Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

  “You doing okay, brother?” Titch asks when we step out of the store, pocketing an envelope filled with cash as we head towards the bikes.

  Am I okay? I don’t think I am. I’ve never had this kind of feeling before. It’s like someone took an axe to my heart, but at the same time, I feel empty. Dead inside.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, not wanting to get into any shit with Titch. The brother doesn’t have the same darkness inside him that I have. His darkness is surface deep. Mine is rooted into the tattered remains of my soul.

  “You’ve been quiet.” He makes a face. “Quieter than usual, I mean.” I glance at him before looking away. He speaks again, filling the silence. “You ain’t a big talker. I get that, but brother, we’ve got your back. No matter what.”

  Am I supposed to well up at that? Hug him?

  I do neither. I just let out a grunt. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need anyone holding my fucking hand. I deal with my own shit, and I’ll deal with Amalia alone too.

  Titch grins. “Good talk, pal.”

  He climbs on his bike and I do the same. My brothers accept me for who I am, most of them anyway. Sin does his best to needle me. I think he wants to force the beast out of me. He wants to see the darkness come out, destroying everything in its path, he wants to see me lose it. He shouldn’t test it. I’ve never let my demons completely loose, even when I let them out to play, I have them on a tight rein. I don’t know that they’d go back into the box once I release them and that should scare him. It sure as fuck scares me.

  I ride back to the clubhouse, Titch on my heels.

  From the looks of things, my brothers are readying to party later. Kyle and Zack, our two prospects, are lugging boxes of booze into the bar area. As I enter the common room, I see Levi is standing near the bar with Noelle draped around his neck like a languid cat. I can’t remember the last time I saw the tiny blonde with another brother. Bunnies ain’t supposed to be exclusive, but whatever the fuck they have going on it’s getting to that stage.

  Whizz, our resident doc, is sitting in the corner with Daimon and Nox. I don’t know what the three of them are talking about, but there’s a shit ton of laughter happening. I watch as Titch strides over to them and claims a seat in front of them.

  I can’t deal with this shit. I need to see her. I need her like I need my next breath.

  My gut roiling, I turn and leave the common room and head back out to my bike. I shouldn’t go over there, but I find myself moving on autopilot, even as my brain screams at me to stop. I don’t.

  The ride over there feels like it takes forever and I nearly turn around several times and head back to the clubhouse, but I keep riding. When I reach her flat, my heart is pounding beneath my ribs. I pull down the bandanna covering my face and peer at the window. Calmness sweeps over me.

  Amalia is everything I want, but everything I don’t deserve. She’s far too pure for a filthy bastard like me, one covered in blood and filth. I’ve never had an inch of good in me. I’ve always been this broken, depraved creep, and I’m completely getting off on watching her. What does that say about me? Sin called me a freak, and he’s right about that. I am a freak.

  But I’m a freak who is interested in a woman for the first time in my life. I can’t help but be drawn to her, and I don’t understand it. What is it about Amalia that has my body reacting? I’ve never felt a thing for anyone in my entire life. I don’t even feel connected to my brothers, though, I would die for them. Not because I care, but because it’s an expectation that comes with my position as a patched member of the Untamed Sons. I’m a sick, twisted individual. I’ve lived a life alone because of it. Even my parents thought hell had chewed me up and spat me back out. They were right about that. I made my first kill when I was barely fourteen and I’ve been killing ever since. I was made this way, wired wrong. Something just didn’t fuse right in my brain.

  But the club just gave me legitimacy. I had a reason for getting bloody. For the first time in my life my true nature was embraced rather than feared.

  Touching Amalia, tainting her with my perversions doesn’t seem right, but I can’t stay away, and no one, not even Amalia, is going to keep me away. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Five

  Amalia

  He’s sitting outside the flat again.

  For nearly two months now, he’s been here every night like clockwork. At first, I was so petrified, I could barely sleep, but I’m getting used to his presence. In a weird way, it’s almost reassuring having him out there, which is crazy. Who thinks like this? I have something seriously wrong with me.

