Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

  “You shot him,” I repeat.

  Three times, she shot him. He would have been dead from the first bullet. Before I can say anything else, a nurse comes in. “I need to do her examination.”

  Acid swirls in my gut. When the question I hadn’t let take root explodes in my head, I turn on my heel to see she’s covered herself with the gown. “Did he…?”

  “No,” Lola stops me. “I killed him before he could…this time.”

  A rush of relief floods through me, followed by a wave of sadness. I have to walk away. I need to get some fresh air. Something is fucking happening to me. This girl is bringing out emotions I shouldn’t be feeling. I care about people, about victims, but this feels different, intense, overwhelming.

  This feels personal.

  She feels personal to me.

  Fated.

  Like she belongs to me and always has.

  She found her way back to me.

  Chapter Two

  Lola

  For hours, I’ve been here. All I want to do is go home and shower, wash this night from my skin. Handing me my belongings, a nurse walks me out of the room, and my stomach dips. Detective Adams is waiting for me, the evidence bag the nurse put my clothes inside in his grip. It makes me anxious that he requested them. Why would he need them in a self-defense case? What proof could they get from my clothes? Is that the only reason he stayed? I tried to make him uncomfortable by dropping my top, testing him to see if he could keep eye contact. He failed, and internally, it made me smile. He’s just a man, after all. Most people would feel uncomfortable exposing flesh after experiencing something traumatic, but I don’t see myself as a victim of sexual assault tonight—he didn’t get that far. I’m a victor of a battle. The world has always felt that way to me—a war of darkness and sin.

  “I’m going to take you home.” Adams smiles tightly and takes me by the arm like an adult would a child. It amuses me so I don’t pull out of his grip. The nurse asked me earlier if there was anyone she could call for me, and he must have felt sorry for me because I said no. I don’t need pity. I have no one because that’s what I choose. There are people in my life I consider friends of sorts, but I wouldn’t want any of them knowing my business, my past, them thinking they have access to more in-depth parts of me. I keep everyone at a distance—and that’s where they’ll stay.

  “I can manage to get myself home,” I bite my lip, looking down at the hand gripping my arm. A flurry of emotions take over his face, contorting his features. He’s such a handsome man, those blue eyes almost supernatural in appearance. I bet women fawn over him. Hero-worship from rescuing victims.

  “No, please allow me to take you,” he grunts out almost painfully.

  “If you insist.” My words are laced with indifference, and the twist of his lip doesn’t go unnoticed.

  The car ride is silent for the first few minutes before he breaks it. “Was tonight the first time you shot a gun?” He must be questioning why I fired so many times. Can I tell him it was an urge, a rush of disdain for the perverted attacker that forced me to shoot him more than once? I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to get back up. I pick at a thread on the gray sweatpants the hospital gave me, drawing his gaze there briefly.

  “No. My father was a gun enthusiast. He taught me to shoot.”

  “Do you own a gun?”

  Am I being interrogated? “No. After what happened with my parents, I don’t keep them.”

  He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with where the conversation went. “Of course. I—”

  “Adams, it’s here,” I tell him as we nearly pass my apartment. Pulling over, he looks down at his lap, not like a confident, alpha detective, but more like an awkward boy on a first date not knowing what to say, if to touch, offer to show me to my apartment.

  “I didn’t mention my parents to make you feel bad.” I reach out and touch his arm. His eyes follow my action and draw up to hold my gaze in an intense, penetrating look that sends a wave of heat through me. “As far as guns, I just meant they can be used against you if you carry one. Why give the opportunity to arm your enemy? Look what happened tonight—I took his weapon from him.”

  Nodding, he smiles a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and transforms his face. There’s no denying he’s a handsome man, but that smile is breathtaking. Images of him kissing me spark in my mind, heating my skin. I wonder what he tastes like after using those lips between my thighs.

  “Night, Adams,” I say, turning my gaze from his and opening the car door.

