by Celia Crown
The nightmare started when a coworker took me out on a dinner date after months of asking. It was like a breath of fresh air after being tormented by Remo. It was a nice restaurant, and we had a decent conversation. He paid for dinner after teasing me about getting a kiss to cover my half of the bill.
It was a joke that I laughed off until it was no longer a joke. Walking me to the front door, he caught me off-guard and leaned in rather forcefully to kiss me.
Everything happened so quickly that I never had a chance to react.
My lips were cut by his teeth as Remo suddenly appeared and gripped my coworker’s neck.
My therapist told me that most stalkers stay hidden because they like to watch from a distance. A handful of them will make their presence known, but only a few turn violent.
I got a stalker who is needy and temperamental.
Lucky me, I think sourly.
My therapist was right; my father’s use of his fists instead of talking to my mother had desensitized me to fighting. It was a coping mechanism to protect my sanity. Still, I didn’t address the violence imprinted on my brain at a crucial stage of childhood.
I could’ve been a stronger woman, physically and mentally. Successfully erasing Remo from my life could’ve eliminated the problems we have now. I just didn’t have the proper support.
I wanted to escape from Remo and stay with my mother.
Remo cups my cheek, startling my thoughts away as he lifts my eyes to his warm ones. Funny to say, they are the coldest shade of arctic blue.
He hums, his breath ghosting over my cheek and kissing the itch away.
“No more secrets,” he reckons.
“What else are you hiding?” I’m not even surprised anymore. He’s shrouded in dangerous secrets yet walks with the confidence of an innocent man.
“I run the Jackals.”
His confession hammers my heart against the ribs, constricting until it hurts to breathe, but I force my tense muscles to relax. I try to hide my grimace, hoping to convey a convincing expression of confusion and nothing else.
I croak out, resisting to tilt my cheek to his brushing lips, “Since when?”
“Since I was in prison.”
It’s a wonder that he doesn’t mention my pounding pulse under his finger or the burning heat on my cheek where he is still kissing.
In idiotic fashion, I blurt, “I’m going to the police with this information.”
“Can I drop you off there?” he asks, straightening as he smiles blithely. “I don’t want you to walk and have some kind of an accident.”
I bristle, “You just confessed to multiple crimes, and then I told you I’m going to the police. That’s all you have to say?”
“Do you want to get lunch afterward?” he says, stars in his eyes.
My traitorous heart skips a beat.
“Remo,” I whisper in a panic. “This is serious. You killed a judge and a prosecutor!”
“They weren’t that special,” he utters as if he can’t fathom why I’m so angry and rattled.
They won’t be the last victims. I just know it; call it intuition.
I gesture wildly with my free hand, knocking his burly chest. “I don’t want you to kill for me—hell, I don’t want you to kill anyone.”
He blinks impassively, disdainful honesty brimming in his eyes. “Then, don’t give me a reason to kill.”
How did this become my fault?
Chapter Eight
Remo
Her back arches, hair tousled, and fingers fidgeting between her squished thighs.
On more than one occasion, I have wondered how it would feel to have her soft thighs around my head while I eat her little pussy. No doubt it would be heavenly, but dreams can be somewhat exaggerated.
I want her straddling my face as my hands grip her plump ass, and I eat her pussy until her thighs shake from exhaustion.
Breathing would not be a problem because her sweet juices would revive me.
“What’s on your mind?” I whisper, lips brushing her ear as I lean against her.
The mattress sinks under my weight, allowing gravity to bring her closer to me. Jenny angles her body to the side, but my arm tightens around her waist. She reminds me of a bunny that wants to jump out of my arms.
“Things,” she grumbles, “Too many things.”
She’s flustered and nervous. It has only been one day since I confessed my crimes to her. But I prefer to think of them as proof of how I have taken care of her.
I have the money, power, and skills to guarantee her a life of caged comfort for our family. Too much freedom would give her the irresistible temptation to wander off, so there will be several rules she must follow.
In due time, I muse happily as I pet her hair.
It was beneficial to give her some time to absorb all the information I shared with her yesterday. As much as it pained me to leave last night, I had to tie up some loose ends before I can whisk my pretty girl away.
It’s time for us to return home. Four years has been a long time away, and I don’t consider myself a patient man.
“Would it kill you to not touch me for one day?” she grumbles, scowling adorably.
“Yes, it would.”
I felt like I had died every day of the four years I had to wake up without her in my arms. The only person I ever wanted to see was Jenny, but both the psychiatric hospital and the prison made that impossible.
“You’re stressing me out,” Jenny rasps. “Some personal space would be nice right now.”
Her snarky jab bounces off me. Her words don’t hurt me; she likes being chased and offers hints about how to win her love.
I had my fair share of violent encounters and condescending offers in prison. I didn’t quite understand the appeal of joining a group for protection, but there is strength in numbers.
There is always a chance of betrayal, though, as people compete for power.
I stayed independent in prison, not associating myself with any group while keeping tabs on possible threats. To pass the time, I made plans to infiltrate an infamous drug trafficking ring. The tension in prison was already high, but I poured gasoline on the fire and fanned it with enough lies to ignite a wildfire.