  I don’t know how, but I know he won’t hurt me if I keep my end of the bargain, and I plan on doing that. I have absolutely no intention of opening my mouth and ever talking about what I saw, even though it’s embedded in my brain and will be for the rest of my days. I don’t know what Max did to piss these guys off, but he had to know the risk he was taking when he went up against them. I’ve heard of the Untamed Sons—everyone in the borough has. They’re dangerous men with reputations that are so dark, they’re terrifying. Why Max risked pissing them off, I don’t know.

  But despite murdering a man, my stalker did try to protect me from his friend. He refused to hurt me, even though it could have cost him his freedom. He’s also been camped outside my house for the past seven weeks, trying to put the fear of God into me. He’s certainly an enigma.

  I let the curtain fall and step away from the window, the view of him sitting astride his bike moving out of my eyeline. He’s a big guy, well over six foot, with blond hair shaved close to his head and a beard that covers most of his face. It makes him look savage, which I’m sure he is.

  With a huff, I head over to the sofa and curl up on the cushions, continuing to watch the action flick I was halfway through when I heard his bike rumbling up the street, but my mind is on the mountain of a man sitting outside my place.

  What’s his name?

  What’s his story?

  After the movie finishes, I move back to the window and peer out. He’s still sitting outside my place, astride his bike like a statue. The days are warm, but the temperature drops in the evening. He has to be chilled to the bone.

  I let the curtain drop and head to my bedroom. Careful to ensure all the blinds are shut, I undress and slip under the covers.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when a noise drags me back to the waking world. Surrounded by thick, inky blackness, I try to peer through the darkness and figure out what disturbed me, but there’s nothing. The flat is eerily quiet. I listen for a moment longer, then close my eyes.

  It’s then I hear the noise again and then the sound of something falling over. Fear licks up my spine as I throw the covers back and climb carefully out of bed. My heart is hammering beneath my ribs and my chest is heaving as my breath rips out of me.

  Has he finally come into the flat? Did I underestimate his danger? I move to the door, and with trembling fingers pull it open. My breath sticks in my throat as I stand, staring up the corridor that leads to the living space. There’s a figure at the end of it, highlighted in the shadows.

  I scream. It rips out of me before I can stop it, and the figure darts off. Rushing back into the bedroom, I flick the lock on the door and duck down behind the bed, hiding, trying not to lose my shit. I’m petrified. I should call the police, but something tells me that’s not a good idea. The Untamed Sons are waiting on me to snitch and the last thing I want is to end up on is the wrong side of a bullet, like Max.

  I sit there until the sun comes up, shivering against the cold, my mind racing, my heart galloping in my chest. As the light floods through the curtains, I push to my feet and move to the bedroom door. No one tried to come in last night, so I feel safe enough to open the door. Just in case someone is out there, I grab the only weapon I have—a stiletto high heel. It won’t do much damage, but it might be enough to get safe.

  I slowly open the door and step
into the hallway. I can barely draw air as I move up it towards the living room. My hands are shaking and my legs feel like jelly. When I step into the living room, it’s empty. I let out my breath and lower the shoe.

  Shit.

  It’s then I notice the plant pot on the windowsill is on the floor, soil covering the carpet. The window is open. I swallow bile as I move over to it and quickly close it. Someone was in my house.

  The rest of the day, I’m on edge, my heart sitting in my throat the whole time. Once the sun sets, I’m on guard, waiting. As soon as I hear the rumble of the motorcycle pipes, I slip my feet into my flip-flops and snag my keys off the side. I drag the front door open.

  My anger is roaring through my veins like liquid fire and as soon as I see him sitting astride the huge bike, I feel my mouth pull into a snarl. This was a step too far.

  I rush at him and as soon as I get close, I have to resist the urge not to shove him off that stupid bike, but given his reaction last time I touched him, I keep my hands to myself.

