You, Me, and the Stalker

by Elle Luckett

  “You're really here. Are you okay? Did something happen? When did you get here? How long have you been waiting?” Rocking back on her towering heels to get a better look at me, she released her grip around my neck and cupped my cheeks with warm hands. “You look tired.”

  “Long drive,” I admitted when I was sure she wasn't going to start rambling again. “Texas is fucking huge.”

  Lane let off a quiet chuckle before gathering me to her in another tight hug that I finally relaxed into.

  “I missed you,” I said with more emotion than I'd intended. “I really freaking missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  I don't know how long the two of us stood there embracing one another, but it was a quiet cough that finally broke through the reunion. Lane released her grip on me and glanced over her shoulder at the three men watching her with a mixed bag of emotions on display. Lane's small laugh followed a surreptitious sweep of the heel of her hand that wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Guys, this is my sister, Zara. Zara, this is Thomas Hayward, Mark Chilton, and Jon Bracken.”

  I offered an awkward one-handed wave and lifted one shoulder in a shrug as their stares grew more scrutinizing. I mentally counted to twenty-five before Thomas shook his head and rushed forward to offer me his hand.

  “It's very nice to meet you finally,” he said with a gorgeous smile that made my knees weaken. “Lane speaks about you often.”

  “Oh, man.” I took Thomas's hand and shook it. “I can't imagine the stories you've been subjected to. I should probably preface by saying they’re likely all true.”

  “The armadillo?” he asked, and I swung my glance to my sister as I retrieved my hand. Lane offered me a wicked grin of challenge, and I dropped my shoulders in defeat.

  “I didn't know they liked to dig.”

  At the time, Lane did her best to hide the mess. Unfortunately, it had been hopeless, and I'd had to sit in the closet for two hours for my sins. It was funny now, but Lane and I had been terrified when it had been going on. We never really knew what frame of mind Mom would be in. As though reading my thoughts, Lane's hand slipped into mine and squeezed.

  I offered her a smile before I continued. “I never did that again.”

  Thomas shook his head, the humor making the corner of his eyes crease. It only made him look more handsome. A thought that seemed to be seconded by my sister who was wearing her heart in her eyes.

  “I'm sure you didn't.” Thomas chuckled and turned his attention to Lane. “Why don't you head out for the day? Kammie's here, and she can call you if she has any issues.”

  Lane didn't hesitate. She gave Thomas a beaming smile before she promised me she'd be right back and disappeared down a wide corridor on her heels, leaving me with three men staring curiously.

  Awkward.

  Chapter Two

  Lane's apartment was almost as fancy on the inside as it had been on the out. Her floors were highly polished reclaimed wood, her counters granite, and her bathrooms created from vintage marble. She was on the eighteenth floor, and she also had a second story that boasted a spare bedroom, as well as a home theater that could comfortably seat at least eight people in the giant recliners. That information was all from her own descriptions as she toured herself around the place. I was still standing in the foyer, my bags in my hands, while I gaped for a good ten minutes until she eventually backtracked and came looking for me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'm taking it all in.” I stepped into the big open space that was her living room, dining room, and kitchen. Eventually, I whistled as I released my grip on my bags. “I'm feeling a little shell-shocked.”

  Lane looked around herself and smiled as though she couldn't believe it either. “I got two bedrooms because I was hoping you wanted to come and stay. Admittedly, I thought it would be sooner than this, but—.”

  “I'm stubborn.”

  Lane chuffed out a laugh. “We're both stubborn, Zee.”

  “Except you didn't do anything stupid.”

  Reaching up to pull the pins from her hair, Lane let out a sigh as her dark locks fell around her shoulders. She kicked off her heels by the island and instantly looked more relaxed—like she was disarming herself in some way.

  “I could have reached out to you.”

  “Two-way street. The fact that you were right also doesn't hurt. I should have called you sooner, but my ego was bruised, and so was everything else.”

