Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

  She sits in the chair I point to, and I take the one opposite. Beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, her cheeks are thin and pinched and there are shadows beneath her eyes.

  “You’re here to report something?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.” Her voice wobbles with desperation. “Mitchell says—” She breaks off and stares at her clenched hands on the tabletop.

  A smug face flashes before my eyes. Mitchell Caine. Her high school boyfriend, a rich brat who always had his collar popped. He started dating her when she was thirteen and he was a senior, the creep. He was a flaming pile of trash then and he probably still is.

  She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know what else to do. Sorry. It’s bad manners, showing up at someone’s work unannounced.”

  “It depends what it’s about.”

  Alaina opens her bag and holds out a stack of letters. I start sorting through them. Envelopes printed with Alaina’s full name and an address in the city. The envelopes are lumpy. I take one out and see that the text has been “written” with letters cut out of newsprint. Pretty cheesy.

  Then I read what it says.

  You let that fuckface touch your body when you could have me worshipping you. I’d like to rip his tiny dick off and make him eat it.

  “Jesus Christ. Are they all like this?”

  Alaina takes a shuddering breath. “Most of them.”

  “Who sent these?”

  “I don’t know. There’s never a signature.”

  “Who’s fuckface?”

  “Mitchell.”

  She’s still dating that moron. Still making decisions like she thinks she’s worthless. I read a few more, and they’re all unhinged and obsessive, all ending in the same refrain.

  I’m going to take you.

  I hand them back to her. “Talk to the officer on duty. He’ll find a constable who’ll take a report.”

  Alaina grabs my wrist and practically shrieks at me, “No! I’ve made three reports at that front desk and each time, nothing happens.”

  I glance at the letters. Probably because there’s nothing to go on.

  “Please, Rhys. I wouldn’t have come to you unless I was desperate. If you turn me away, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  I drum a finger on the tabletop. Maybe there’s something in the police report that could help, but probably not. I doubt there’s anything that I can do to stop these letters.

  I picture someone pulling a gun on Alaina, forcing her into a car, and her obeying, because no one told her it’s better to scream. Better to get stabbed or shot right there and hope you get someone’s attention. Better to do anything except let him take you.

  Because when he takes you, you’re worse than dead. You’re his, and he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants to you.

  I get to my feet. I guess I’m not sleeping tonight. “Go home. Lock your doors. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I can tell her a few things that might save her life. Assess the security of her apartment. It’s more than I have time for, but I’ll regret not doing it if the next body that’s pulled out of the river is hers.

  I head for the door, but Alaina leaps out of her chair and stops me with a hand on my chest, gazing up at me with big, liquid eyes. “How long will you be?”

  I gaze down at her. She’s standing too close with an expression of breathless gratitude. This happens a lot. It’s astonishing how often gratitude from scared women turns into an invitation for something more. I’m not even good-looking. Just big and mean, but apparently, that’s what some women are drawn to when they’ve been traumatized.

  I take hold of her wrist and pull her hand away. “About an hour.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Rhys.”

  I watch her walk down the hall and out through the doors into the night, remembering a time she wasn’t so grateful for my interference. It’s amazing the difference a few threatening letters can make.

  Chapter Three

  Alaina

  I’m sitting on the sofa and it’s after midnight when there’s pounding on my front door. The sound makes me jump and drop my phone in my lap. I hurry over and unlock the door, expecting to see Rhys.

  It is him, but I wasn’t anticipating the fury on his face.

  “Why the fuck can I get up here?” he growls.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He points to the vidcom just inside my front door. “You’re meant to buzz me up.”

  “You didn’t buzz.”

  “I didn’t need to. The door to the building was propped open with a shoe. There was no security guard at the front desk. The elevator didn’t need a key fob to bring me up here.” He takes a step toward me, his massive chest filling my vision. “Then you opened the door in the middle of the night without asking who it was. I could have been your stalker, do you realize that?”

  I flinch. I’d forgotten how loud and dominating Rhys could be. “But I knew you were…” I can feel my throat closing up in panic. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. I’ll be smarter, I promise.”

  “I’m angry with building management, not you. I thought it would be more secure here.”

  I thought it was, too. I close and lock the front door, horror sweeping over me. If it was my stalker and not Rhys at the door, I could have been assaulted by now, or even killed.

  I watch in silence as Rhys walks from the living room into the kitchen, then down to the bedroom, poking his head into the bathroom. There isn’t much to see. This tiny apartment is all I can afford on my meager freelance design income.

  Rhys points to the dining table, indicating he wants us both to sit down, and we do.

  “Who else have you told about your stalker?” he asks.

  “A few friends back home, but there’s not much they can do but tell me to go to the police. I work from home as a designer so haven’t really made friends in the city yet. And I’ve told Mitchell, of course.”

  “Your parents?”

  I shrug. “Mom pretended she didn’t hear me. Dad’s in prison again. You know.”

  Rhys’ lips press together in understanding. Dad was in and out of prison throughout my entire childhood. I remember begging him when I was eight to please, please never break the law again. He promised he wouldn’t. Then he was arrested again a few weeks later.

