You, Me, and the Stalker

by Elle Luckett

  You, Me, and The Stalker

  A Club Stigmata Novella

  Elle Luckett

  Contents

  A Note to the Reader:

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Suggested Playlist

  About the Author

  Also by Elle Luckett

  ©All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written consent from the author, except that of small quotations used in critical reviews and promotions via blogs.

  You, Me, and the Stalker is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  You, Me, and the Stalker©2020 Elle Luckett

  Cover design by L.J. Stock, LJDesigns

  Book design by LJDesigns

  Editing by Victoria L. James, Claire Allmendinger

  Chapter Illustrations ©2020 L.J. Stock, LJDesigns

  Promotions: Wendy Shatwell & Claire Allmendinger of Bare Naked Words www.barenakedwords.co.uk

  Elle Luckett on Social Media:

  Twitter - @elleluckett

  Facebook www.facebook.com/elleluckett

  A Note to the Reader:

  I think everyone would like a love story that happens as quickly as it does in our favorite romances. Between the pages of a novel, love can blossom and develop in the beat of a heart.

  Unfortunately, the harsh reality is, real life doesn’t work that way. We have more space and time to play and develop bonds and trust than a couple of hundred pages. In the real world, we have more time to get to know the very bones of someone before we jump into something with them.

  That being said, no matter what you chose to do, please be safe. In life, and any lifestyle choice, you need to be sure of what you’re doing, who you’re doing it with, and always make sure there is trust there. Do the proper research, practice safety, and precaution, and keep yourself out of harm’s way.

  Much love to you all.

  Elle

  Acknowledgments

  The first thank you is always given to Victoria L. James. Not only is she one of the most amazing human’s I know, she’s also one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had. She is always standing on the sidelines with pom poms and a cheer louder than most, but she’s encouraging every step of the way. She also nudged me in the direction of this novella series. Vic, thank you for loving Jared and Kit as much as I do and for making me see how much potential Club Stigmata has. Thank you for also having the red sword to cut through so much of the crap I’ve lost the ability to be objective about. Girl, you make my words look pretty.

  I want to also thank my editor Claire Allmendinger. Claire, thank you for being your amazing self every step of the way and making the words look better. You’re amazing, and I can’t thank you enough for all that you do. I hope you know how much I adore and love you.

  A huge thank you to my Beta’s Amy, Flora, Sue and Coops. Thank you for reading my words. Thank you for giving me feedback and helping find mistakes my tired eyes are too oblivious to find.

  My wonderland sisters, Vic, Charlie, Fran and Amy. You guys are amazing. You know how much I love you.

  Sue, Kris and Coops, ladies, I love you. Thank you for having my back and sharing my work for me, and for believing in my words. You truly are the most amazing ladies I know and I am so blessed to have you all in my life.

  My Texas Wolfpack, Flora and Lili, you ladies are amazing! I love sharing this state with you, and I can’t wait until we hang out again. Love you both loads. #Packlife

  To the Epic duo Wendy and Claire at Bare Naked Words for being the best blog and team around. You ladies have made this a fine art and you are they every step of the way for us authors. I am so honored to have you in my corner.

  Of course I want to thank my family for their support. Every one of them have had my back from the beginning and I can’t begin to explain how much I love them and how lucky I feel to have each and every one in my life. Dad and Ellen for always having my back and telling me how proud they were, even when they can’t quite bring themselves to read the erotic stuff, or understand where it comes from. Emily and Kevin for taking me on adventures and reading these kinds of books allowed — you know what I’m talking about! Rachael for reading every one of my words and telling me how proud she is, my brothers Adam and Jason for being the awesome men they are.

  Lastly, certainly not least, thank you to you the readers. I think I would write even if no one read my words, but you guys taking this journey with me means the world. Thank you for trusting me to string a sentence together, for buying these books and reading them, and for the reviews. It means more than you could ever know.

  Amy Trevathan

  You’re one of the strongest people I know.

  You’re in the fight and you’re winning.

  Keep winning and keep smiling!

  Love you Bamagirl

  Roll Tide!

  Chapter One

  I'd never been to New Orleans.

  Considering my older sister Lane had lived here for the past decade, it did nothing but testify to the sad state of our once close relationship, and the blame was all mine. This was the first time I’d visited, and she had no idea I was arriving.

  Boy, was she going to be surprised.

  The last time we'd spoken, almost five years earlier, had ended with an argument neither of us had won. Hindsight was a hell of a thing. If I'd really been listening to what Lane had been saying, and if I'd known what I knew now, I wouldn't have been exposed to half the shit I'd endured over the last five years. My life would have been exponentially more comfortable and far less painful.

  Of course, I'd been twenty-one and had known better, but that was a different story.