  Her head twisted in my direction at such a sharp angle, I cringed. “What are you saying?”

  “I'm saying you called it, Lane.” I glanced down, kicking my duffle bag with the toe of my Vans.

  “How bad?”

  “Three emergency room visits and six broken ribs before I learned my lesson.” And that wasn't the half of it. I wasn't even going to mention the hundreds of stitches I'd endured over the five years I'd been with Elijah Hunt. The less she knew, the better.

  “How long?”

  “How long, what?”

  “How long did you stay with him while he beat the living shit out of you? How often did you make excuses about what he was doing and why he was doing it? How often did you think about calling me, then didn’t, just because you were scared of how I'd react?” She was breathing heavily when she stopped.

  “Don't do that,” I whispered with a sigh. “Mom—”

  “She told you to make the relationship work, didn't she?”

  “And that’s not your fault.”

  “You could have been here. Happy. Healthy.”

  “I'm an adult, Lane.” I gripped her hands in mine and turned to face her, feeling the guilt all over again. “And I'm here now.”

  “How long?” she asked again.

  “The first time was Valentine's Day, 2016.”

  Lane’s breath hitched.

  “I left sometime around March 2018, after the police got involved.”

  “Two years?”

  “It's over with now.” Though I wasn't entirely sure that was completely accurate. I did feel safer here knowing that there was a man at the door questioning everyone who entered. I just hoped fifteen hundred miles was too much of a pain in the ass for him.

  Lane studied me for a moment before she finally moved on.

  “Where have you been for the last eighteen months?”

  “With Mom.”

  Lane dropped my hands and made a noise at the back of her throat. It was one I was more than familiar with—a sound I'd grown up hearing. She’d never thought much of our mother. I couldn't blame her for that opinion after the time I'd spent with our mom. The last eighteen months had been hell, which explained the look of betrayal Lane gave me now.

  “I had a good job,” I told her defensively. “I couldn't just take off. Then, I was called as a witness when Elijah's next girlfriend pressed charges. You're always my first choice. That was just a lot to carry down here.”

  She nodded.

  “Laney…” I dragged out the syllables of her name and tapered off, looping my pinkie finger around hers. She glanced at the link between us before she looked away.

  “I wouldn't have turned you away, Zee. Kyle and I protected you from Mom for years, and you went back to her.”

  Guilt crushed me. Lane and my brother Kyle had left the moment they were able, but while they’d been there, they’d done their best.

  “You hid so much from me,” I admitted. “I had no idea how bad Mom really was.”

  “We both ran the moment we got a chance. Didn't you think that was a sign? Why the hell did you stay there? You could have—” She sighed, shutting herself up. My big sister had always believed I could have been anything and done anything I wanted to. She never understood my need to stay in Arizona.

  Looking back, neither did I, anymore.

  “Can we talk about this later?” I asked with a half-smile. “I'm not arguing with you. You were right. I'll answer any questions you have. I just need a beer and some sle
ep first.”

  Lane rolled her eyes before she smiled at me. “I'll order some food, and you grab us some beer. The rest, we'll deal with later.”

  “Now you're speaking my language.” I kicked my bag again. “Where shall I put these?”

  I woke up late the next afternoon, the hot sun beaming down on me from the window while the city sounded dull from beyond the glass. Nineteen floors up, and I couldn't hear much, but it was a cacophony in comparison to what I'd lived with my whole life. Winslow, Arizona wasn't a big town, and most of the places I'd lived had been on the outskirts of that. Night brought with it the sound of insects and the silence beyond. The occasional passing of a car was always out of place. Here, I liked the bustle of the city. It felt alive and real. Something I hadn't felt in a long time.

  Crawling from the bed, I worked through my morning ablutions before heading downstairs in my usual t-shirt and underwear to scrounge out some coffee.