  “You bastard,” I snap and his gaze immediately comes to me. I watch his thick brows draw together as he takes in my ranting with an ease that bothers me. “Did you get off on scaring me? Did you laugh about it?” I lean into his face and hiss, “I told you I’d keep my fucking mouth shut and I have. Why are you still terrorising me?”

  “You done?” he asks, his voice gruff, rough.

  I clamp my mouth shut and fold my arms over my chest. “Why were you in my flat last night?”

  Confusion clouds his expression. “I wasn’t.”

  His words kick me in the gut as I search his face for any sign he’s lying, but he doesn’t show any.

  “You… you must have been.” Fear claws at my heart. If it wasn’t him, then… who the fuck was in my flat last night?

  I stagger and he reaches out, snagging my arm. Electricity fires along my skin the moment he touches me and he pulls back quickly, as if he feels the burn too. I peer at him, my tongue gluing to the roof of my mouth as his words settle around me.

  “Oh, God,” I murmur, my hand covering my mouth as bile races up my throat. I’m going to puke. “Who was in my flat then?”

  I turn away from him as he starts to climb off his bike, vomit swirling in my stomach. I feel him come up behind me and I turn to him. This time I’m peering up at him, because he looms over my small frame.

  “Someone was in your flat?” he demands, and there’s a deadly edge to his voice that honestly scares me. Fire blazes in his eyes as he scans his gaze over me, as if searching for proof that I’m unhurt. “Did they touch you?” he hisses.

  I shake my head. “As soon as I saw him I locked myself in my bedroom. They were gone in the morning.” I chew on my bottom lip as ice fills my belly. “I thought it was you.”

  He shakes his head. “Wasn’t me.”

  He pushes around me, striding in the direction of my flat, his steps purposeful and filled with rage. I trail after him like a lost puppy, unsure what to do or say. I didn’t want to piss him off by accusing him, but what else was I supposed to think? He’s been stalking me for weeks. Who else would it be?

  When he steps into my flat, I feel the small space shrink even further. He seems to suck all the air out of the room too, making it hard to breathe. His eyes move around my stuff, apparently cataloguing every inch of my living space.

  “I think he got in through the living room window. It was open this morning and the potted plant on the sill had been knocked off.”

  He moves over to the window and peers at it. I watch him, my thoughts rolling. Standing here with my stalker is weird. He seems really upset by this situation too, which surprises the hell out of me.

  “I’ll stay tonight,” he declares, as if it’s a done deal.

  I blink at him, his words not penetrating my brain. “Uh, what?”

  “In case he comes back.”

  Ice floods my belly. I hadn’t even considered that and the thought makes terror attack my body. I shake out my trembling hands. As terrified as I’ll be spending the night here alone, there’s no way in hell I’m letting a man who has been camped outside my flat trying to scare me to death stay over, like we’re having a sleepover.

  Not. Happening.

  “You can’t stay.”

  “Why?”

  I stare at him, wondering how he can even ask that question. As I do, I take in his features. This close up, I can see the flecks of dark hair among the blond in his beard and I can see the tight set of his eyes. He scares me as much as he interests me.

  “I don’t even know your name, and you’re stalking me.”

  “Fury.”

  “Your name is Fury?”

  A chill runs through me at this revelation. Who the hell is called Fury? Someone with anger management issues, that’s who.

  “Said so, didn’t I?”

  I peer up at him. Nothing I’ve seen so far points to him living up to his name. Even when he killed Max, he’d done it with calculated calmness that frankly scared the living piss out of me. I’ve never seen the fury in his eyes, though I can see the darkness and that rightly puts me on edge.

  “Ain’t stalking you either,” he mutters, sounding pissed off.

  “What you’re doing is the very definition of stalking,” I inform him. Then I sigh. I don’t want to spend the night alone, in case my late-night burglar comes back, but I don’t want to let a murderer sleep on my sofa either.

  Fury doesn’t give me the choice. He moves over to the sofa and sinks onto it.

  “Make yourself at home,” I murmur.