I am a large man, so I was left alone most of the time. On unlucky days, I ended up with bruised knuckles and an inextinguishable temper.
Karma caught up with me when I came across one of the most aggravating men in the world. He didn’t have a jackal tattoo back then as he grinned while shanking me. I nearly decapitated him as payback.
Now, he’s a thorn on my side. At least he’s useful to me most of the time.
“You’re going to bruise me!” Jenny squeaks in pain, smacking the hand that’s digging into her waist.
I pull her tightly to my chest while I lean in to check the damage. Despite her protests, I lift her cotton shirt and examine the red swelling of her supple skin.
Beautiful.
She slaps my hand away and smooths down her shirt before jumping up from the bed. Her eyes are angry as her pink lips tremble.
“I’m going for a walk and want you out of here by the time I get back,” she demands, hands on her hips. “I don’t want to ask questions that have incriminating answers.”
“I’ll—” I say before her hand shoots up.
“A solo walk!” she gripes. “I want space.”
“I’ll walk behind you,” I suggest, getting up from her soft bed.
I am momentarily distracted by the thought of diving under the covers, engulfing myself with her delectable scent.
She says, “I liked it better when you were a faceless stalker.”
“Protecting you,” I correct her again. “’ Stalking’ has a negative connotation.”
Jenny gasps, “I never asked for your protection.”
Her reaction shows no sign of distress. She’s warming up to me; I just want her to hurry up and let me love her with everything I have.
“What exactly have I
done wrong?” I ask in a teasing tone.
She scoffs, eyes darting to the open window. “The most obvious thing is committing a home invasion.”
“No occupants were inside, and the window was open, so it isn’t legally considered a home invasion.”
The law tends to be murky, leaving many gray areas to be exploited. I have used it to my advantage as I gradually blend our lives together without frightening her.
I’m the last person anyone wants to be around. I didn’t want to show up so suddenly that she would feel forced to run like she did before.
“Look how far we’ve come, pretty girl,” I comment to her dumbfounded face. “I wouldn’t do anything differently even if I could.”
My hand lifts to touch her again, but she slaps my knuckles like a striking scorpion.
“You could’ve just walked up to me and talked.” Jenny sighs wearily.
“I wouldn’t have known what to say,” I intone gruffly, hating the idea of being unprepared when dealing with Jenny.
Yes, everything I did was for her protection and in preparation for our future. I wanted to show her how to love a monstrosity like me, to put it frankly. That took longer than expected, I realize now as the tension in my body eases.
Our love is unconventional, so regular coffee dates and picnics would not have worked for us. I never want to have what everyone else accomplished: uncertain grounds on first meetings, shy smiles on second dates, or fluttering butterflies in the stomach after shared kisses.
I fell in love with her in a cosmic way, so she should feel like she’s free-falling onto the perfect landing zone. No parachute, no fear, and no regrets because I will catch her.
“I don’t want to change the way I love you,” I end up stating candidly.
“There you go again,” Jenny whispers, upset. “I can’t follow your thoughts. You always go to the extreme. ”
It’s not extreme to love her this much. But then again, the men in her life were not great role models. She doesn’t realize her views on romantic relationships are warped.
Life has been cruel to her, but that was before she met me. I will do everything in my power to live up to her expectations.
“I asked you to teach me,” I remind aloofly. “I want to compromise with you, so we understand each other.”
Jenny knocks my hand away with stubborn resentment.
She hisses, “There is a restraining order against you for a reason.”
I persist and raise my hand to her quivering jaw, gaining full access to her neck. Reading her expressions and comparing her words with her pulse is exhilarating.
Knowing she’s not lying to me makes me proud of her.
“It was lifted for a reason as well,” I indifferently divulge this to her.
A restraining order is as useless as a deadbolt on the front door. I would’ve ignored the order if it were still active, but my high-priced lawyer got it dropped as part of my plea deal.
“I respect you, pretty girl, for making me into a better man.”
I am not mocking her. The corners of my lips twitch with affection.
I’ve learned many things about myself because of her. Some of my bad habits have been adjusted, but most remain.
Wanting to make her cry is a critical need I have kept in place.
“Are you going to fight me on this, Jenny?”
I’ll convince her that she has made me into a better man, hiding my brutality until it boils over.
“Are you going to hurt me?” she asks evenly, and I can’t get a read on her feelings since her pulse hasn’t changed.
“No.”
Never has the thought crossed my mind. I can be intentionally cruel when necessary to make her obey like a good girl. Holding her neck is not a threat when I tighten my grip a bit, and she proves her absolute trust in me when she doesn’t flinch.
When I hold her hand, I want her to know the roughness means I’m capable of defending her.
Jenny whispers, “Then, yes, I’m going to fight you on this.”
She is a temptress with scalding eyes and spitfire's lips. My lips steal her breath before she can say more. A taste of heaven surges onto my tongue as I swallow her sweet protest.
I bite her bottom lip, my hand gripping the back of her head to keep her still. It’s not enough, and the taste of her becomes more addicting with each passing second.
“Remo,” she protests breathlessly.