  Once I’m standing on the curb, I notice he’s exited the car also. “I want to see you to your door.” He looks around the dark, deserted street.

  There’s a heaviness sitting between us as we take the short steps to my apartment. Opening the door, I curl my fingers, motioning for him to come in. There shouldn’t be any desire inside me after tonight, but there is. I want to shred him of his clothes and fuck his brains out on the living room floor while my skin is still stained in blood. An ache builds below as my breathing increases. I need to get a grip. “I’ll be back. Make yourself comfortable,” I tell him as I leave the room to gain control of myself.

  Stripping out of the awful tracksuit, I slip on my silk nightgown and tie the belt in place. The fabric feels cool over my fevered flesh.

  “You paint?” Adams calls out.

  “It’s a kind of therapy for both me and my subjects,” I call out before coming back through and studying him. He takes in the space, trying to learn the woman I’ve become. His eyes dance over my paint brushes before he boldly removes a cloth covering a canvas. He’s broad and confident in his demeanour when he’s not asking questions he doesn’t like the answers to. In fact, you don’t think detective when you look at him, more CEO of some empire, expensive and alluring.

  His reaction to the image on the canvas even from his back profile warms me in places forbidden. His spine straightens, and his intake of breath is audible. “She’s beautiful,” he mutters as he stares at the image of me I’ve been working on for months.

  “Is she?” I ask, amused.

  Scratching the back of his neck, he dips his head. “I’m sorry. I should have asked before uncovering it.”

  “It’s okay.” I walk over to where he stands and take in the full image of my naked self. “I posed in the mirror and studied myself for hours to get every imperfection on this canvas.” I dance my fingers along the collarbone of the image and down to the breasts. “Every scar that makes up who I am.”

  “I don’t see any imperfections,” he breathes, his tone deep, heady. His eyes drop to my hard nipples peeking through my nightgown and his tongue swipes out, dampening his bottom lip.

  “We all have imperfections, Detective.” I reach up to touch his cheek with the palm of my hand. “You’ve changed,” I muse, taking in his strong jaw, thick lips, and intense blue eyes.

  Covering my hand with his own, his eyelids close and he inhales a deep breath. “So have you,” he whispers.

  I wonder if he ever thought about me—what became of the girl he found in her closet, broken but reborn.

  “I should go.” He pulls my hand away and turns around with purpose.

  “What happens now?” I call out before he can leave. Halting at the front door with his hand on the handle, he looks over his shoulder, his eyes downcast to the floor where I stand.

  “I’ll take care of it. Try to get some sleep.”

  I won’t sleep. I’ll take a shower and then fuck my fingers thinking about him until I’m sore and exhausted.

  Chapter Three

  Adams

  Lola has occupied every fucking thought in my head since I left her apartment earlier. I should have gone home, showered, and gotten some sleep, but I need to close this case so she doesn’t have to worry about it—think about it. Chucking back another cup of tar coffee, my fists clench. “Our dead guy is Ashton Reese. The gun is registered to his wife, Amanda Reese. She bought it a month ago. He ha
s a record for domestic violence. Looks like he was a real piece of shit,” Snow growls, throwing a file down on my desk.

  “Shouldn’t you be home sleeping?” I raise a brow.

  “Shouldn’t you?” he retorts. “It’s looking pretty open and closed,” he adds.

  Flipping the file open, images of a battered woman assault me. He liked to leave bruises on his wife too it appears.

  “She picked a real winner, huh?” Snow scoffs, biting into a half-eaten sandwich left on the desk beside mine.

  “Not all bastards show their true colors until It’s too late,” I remind him, snatching the sandwich from his hand and tossing it in the trashcan. “You’re gross.”

  “What the hell? I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten.”

  Getting to my feet, I slip on my jacket. “Go home and get some food and sleep, but first, have someone inform the wife and get a formal I.D. made.”

  “How is the girl?” he asks, picking up my coffee and swigging the dregs, squinting from the bitterness hitting his tongue.