  He peers up at me. “Won’t let anything touch you, Amalia,” he tells me in his gruff voice.

  And I believe him. He’s sincere when he says he won’t let anything touch me, and I have no idea what to make of it.

  Chapter Six

  Fury

  Amalia is sitting on the armchair next to the sofa, her eyes focused on the screen, but every now and again she keeps shooting me what she thinks are covert looks. They’re not. I know she’s trying to work me out, like I’m some kind of puzzle she can solve. She can’t. I’m not exactly what you’d call normal. I’m a freak, as Sin reminds me constantly.

  “Who do you think broke in?” she asks, finally slicing through the silence.

  I don’t have a clue, but I’m going to find out. The thought that she could have been in danger shreds what’s left of my sanity. If anyone touches her…

  “They come back tonight, I’ll be waiting for them.” The menace in my voice would be enough to scare even my brothers, but Amalia stares at me, her expression is soft. It’s not something I normally see from a woman and it makes my dick stand up and pay attention. Most of the women in my life are kutte sluts and bunnies, all trying to get their piece of me, trying to get my patch on their backs. They realise quickly that’s not going to happen, but I’ve had to put a few bitches in their place over the years. Amalia is different. I could tell that from the first moment I met her.

  “Thank you, Fury.”

  Her words startle me. In my entire life no one has ever thanked me for shit. Blamed me, sure, but thanked me? Fuck no.

  My brows draw together as my thoughts battle each other. “For what?”

  “Being here. Protecting me. I know it was a little weird how we got here, but I trust you to keep me safe.”

  Her words are a wrecking ball to the gut. How can she place so much trust in a man like me? A man with no scruples, little morals, and psychological issues that would scare the average shrink. I’m not someone she should be putting her faith in. I’m not the good guy in this situation.

  I’d be better walking away, leaving her before I mar her with my filth, but I can’t. Not now that I’ve made contact with her. If anything, my obsession is growing deeper the more I’m around her. I’ve never known a woman not be scared of me, treat me like a human. She’s one of a kind.

  “You shouldn’t trust me,” I tell her, my voice low. “I’m not a good man.”


  “You’re better than you think.”

  Amalia has no idea what she’s talking about. Once she sees behind the mask, all this will vanish. She won’t want to be near me, and I don’t blame her. I’m a scary motherfucker. Sometimes, I scare even myself.

  I don’t reply to her words, instead, I focus back on the television. The last thing I should be doing is encouraging anything between us. Feelings don’t have a place in my world. They never have. I shouldn’t start now.

  After the movie, she gets ready for bed and I stay on the sofa. I don’t undress or kick my boots off, in case I need to move fast, but I sit on the edge of the cushions, waiting. There’s nothing to say this fucker will come back tonight, but if he does, I want to be here.

  I’m sitting in the dark, waiting. The hours tick by slowly. The silence doesn’t bother me. I prefer it, but the thought of her lying down the hallway, snuggled under her covers makes my cock as hard as a rock. I want her, but I don’t do feelings. I don’t do hearts and flowers. A relationship with me would never look normal because I don’t know how to do normal. I would destroy her from the inside out, fill her with my rotten filth. She would no longer be an angel, and I don’t know how I feel about being the one to destroy her.

  A noise catches my attention. I freeze, listening. It sounds again. It takes me a moment to realise it’s movement from the bedroom. When the door opens, my heart sticks before beating freely again.

  Amalia appears in the doorway. I can barely make her out through the darkness, but I squint trying to get a look at her anyway, needing to see her. She consumes me, and that scares me. I’ve never had this level of obsession for another person.

  “Fury? Are you awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  She moves and I track her shadowy figure as she comes towards the sofa. I feel it dip as she sinks onto it, keeping a little distance between us. I can feel her presence close to me, her smell wraps around me like fucking sunshine, and it soothes the beast inside me. I want to reach out and close that distance between us, but I keep my hands to myself, not able to step off that ledge yet.