  There was a note from Lane on the counter, telling me she'd gone to work, and describing in great detail where I could find everything. This included a spare key, which was precisely where she'd said it would be, hanging on a nifty looking key keeper by the front door. It was attached to a keychain boasting a chrome Z with cubic zirconia’s. A key I imagined had always been meant for me. The bottom of the note said I should come and meet her for lunch, and to call her when I woke up. There were four different numbers listed at the bottom.

  My sister was thorough, if nothing else.

  I drank three-quarters of a pot of coffee and took a shower before I stepped out of the building and waved to the same security guard that had been on duty the day before. His smile was warm and broad when he tipped his head in recognition.

  I walked to the club—Lane lived all of four blocks from it—and even in the middle of the city, the warm, humid air embraced me as I stepped out into it. Traffic blared from street level, and the idle chatter of people as they passed me by was oddly comforting. By the time I arrived at the club, I had beads of sweat on my forehead.

  “Zara.” Jon nodded at me from behind the desk; his eyes still curious as he took me in. For a moment, I was compelled to look down at myself. I was wearing shorts with a T-shirt that I'd bought at a truck stop in Texas, announcing that 'I Brake for Beavers.'

  “Jon.” I nodded with my greeting. “Where am I going?”

  He smiled at me, tipping his head in the direction Lane had appeared from the day before. “Down the hall, fourth door on the right.”

  “Thank you.”

  His smile of appreciation sent me on my way as I mentally counted doors, and snorted when I came to the fourth, which had a giant inflatable penis stuck to it. There were ribbons of dicks showering from the thing. I had to separate them so I could knock on the door.

  “Come in!” a voice hollered from the other side—a voice that didn't belong to Lane.

  “Hey, I'm looking for Lane,” I said, pushing it aside and batting the penis away from my face as it swung past.

  “Here,” Lane said from my right, while a gorgeous Latino woman chuckled from my left. The beautiful stranger was wearing a veil filled with more penises, and she blushed when she caught my gaze, her leather cuffed arm covering her eyes in mock horror.

  “Getting married?” I asked with a grin.

  “Not obvious at all, is it?” She grinned. “The girls went a bit mental, but I love their enthusiasm.” She stood from her chair and leaned over her desk, offering me her hand. “Kammie Galvez.”

  “Soon to be McMillan,” Lane added with a warm, affectionate smile as she stepped around her desk with her wallet in hand. “You going to be okay under the weight of all this phallus while I'm gone?”

  Kammie pulled a to-scale dildo-shaped sucker from her desk and waved it in our general direction. “If I get hungry, I always have this.”

  “God help us if maintenance walks in on you sucking on that thing.”

  Kammie laughed, shrugged, and winked at me, her dark eyes sparking to life as though inspired. “Zara, you're invited to the bachelorette party and the wedding. It's all happening next weekend. Lane will give you all the details.”

  It was incredibly generous of her, but I'd just met her. “I don't want to impose.”

  “Kammie knows no strangers these days,” Lane said over Kammie. To Kammie, she said, “She'll be there as my plus one.”

  Lane grinned and steered us out of her office, flicking the tip of the inflatable penis as she went.

  We didn't go far for lunch. There was a cute cafe at the end of one of the streets feeding onto Bourbon Street. The waiter who saw us enter rushed over with a dazzling smile on his face. Another admirer my sister had picked up if his fluttering around her was anything to go by. By the time we were seated with our drinks, I was ready to combust into laughter.

  “What?”

  “When you explained your job all those years ago, I thought ‘what a boring job to have in such an interesting business’. There's not one boring thing I've seen since I got here. In the club or otherwise.”

  “New Orleans is a compelling Mistress, isn't she?”

  I grinned in response and scanned the menu with a renewed appetite. “I think we're going to get along just fine. Now all I need is a job.”

  “You're going to stay?” Lane asked, lighting up a little more.

  “If that's okay with you.”

  “It's more than okay. I may even have a job if you want one.”

  “Where?”