  “She’s a survivor.” I shrug. “She’ll survive.”

  My apartment looks sterile compared to Lola’s. Hers was alive with art and color, plants and quirky ornaments. It had soul. personality, mine doesn’t represent me, who I am. It’s just somewhere to lay my head after spending most of my time on the clock.

  When she disappeared nine years ago, I looked all over for her, needing to know if she fought her way out of the darkness. Tonight, finding out her apartment is so close to mine, is a kick in the balls. Has she been under my nose this whole time?

  Throwing the evidence bag on the small dining room table, I clench my jaw. This should have gone straight to the precinct. Chain of custody is everything if these things go to court, but that’s not going to happen.

  A pounding in my chest roars, muting all reason. Ripping open the bag, I dump out the contents. Her small strips of clothing scatter on my dining table, the glitter top shining under the light. Speckles of blood stain both the top and skirt. Saliva floods my mouth when my hand reaches out for her panties. Black lace. Fuck, I’m going to hell. Clenching them in my fist, I bring them to my nose and inhale her scent. My balls tighten. My cock lengthens. She smells of sex and honey, and I want to taste her so bad, it’s sickening.

  “Dammit!” I growl, closing my eyes to gain my composure. Shoving the clothing back in the bag, I throw it across the room in an outburst of anger. Not toward her or even the cunt who attacked her. Because of me—my own want—for being weak. I can’t control it, the way she’s making me feel. It’s reckless and doesn’t make sense, but her presence is so loud inside my head, it’s overriding reason, rationality. She’s intoxicating, infecting every part of me.

  I blast the shower and strip out of my clothes. Images of her flicker through my mind like a movie reel. Her delicate pale skin, littered with bruises shouldn’t make me want to replace them with bruises of my own, but they fucking do. I want my fingerprints across her throat. My palm sting, red on her ass cheeks.

  I’m a sick bastard.

  Clenching my fist, I punch the tiled shower wall, to eliminate the images of her big doe eyes full of tears. So broken, helpless, beautiful. The throbbing across my hand from the impact does nothing but make me imagine her pussy throbbing for my cock. My chest heaves ragged breaths as more visions of her keep circling around and around in my head, a storm rolling in. The memory of her scent on her panties brings saliva flooding my mouth. I conjure up pictures of her before me, legs parted, pussy soaked with need. “Fuck” I roar, pounding the tiled wall once more shredding my knuckles until they’re coated in blood. Fisting my hard cock, I stroke up the shaft, hissing from the relief. Blood mixes with the water coating my cock as I pick up the pace thinking about Lola’s beautiful image, her scent, her perfect tits. I fuck my fist like it’s her needy, tight pussy. I’m sick, I fucking hate myself, but I spurt hot ribbons of cum all the same, the warm heat spreading up my spine, my legs weakening. Who the fuck am I? Hers.

  Chapter Four

  Lola

  Heat moves up my spine, flares across my shoulders, travels up my neck, and blossoms on my cheeks in a pink hue. Biting my lip, I dip my lashes and allow a curtain of hair to fall into my face, hiding me from the prying eyes at the other side of the bar. My heart pounds steady in my chest. My hand trembles a little when I pick up my drink and bring it to my lips. This is too reminiscent of last night. Taking a sip of the water, I slip a twenty across the bar and jerk my chin in thanks. “Leaving so soon?” The bartender offers a lopsided smile and a shoulder lift.

  “Doesn’t mean the night’s over,” I tease, darting my eyes to the man who has been undressing me in his mind since I entered the bar and slipped onto the stool thirty minutes ago. A light misting of rain dampens my overexposed flesh when I step outside. I dressed to be noticed—and I was. Within a few seconds, the door behind me opens and the heavy scent of alcohol spills free along with the guy I came here for.

