Stalk Her

“Keep telling yourself that. When you’re short on cash you know where to find me.”

Tears spring in my eyes, and I swallow down the stone forming in the back of my throat.

He just doused me in gasoline and struck a match. I’m burning. I hate him.

Nine

Chapter

ERIK

Ebony would be so disappointed in me for abusing her charity efforts, but hell if I give a shit. Alice is consuming me.

Checking my watch, I grab my jacket and ignore Janet’s startled expression when I waltz past her and Lee’s minion waiting for our three o’clock appointment in my office foyer.

Lee can wait to get his shit signed off.

I take the truck instead of the car to not bring attention to the same car lingering about.

Wind batters the metal and glass as I sit waiting for Alice to leave the school grounds.

Crowds of students pour out of cars driven by idiot’s speeding from the gates, and I hope she’s not inside one of them.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel every time a brunette catches my eye.

Alice where are you?

There are a few stragglers left but no Alice. Maybe she had a ride or stayed behind.

I pull out my cell and pull up her Facebook page. No updates.

Maybe she didn’t come to school today.

She’s graduating soon, maybe she’s flaking.

Slipping my cell into my pocket, I start the engine and pull into the street.

Just as I’m passing the school gates I see her.

Brown hair fluttering down her shoulders, anger brimming in her spectacular eyes.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and keeps checking behind her like she’s expecting someone to follow her.

Have I been that obvious?

Wrapping her arms around her torso as if to hold herself together, she hurries down the street.

My palms twitch with a need to go to her, to feel her sorrow against my skin.

What happened to you?

The urge pulsing inside me resembles an ache of an addict desperate for medicine.

Feed me.

Blood pumps hard through my body, resonating with the pounding of my heart.

She’s so damaged, so fragile. I need her. I need to show her she isn’t lost anymore. I’ve found her.

And she’s mine.

Just before she can cross the road, a truck stops beside her.

A boy jumps out and goes to her.

She shakes her head and pulls away when he reaches out for her.

Rage manifests within me at the sight of him putting his hands on her, causing her distress. That’s not his job.

They appear to argue before she offers him the middle finger and carries on walking in the opposite direction.

Throwing his hands up in the air, he rounds the truck and climbs inside, reeving his engine as he speeds past her.

My instincts are to follow her, but my curiosity drives me forward, tailing the truck.

We drive for ten minutes before he pulls down an alleyway behind the back of a bar.

I wait to see if he exits before getting out of my own truck.

A surprised laugh barks from my chest as a woman strides up to him and slips inside.

They’re in view of anyone walking or driving past, but this doesn’t seem to prevent her from snatching money from his hand and lowering her head into his lap.

Getting out of my truck, I walk over to his and tap on the window.

He startles and immediately pushes the blonde twice his age from his lap, putting his little pecker away.

“Soliciting is a crime you know.”

“Fuck,” they both snap in unison.

The whore slips out of the truck and takes off running in four-inch heels.

It’s laughable.

I could take my own shoe off, throw it at her, and still take her down.

Run, little whore.

She reminds me of my mother.

Flashes of her infest my mind, trapping me in shrouded darkness for a second before the punk speaks and brings me back.

“My father is a very influential man, Officer,” he attempts to bribe.

“Step out of the car,” I bark, opening the door for him.

Music pulses from the club’s cellar doors, left open for deliveries.

“I’ve had a really shit day,” he groans, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“The woman,” I snap, taking a step toward him making his shift backwards on his feet toward the club.

“She’s no one. A friend, not a prostitute,” he mumbles, tripping over his words, and almost his feet has he continues to back away from me warily.

“Not that one, the brunette you stopped a few miles back.”

At this his brow crashes down over his eyes “Alice Young?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Look, I wasn’t doing anything to her, we have history,” he finally stops moving sensing the open doors behind him.

“What history?”

Folding his arms, he narrows his eyes on me. “Is she in trouble? Is this about my phone?”

Irritation flares in my veins, and I have to take a deep breath so I don’t grab him around the throat.

“How do you know her and don’t say school. What were you trying to get out of her?”