  My past was currently and blessedly, fifteen hundred miles away in Arizona, and that was where it was going to stay if I had any say in the matter.

  I pulled onto the street of Lane's apartment and looked at the GPS on my phone to make sure I was in the right place before pulling into an available spot on the street and staring blankly at the building ahead of me. Lane sure had come a long way from our humble upbringing. The large white brick facade looked like it came from another era and would have probably fit just as comfortably in Manhattan— not that I'd ever been there. My beat to hell Toyota Corolla looked out of place parked outside of her building, and it didn't do much for my ego either. I was beginning to feel as sad and as pitiful as my car.

  Resigned, I pulled the last letter Lane had sent to me from my backpack, and read the name and street address three more times, cross-referencing it with the screen on my dash before I folded the damn thing up and shoved it back inside. Killing the engine, I wrapped my arms around the steering wheel and glanced up at the soaring structure through my bug-decorated windshield

  “Come on, you idiot,” I said to myself, rocking back in my seat and reaching for the door.

  I finally unfolded myself from the confines of the car with an audible groan and several quiet cracks from my bones as I straightened to full height. My last stop had been in Shreveport, almost five hours earlier. I'd been in my car for nearly twenty-six hours, and that was including the few stop
s I'd made for necessities and the obligatory hour-long nap. I'd also spent every one of those hours not thinking about what I would do if Lane ended up turning me away. Rejection wasn't out of the realm of possibility, considering how our last conversation had ended with a wish not to see one another again.

  She was my last option because I had nowhere else to go.

  I just had to see her first. I wasn't a mind reader, and I had no way of knowing what would happen until I grew a pair and headed up to see her. Thinking about the worst-case scenario was stupid, so I straightened out my driving clothes, headed toward the sizeable polished brass doors, and I pulled one aside to step inside the marble-lined foyer that rose two stories above. The whole building was ridiculously grand. Rugs that cost more than my car were sitting off to one side, where a fire bubbled merrily above glass stones, and a small sitting area had a news channel with a tickertape running along the bottom of the screen. I didn't stop to take much more in. The whole thing was too intimidating, so I located the equally grand bank of elevators and headed toward them, forcing my chin to stay high as I moved with purpose. I was almost halfway there when I heard a polite cough to my right.

  I tried to ignore him and carried on walking, but the older gentleman rose to his feet. His towering figure was enough to cause my usual self-doubt to interfere, and I tripped over my own feet as I glanced over at him with a mousey squeak.

  I had no idea why he intimidated me as much as he did, but my fear faded when the look of concern passed over his features, and his outstretched hand reached between us as though he could catch me. Holding out my hands in reassurance, I glanced at him meekly from under my lashes.

  “Security, ma'am. Can I ask who you're here to see?” he asked politely.

  “I, uh.” I scratched the crown of my head in my usual sign of discomfort before I caught myself, offering him something close to a grimace. “Lane Beltran?”

  “I think she's still at work,” he said warmly, lowering to sit behind his desk again. “I can call her apartment for you to be sure. You're more than welcome to wait.” He gestured to the large leather couches grouped around the television, which I noticed also had a small courtesy table with one of those pod coffee machines, as well as a large glass canteen with lemon water on top.

  “Does she always work this late?”

  “Most days, yes, ma'am.”

  “Does she still work at the club?”

  “I'm afraid I can't answer personal questions.”

  I offered him a polite smile of approval. I should have known better than to ask and put him in a position like that. He was there to protect her, and there was no way he could tell I was her sister.

  “I appreciate your help.” I glanced down at his nametag. “Gerald. I'm going to try the club.”

  “I wish I could help more.”

  “You've been great,” I assured him and spun slowly on my heel, my tennis shoes squeaking against the marble.

  Smiling at the security guard, I nodded at one of the residents coming in as I left. I didn't want to bother Lane at work. I'd timed my arrival in the early evening to avoid that. The last thing I wanted was for our reconnection to happen there. Then again, if you filled one hand with wishes and the other with shit, the latter inevitably filled faster.

  Club Stigmata was a little harder to find than the apartment had been. I drove past it three times before I figured out what I'd been missing, and then took another ten minutes to find a parking spot three blocks away. By the time I finally stepped into a rather grand foyer, I was in a foul mood, sweaty, and in no frame of mind to deal with the newest roadblock in my path. Granted, the guy was much better looking than the security guard had been. He was much younger, too, but far more intimidating in comparison. He was gorgeous, all angles and straight lines that were complicated by the rounded swell of muscles that stretched out the material of his baby blue polo shirt. My eyes traced the edges of the material that suddenly gave way to two solid sleeves of tattoos, and another half dozen that crept out from under his shirt and up his neck. A generous spattering of stubble hid the angle of his jaw, but the quirk of his lips wasn't something I would have been able to miss.