  I guess I’m not worth trying for.

  “I need you to tell me everything about Mitchell,” Rhys says.

  “Mitchell hasn’t got anything to do with this.” I get that the police always think that the boyfriend did it, but in this case, that’s just stupid. “He doesn’t even—” Think this is real. I swallow those words down. Rhys doesn’t need another reason to despise Mitchell.

  “Where do you two go together?”

  I shrug. “Mostly work functions. The lawyers at his firm throw a lot of parties and dinners, and the partners are always included.” At first I was excited to go to glamorous parties with Mitchell, but I can’t keep up with their high-powered conversations. I always end up standing on the periphery with a strained smile, being ignored by everyone.

  “How’s your sex life?”

  I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m sorry?”

  Rhys sits forward and clasps his hands together, looking deep into my eyes. “This is important, Alaina. I need you to tell me for the sake of the investigation.”

  “You think it’s him, don’t you?”

  “Nine times out of ten, the boyfriend did it.”

  I shake my head. “Well, this is one of those times when it’s not the boyfriend.”

  “I’m the one who rules Mitchell out. Not you.” Rhys picks up the letters and sorts through them, scanning them as he goes, until I see the one he stops to read.

  I squeeze my fingers sometimes, imagining it’s your sweet little pussy squeezing them. I know she’s so tight from all the yoga you do. Next time you finish your workout, get out that fat dildo and think about me pushing you face down over the table, yanking your yoga pants off, and pounding
into you so hard as a reward for working up a sweat.

  “Does Mitchell ever want anything like that?” Rhys asks.

  My face flames red and I turn away. “No.”

  “How many times a week? What positions? Does he have any weird kinks or ask you to do things that you don’t like?” When I don’t answer, he adds, “I’m a detective, Alaina. I promise you’re not going to tell me anything I haven’t heard before.”

  I twist my hands in my lap. “It’s embarrassing.”

  “Why? What does he make you do?” Rhys suddenly looks angry enough to leap up from the table and slam it against the wall.

  “No, I mean… Mitchell doesn’t have much of a libido. It’s the medication he’s on for his allergies.”

  Rhys’s shoulders relax. “And yours?”

  “My—my what?”

  “How’s your libido?”

  Jesus. Does he really need to ask that? “It’s fine.”

  I manage my needs with the three vibrators and two dildos that are in my bedside drawer. I got used to doing that for myself during the years of our long-distance relationship when Mitchell was at college and then working in Philly. We would only see each other a few times a year. When we were teenagers, Mitchell was insatiable for me. Well, when I was a teenager. I was fifteen and he was twenty when we started having sex, though he taught me how to blow him not long after we started going out. I was thirteen and he was a senior, as well as the best-looking guy in school.

  I was over the moon that he was interested in me. Mitchell had this shine about him. He drove an amazing car and wore expensive clothes. A lot of people would call that shine money, but I knew it was love; his parents loved him so much they gave him the best of everything, and they were always there for him. I craved to know what that felt like, even second-hand. When I was with him, I basked in that glow of love for the first time in my life. Whenever Mitchell can’t make as much time for me as I’d like, I remember that glow, and I feel better.

  There’s a heavy silence as Rhys watches me. Is that pity in his eyes?

  “It’s not Mitchell. I can tell you that for sure because he isn’t that obsessed with me.” I force a laugh, so Rhys knows it’s a joke, but he doesn’t smile.

  I look away and glare at the curtains. How dare he make me feel bad about my relationship! What the hell does he know? There’s no wedding ring on his finger. No girlfriend calling him to find out where the hell he is at past midnight on a Tuesday.

  Rhys continues with his questions. “Do you hang underwear up to dry on the balcony? Have small personal items been disappearing from your handbag? Do you undress in front of open windows?”

  I pick up my stalker’s letters and shuffle them into a neat pile. “No, and of course I don’t. Do you think I’m an exhibitionist?”

  “I know it sounds like I’m accusing you of something, but I’m just trying to get a complete picture of the situation so I can help you.”

  His cold blue eyes are a shade friendlier. He’s back to being Rhys, the boy I went to school with, not the icy and suspicious Detective Thorn.

  “Thank you. I’m trying to cooperate. I’m so grateful that you’re here.”

  He gives me a small smile. “You are cooperating. Let me see those notes again.”

  He holds out his hand for them, and I’m struck again by just how big they are as I pass them over. Large palms and thick, muscular wrists. Mitchell has small hands and soft skin. I imagine what it would feel like to have Rhys’ hands on my body.

  I look away quickly, wondering where that strange thought came from.

  Rhys gets up and paces as he reads. “That’s strange.”

  I go over to him and read the note he’s looking at upside down. My stalker is wondering how many inches I can take of his cock and telling me how he loves a shaved pussy.

  “It’s oddly specific, the way he talks about you. Almost as if…”

  He glances up, and our eyes lock.

  I’m suddenly very aware of his broad chest rising and falling as he breathes. An electric jolt shudders my body into even keener awareness of him. My gaze lands on his hands and I imagine them squeezing me. Smacking me. Seeking all the sensitive spots.