  “The club. Jon and Cindy used to split shifts on the front desk, but Cindy was recently accepted to a grad school on the East coast. She's managed to get a receptionist job in the club up there. Jon's been doing his best, with a little help from Kammie and me, but it's just impossible to fill the position with someone who doesn't giggle like a schoolgirl when a Dominant walks in with his submissive on a leash.”

  “Do I need to interview?”

  “You didn't giggle at the sentence: submissive on a leash, so as far as I'm concerned, you're hired.”

  “When do I start?”

  Lane looked at my T-shirt and shook her head. “You still the same size as me?”

  I dropped my eyes to her pencil skirt and blouse and grinned back at her. “Only if I get to wear my hair in that pin-up style you used to do.”

  She offered me her hand as the waiter approached with our drinks, and I shook it. Playing dress-up with my big sister had always been one of my favorite things in the world. I guess some things never changed.

  Chapter Three

  Being my sister’s clothes horse was all well and good when we had been kids, but dressing in Lane’s work attire was far trickier. I’d never been one for towering heels and tight-fitting business wear. I was strictly a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. My uniform of choice was generally a nifty shirt that kind of forced people to check out my boobs, and colored-coordinated Vans to match the shirt.

  My ass did look damn sublime when I wore heels, though. Lane had laughed at me when I tensed my ass cheeks in the mirror with a humph of appreciation. She’d always tried to encourage me to dress up rather than down, but when you lived in the middle of nowhere, appearance wasn’t really at the top of the list of priorities.

  After walking around the accommodations and the slowly-filling club for the afternoon, I was feeling pretty damn good about myself. Gorgeous men in suits, stunning women in painted-on jeans, and several other passers-by stopped and turned to stare at my ass when I walked by. If it had been anything other than a sex club, I probably would have been offended rather than making sure my hips rocked with a little extra effort.

  I was digging through one of the storage closets for some supplies for Lane when the most significant complication with my clothing choices arose. Bending at the waist—the only way I could bend in this damn skirt— I heard the door click closed behind me, and a warm set of hands gripped my hips with an assurance I hadn’t been clued in on. One gentle tug and my ass was pulled flush against a very generous e
rection that sat neatly between my ass cheeks.

  “I’ve been waiting all day to get you alone,” the voice purred, his hips grinding his dick harder against me as flutters of panic began to go to war with my logic. “I want to feel you tight around me again.”

  It had been a long time since I’d been laid, but the way he held me against him was as familiar as riding a new bike would be. The action was standard, the equipment was new, and there was a small part of my brain that fought the natural desire to push back against him in curiosity. As much as I appreciated his enthusiasm, I had to put a stop to it before we both moved past a little embarrassed to full-on mortification—or my panic took over.

  There was no denying he thought I was someone else.

  “Have you been avoiding me, kitten?”

  I drew in a breath to respond and felt his grip on my hips tighten, the growing anxiety freezing me.

  “Lane?” I heard the doubt lacing his tone, and I took the opportunity to rectify the situation. Standing up, I turned to face a handsome man and register the immediate surprise on his features when he realized I was not my sister.

  “Hi,” I said it calmly and apologetically, so he’d know I wasn’t offended. Working in Hooters during my senior year of High school had made things like this a little too common for me to be too flustered.

  “Not Lane.” Thomas Hayward ran a hand down his face and let it fall as he squeezed his eyes closed.

  “No. Not Lane,” I agreed, keeping that light tone in my voice. His eyes flickered open. “You and Lane, huh?” I asked, trying my best to keep a straight face as I stepped back from him, putting some distance between us.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I waved at him and chuckled. “I’m going to take that misidentification as a compliment.” I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “Your secret is also safe with me.”

  “Jesus. Your sister is going to kill me.” Thomas didn’t look at all sorry about that. His lips quirked up into a faraway grin, and his eyes glazed as he fell into his thoughts. His confidence was sexy as hell, but I figured that was something that all dominant men had. Mark Chilton had had the same thing. That sexy assurance that he wore around himself making that masculine thing he had… more.