  I had to remind myself I was there for a reason.

  “Uh, hi. I'm looking for Lane Beltran?” I announced, pushing my keys into my pocket with a little flourish.

  The guy smiled one of those predatory smiles you see in nature programs on television. A hungry look that served to distract me from my goal. He gripped his chin between his index finger and thumb and stroked in slow sweeping pulls as he studied me like I'd done something interesting. It took me a minute of staring at his damn stroking finger before my cognitive processes kicked back into action.

  “Sorry,” I amended, feeling stupid. “It just occurred to me you may not work here.”

  “I don't,” he confirmed in a growling purr that was sexy as sin. Paired with his small smirk, I suddenly found myself captivated and very curious about the stranger.

  “Right, sorry.”

  “That's the second time you've apologized for no reason.”

  I opened my mouth to respond and snapped it shut again to stop myself from apologizing, once again. An uncomfortable silence descended over us, and the stranger seemed disinclined to put me out of my misery. The tension proved too much for me, though, and inevitably, I began to talk.

  “Is there someone who does work here?” I inquired, nodding at the unmanned counter he was leaning against.

  “Clearly.”

  Impatience knocked the initial attraction I had to him out of the running. Something spurred on all the more when a young man in a suit came around the corner and slipped into the seat, smiling gratefully at the jerk still smirking at me.

  “Thanks for watching the desk, Mark,” he said quietly to the guy, still staring in my direction. The new arrival hadn't seemed to have noticed me yet.

  “I would have been more helpful, but that one,” Mark indicated to me with a nod, “insisted on speaking to someone who worked here.”

  My mouth fell open again, my chance to respond disappearing as the young man turned to glance at me with an apologetic smile. Mark just grinned as though pleased with himself.

  Asshole.

  “I apologize for the wait. How can I help you?” the young man asked in a professional tone.

  “I'm looking for Lane Beltran.”

  He looked down at something in front of him before glancing up at me with the same appeasing smile. “Is she expecting you?”

  Jesus, wasn't that a loaded question? I glanced down to my hands, suddenly aware that I was picking at the cuticle on my thumb—something I hadn't done in months. I was more nervous than I would admit, even to myself.

  “Probably not, but could you just let her know that Zara is here to see her?”

  “Will she know what it's regarding?”

  My eyes flickered between the two men before I nodded and dropped them again. My discomfort was expanding because I couldn't place why I was acting so damn demure. I heard the kid behind the desk pick the phone up, and I released a slow breath. I wasn't sure how Lane would react to my being here… in every sense of the word. I tuned the younger man out when he began to murmur into the phone. I didn't want to read into his responses. I was already nervous enough without misreading a stranger's body language and sending myself spiraling. It took me yet another moment of rocking awkwardly on my feet to notice the other guy as he approached me. When he held his large hand out to me, just inside my line of sight, I stared at it instead.

  “Mark Chilton,” he said quietly with that same gravel in his tone. “Sorry about the dick move. I thought you might be a newbie and decided to have a little fun at your expense. I didn't realize…” I watched his feet shuffle, and I allowed my eyes to trail up him as he straightened his shoulders and pushed his hand toward me again a little more carefully.

  “You didn't realize what?” I asked, reluctantly slipping my hand into his, the warmth almost immediate
ly calming.

  “That you're not a practicing submissive.”

  I blinked up at him, finally meeting his blue-gray eyes and trying not to fall into them as they intensified.

  “Shit.” Mark dropped my hand and ran his palms over the neatly cut sides of his hair, making it rasp quietly and blend with his sigh. “That's the first time I've ever read a situation that badly.”

  He hadn't. Not really. I wasn't a submissive. At least, I didn't think I was. I understood what he was saying. I realized what kind of club this was because Lane and I had spoken about it before the break in our communication. I'd been so curious I'd done some research of my own at the time.

  I smiled up at Mark in the same cynical way he'd used with me, and I swung my arms at my sides.

  He was studying me so intently, I doubt he missed the subtle recognition in my body language, and his blue-gray eyes sparkled with something I couldn't read. My body tingled under that watchful gaze, and it sparked another response from me.

  “You know what they say about assumptions.”

  “Your ass—”

  He didn't get a chance to finish his statement. The hurried clip of heels and the girlish squeal that followed cut him off. My gorgeous, well-composed, and immaculately dressed sister barreled into the mix, threw her arms around my shoulders, and crashed against me with enthusiasm. I glanced around the space, noticing she’d been followed by a bewildered and handsome gentleman dressed as impeccably as she was. He and the other two men were staring at Lane as though she had three asses, their eyes growing even larger as she babbled incoherently at me.