  “More?” he murmurs, and his deep voice is like black velvet sliding between my legs.

  I’m not sure what he means. Maybe he wants to know if I want more of whatever he’s doing to me. Rhys isn’t handsome. He’s not even pleasant looking. Craggy and sullen is the best way to describe him, with unnerving blue eyes. I’m sure any suspect he gets into the interrogation room feels the full force of them. Right now, they’re directed at me and I fall right into them.

  Rhys frowns, puzzled. Then the corner of his mouth tilts up and he brandishes the stack of notes. “Are there any more of these?”

  I stare stupidly at the notes and then back at him. “Oh—no, there’s not.”

  “What did you think I meant?” he asks, the smile still on his lips.

  “Nothing. Never mind.” The stress, loneliness and fear of the past few weeks is making me melt over the first man who takes my fears seriously. God, I’m pathetic.

  Rhys turns his attention back to the notes, frowns again, and then looks around the room. He goes over to a lamp by the sofa and peers into it. Then he reaches down into the lampshade and fiddles around for a moment.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he growls. Rhys comes back and shows me something sitting in the middle of his palm. A small, black, electronic looking thing with wires sticking out of it.

  “What’s that?”

  “A bug. Your stalker’s been listening to your conversations. And if he’s been listening, he’s probably been watching you, too.”

  Chapter Four

  Rhys

  I scour every inch of the living room and Alaina’s bedroom. This piece of goddamn shit has put more surveillance into Alaina’s apartment than a Russian hotel room.

  Ten minutes later, I come back to Alaina, showing her what I’ve found, and Alaina bursts into tears. She’s sobbing like her heart is broken, and I feel my heartstrings being tugged.

  No. Yanked. Just like they always did when she cried.

  I draw her to me. Her arms slip around my waist and she buries her tearstained face against my chest, her shoulders shaking. I’m nine years old again and holding little Alaina, sopping wet in her bathing suit, in my arms as she bawls her heart out.

  The summer she was four, Alaina nearly drowned in a wading pool in her front yard. That memory still makes me break out in a cold sweat. I pulled her limp body out and thumped on her back to make her spit the water up. I didn’t know what I was doing or if she was already dead; my instincts just took over. Those were the longest, most terrifying minutes of my life. She coughed all the water up and sobbed against me, her mom out god knows where and her dad in prison or maybe high in the back yard. They never even noticed that their little girl nearly fucking died. An hour later Alaina’s mom stormed down the street to my house and cussed me out for putting my foot through the wading pool and breaking it.

  Slowly, I draw my hand down her hair, over her back to her waist, marveling at her silky hair running through my fingers. She’s curvy now. She feels even lovelier as she clings to me.

  Get out that fat dildo and think about me pounding you hard.

  This sicko has seen her do that. He’s watched her. The image explodes in my mind, Alaina naked on her back with her knees spread wide while she hammers a dildo into her gleaming pussy.

  I take a rough breath and hold her tighter. I never let myself lust too hard after Alaina when we were in school. I had already resigned myself to waiting until she was eighteen and I was happy to wait. More than happy. I knew I was going to be a cop and I would do things right. Then that shithead Mitchell Caine came along and stole her away from me. Even now I can’t tell her how I feel because she still belongs to that fuckhead. He doesn’t deserve someone as sweet as Alaina. As vulnerable as Alaina. As naïve as Alaina. She always a
ssumed that everyone is as trustworthy as she is. Which is crazy, thinking about the bullshit ways life has treated her. She never believed she was worth anything, and judging from her life now, she still doesn’t.

  Alaina looks up at me, her delicate features streaked with tears and her gray eyes sparkling. I take a lock of her hair and gently push it back from her face. I’ve never taken advantage of the way fear makes women feel about me. I’ve never wanted to, but my eyes fasten on Alaina’s mouth, which looks plush and inviting.

  “The things he wrote in his notes…” I say carefully. I’m trying to be as tactful as possible. “That’s a lot of detail.”

  She closes her eyes and nods. “He’s definitely been watching me. He knows…everything.”

  I love a shaved pussy, Alaina.

  Alaina buries her face in my chest. “He could be watching us right now. He’ll know we’ve found his bugs. What if he tries to hurt you because you’re helping me?”

  My arms tighten around her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “But you said so yourself, the security in this building is terrible. I feel so exposed.”

  I nod slowly, stroking my fingers through her hair. “He’s probably getting off on how frightened you are. He knows that your mind is filled with him, and only him. Total control.”

  Alaina lifts her head and gazes up at me with terrified eyes. “What am I going to do, Rhys?”

  I rub the nape of her neck in slow circles. Her skin’s so soft. Her bones so delicate. “I’ve got a secure place. It’s a bit of a drive…” I trail off and stare out the window. “Wait, did you see something?”

  From this angle, I can see just a sliver of the street outside. Pulling away from Alaina, I hurry over to get a better look at what caught my eye. “You fucking asshole.” I bolt for the front door and Alaina yelps in surprise. “Stay here. Lock the door.”

  The elevator will take too long, so I pound down the steps two at a time and burst out onto the darkened street.