  My shoes tap against the concrete as I take off into the night. A nervous energy spikes my bloodstream and my breathing accelerates. He’s close, his steps faster than mine now. Hands grab out, clutching my waist and pushing me into shadows. He spins me around, my back slamming against the cold brick of a run-down building. “You’ve been teasing me,” he growls, grinding his body into mine.

  “What if I have?” I let the words cross my lips in a purr.

  “You shouldn’t tease.” A wet stroke of his tongue leaves a trail up my neck. I allow him to have a taste before I push him away and slap his face. The impact stings my hand and leaves him gaping. “What the fuck?”

  “I thought you liked to play rough.” I smile, lashing out again.

  “Lola.” He bellows back, backhanding me across the cheek. I falter on my heels as my head becomes woozy. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Hands grab at me before I can regain composure and I’m slammed back against the wall, my head crashing against the unforgiving brick, sending a wave of nausea to my stomach. My ears ring as his body covers mine. Teeth bite into my shoulder as his hand dives roughly up my shirt, fingers finding my nipple and twisting. “I’ll show you rough, you little minx.”

  “Ow! Time out!” I screech. He backs away, panting from the exertion, a broad smile on his face.

  “You’re a freak, you know that, right?” he taunts, raising his brow.

  Stroking my hair back into place, I grin. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Rubbing his cheek, he frowns at me. “Why must you play these games?”

  “Boredom?” I shrug.

  “I can think of other ways to alleviate boredom.” He winks, hanging his tongue from his mouth like a dog.

  “Walk me home. It can get scary out here at night.” I pout, holding my hand out to him.

  Taking it in his, he twirls me under his arm and pulls me against his body. “The only thing scary out here is you,” he snorts. “But since I adore you, I’ll walk you.”

  “I missed you.” I chuckle.

  “I missed you too, my darling Lola.”

  Chapter Five

  Adams

  “You look like you didn’t get any sleep.” Snow snorts, shaking his head. The precinct is busy and it’s doing nothing to lessen the headache throbbing in my skull.

  “Unless you got something important to tell me, fuck off until I have my coffee. It’s seven pm, but our body clocks are all kinds of fucked up with the shifts we pull, so nighttime is my morning time. I tossed and turned for hours trying to get some sleep, hoping I’d wake up with a rational brain.

  “I spoke with the wife. She made a formal I.D. and confirmed he was a violent son of a bitch. She bought the gun for her own protection, but he found it and took it from her.”

  And thank god he had. If he hadn’t, the outcome of that attack could have been very different.

  “Bartender says she left alone, and he didn’t notice Reese following. There was a camara across the street from the alley. It doesn’t show where t
he incident happened, but there was someone walking past who stopped before gunshots rang out, then he took off.”

  “So, there’s a witness?” I urge, not understanding this pit opening up in my stomach. If he doesn’t collaborate Lola’s story, this could mean it’s not a simple self-defense case. They could want to file charges, question her, analyse the blood spatter on her clothes that are at my apartment and not in evidence where they fucking should be.

  “It’s dark and hard to make out. We’re working on it, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  “I’m going to go get some real coffee.” I jerk my chin and head for the exit before he can question me on it. I never leave for coffee. I drink the shit here like everyone else. But I didn’t want him coming with me. There’s somewhere I need to be.

  Ringing the bell, I wait for her to answer her door. I shouldn’t be here, I should let Snow deal with all this, I should forget I ever met Lola, but it’s too fucking late for that. She’s in my system, like a fucking virus corrupting everything, leaving nothing but this burning desire and need to be around her. Ringing the bell again, I become anxious. Where would she be?

  Turning on my heel, I go back to my car and wait. My cell keeps lighting up with calls from Snow, but I ignore them and wait. Time goes by so fucking slow. My knuckles tighten on the steering wheel when two figures come into view, moving toward her apartment. The hue of the streetlight brings them into view. It’s Lola, but she’s not alone. Some punk has an arm draped over her shoulder like he owns her. Why the fuck did I think she wouldn’t have a boyfriend? Look at her.