads and prostitutes on the corner of the streets.

I thought about Butcher and what he’d done tonight, how he’d looked. He’d been protecting me, albeit in a very violent, savage way. I should fear him, but I didn’t. Watching him kick that guy’s ass made me feel one thing.

Safe.

I pulled my thoughts back to the present. A few old, rusted, and probably barely running cars sat by the curbs, scattered around, but one had me straightening. One vehicle looked severely out of place.

A shiny, very expensive SUV was across the street and a little ways down. The lights were off, the windows too dark from being tinted for me to make out if someone was inside. Could be a drug dealer. That’s what I told myself anyway. But because I was running, hiding, I never brushed anything off to coincidence, to happenstance.

But if it were Henry, he’d already be in here. So I felt myself relax, told myself that I was only this jittery because of what happened tonight.

I turned away from the window and went back into the bathroom, about to let myself be weightless and forget about all the shit I let into my life.