Reluctantly parting from her puffy lips, I relish the tingle on mine. Soft hair escapes my rough fingers, caressing the nape of her neck and skimming my palm as she shifts her weight. Her arms stay at her side, but the vehemence in her eyes pushes me away.
She whispers throatily, “You haven’t gotten better. You are even worse than before, and I hate it.”
That’s good. My darling is a fighter, and it will be much sweeter when she surrenders to me.
“Don’t let me catch you, pretty girl.”
She spins around, hair flying wildly as she runs out the door, knowing I’ll follow like a dutiful shadow.
Jenny pauses at the end of the hall, contemplating her next move. She glances over her shoulder and narrows her fiery eyes.
“You can’t stay here,” she murmurs, eyeing the woman on the couch.
My gaze follows hers as I nod, agreeing that spending quality time together requires privacy. Her friend’s insufferable presence irks me, even when she’s not teasing Jenny.
We’ll go to my penthouse up the hills, surrounded by silence. Some of the neighbors don’t know what reasonable hours are. The people on the left had the honor of trying some of my opioid-laced meth before it hit the clubs so I could get a fantastic night of sleep.
“They said the lockdown will last for another day,” Audrey mentions, flipping through the TV channels.
“But,” she squawks while jumping off the couch, “I’m still going to sneak out to do stuff.”
“Does ‘stuff’ have a name?” Jenny quips, skillfully hiding my hovering presence.
Audrey clicks her tongue and tuts with a wave of her finger. “Don’t kiss and tell.”
Jenny shrugs and walks over to the sink to wash her hands. My eyes narrow, wondering if she’s washing my scent from her skin.
A loud bang comes through the walls before a vibration shakes the apartment due to the neighbor’s car engine. The faucet rattles, causing Jenny to stop rubbing her hands. She stares as the faucet shakes even harder, holding her breath in response. Jenny’s adorable, her antics ingrained in my memory to enjoy later.
A long moment passes, and her sigh of relief comes too soon when the car speeds out of the parking lot.
The sink caves in, the faucet popping high into the air, and water hits Jenny’s flailing body. I step aside, effortlessly dodging the mess as I watch where the next splash hits.
Audrey’s surprised shout rings from somewhere to the side of me.
Jenny stumbles back, wiping the water from her face and extending her hands out to rinse off the soap.
She blinks harshly, squinting as she assesses the mess. Her lips part in frustration as her eyebrows furrow.
I offer her my hand, and she hesitates before taking it. Moving her away from the surging water, I press a knuckle to her neck to check her temperature. The water is too cold, almost freezing, and it’s clinging to Jenny’s body.
I snatch a sweater off the stool, miraculously dry, and press the soft fabric to her neck. Jenny wipes her face on it, shuddering with a groan.
“There goes our security deposit,” she mumbles heatedly, wiping the droplets from her arms.
She turns to Audrey, lips in a pout, but shock drains the blood from her face. Pretty lips quivering and wet lashes fluttering above her red eyes, she’s breathtakingly upset.
My eyes notice her friend bending over to pick something up, her wet shirt revealing obsidian ink on her back.
The eyes of a jackal stare back at us, the same size and placement as that annoying man’s ink.
Au
drey spins around, none the wiser. She tilts her head inquisitively, noticing Jenny’s distress and the tension in the air.
Her gaze wisely shifts toward me as she courteously drops her eyes with a slight nod. She moves with grace to the front door.
Audrey’s jackal ink ridicules Jenny’s gullibility once again. I cup her neck and kiss her temple, vying for her attention.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Audrey was never Jenny’s friend; she works for me. A sense of betrayal hits Jenny; she doesn’t move a muscle.
I had anticipated that she would cry, hit me, scream, or tug her hair in frustration. She merely stands next to me, eerily silent.
When Audrey closes the door behind her without a second glance at Jenny, my pretty girl is motionless.
She should’ve known. Perhaps, she should’ve expected it?
I had my lawyer implement my plans to take care of Jenny while I was gone. Having Audrey at her side seemed to be the best approach, a decision I don’t regret.
Audrey was nothing but a pair of eyes for me.
I kiss Jenny’s temple again, lingering to whisper her name. Not getting a reaction, I release her and yank out a drawer, flipping it over to reveal the envelope taped there.
Finally, Jenny looks at me with a blank, overwhelmed expression.
I feel a need to apologize, but I did what was best for her. Protecting her is my priority; fickle emotions and worthless bonds have no place here.
“You’re acting like a brat, little girl,” I scold, tossing the cruise ticket in front of her.
The white envelope that held the ticket is wet from the water.
I intone cynically, “There was always an expiration date on our little game, as much as I enjoyed the chase.”
Her detached stare brings out a strong sense of protectiveness from me.
“I’m feeling compassionate, pretty girl. I’ll give you a choice; come home with me, or I can put you to sleep right here.”
I won’t, but empty threats work wonders on her. Everything I did was for her, and my bizarre obsession never faded in prison.
My hand finds its way back to her neck, finger counting her pulse to gauge the truth. I want to put my lips there and feel the spark of life.