Chasing Her: A Stalker Romance (Dark Love Series Book 3)

by Kat T. Masen

  And her body convulsing beneath mine, she’ll make me feel like a man again.

  In approximately one minute, I will do something I could possibly regret.

  I need out. Now.

  With light steps, I walk toward her, ignoring the voices telling me to leave. Standing beside her bed, my eyes draw toward her bedside table and the cell sitting next to a picture frame. I don’t pick it up, but as if the universe knows of my wrongful behavior, the screen lights up with an incoming text.

  Lex: I love you, my wife. Always, forever, and tomorrow, I’m going to show you just how much. P.S… I love it when you’re pregnant, your wild hormones ALWAYS work in my favor, baby.

  The words are like daggers, each digging deeper and tearing apart my ego. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, my nostrils flare like a beast ready to attack until my eyes spring wide open catching sight of her wedding ring beside the phone.

  My fingers trace the platinum band, and next to where it lays is a framed picture of the two of them on their wedding day. I pick it up, recognizing this photograph when it leaked online. Undoubtedly, Charlie looks happy, and again, this should’ve been us.

  I place the frame back down carefully, clenching my teeth to contain my jealousy. Only inches away from her, I crouch down until I make the boldest move I had ever made in my fucking life.

  I lean in and kiss her hair.

  The scent shoots through me like a bullet, ricocheting throughout my whole body. All my senses heighten, and the fragile broken side of me knows the only way to repair the damage is to have her in my arms.

  But who?

  Chelsea or Charlie?

  I sit perfectly still, my posture straight, and my eyes focused. The room is lit brightly, the fluorescent glow creating a clinical atmosphere. Trying not to appear too distracted, I shift my eyes to the pictures which grace the wall. Aligned perfectly in dark brown frames, there’s achievement after achievement. Wait! Did I just see the words ‘Nobel Prize Winner’?

  Run, now.

  Mr. Grimmer sits behind his large mahogany desk. His eyes are darting across the pages, allowing me to watch him. He’s an older man, maybe mid-sixties. His bald patch leaves nothing to the imagination. There’s a slight comb-over, but you probably wouldn’t be paying attention to that because you would be too busy staring at his tortoise-shell glasses. The lenses are so thick they look like the type you would get at a gag shop. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt which has a pocket at the front, and inside sits a blue pen and a red pen. Well, shit, red could only mean one thing—an ass-kicking.

  He reaches into his pocket to pull out a pen, and I watch as his fingers linger on the tip of the red pen.

  Fuck! I knew it. Do I really think I can pull this off? All that cramming in Harvard, and you’re going to end up in the gutter. What a waste of my fucking life.

  “Mr. Baker, I have to tell you, I’m quite impressed with your manuscript.” He offers a warm smile. Perhaps I’m overthinking things. He pushes his glasses back past the bridge of his nose, his face searches mine, obviously waiting for an answer.

  Act confident. Don’t show weakness.

  “Thank you, Mr. Grimmer. I feel honored you can see my vision. As you are aware, this is my first venture into publishing my own work.”

  “Well, we all have to start somewhere, Mr. Baker, and you definitely have the talent to pursue this as a career. Now, what I want to see is the finished manuscript. Have that to me by September first, and if it’s up to par with what I’ve read so far, you have yourself a publishing deal.”

  September first?

  As in eight weeks?

  How the fuck am I going to pull this off?

  “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Grimmer.” I stand and politely shake his hand.

  With his right hand, he pats me on the back. “Mr. Baker, I have faith in you and your work. You’ve got something I don’t see much of anymore… compassion. You can do this, son. Stay focused and keep your eyes on the prize.”

  ***

  I hear the loud sounds of the waves crashing on the shore as I walk along the beach attempting to clear my thoughts. Eight weeks to finish a manuscript which has taken me six months to write. The big fucking problem is that it was written when I was as high as a kite. The days when I barely slept, when I remained isolated in my apartment with the blinds closed, deep within the darkness, just my thoughts and me.

  But I haven’t touched that shit in such a long time.

  Not since I discovered Charlie is a far better addiction.

  Only, without Charlie, I have no inspiration, which leaves me with only one option—back to watching.

  She’d be so fucking proud of you if she knew what you were writing, and that makes this all okay. Right? Charlie has a heart, the biggest heart I know. It’s such a damn shame she wastes its efforts on scum like Edwards.

  Eyes on the prize. Once this is done and published, maybe Charlie will realize what she has been missing all along—a man who genuinely loves her and only her. A man who will move heaven and earth and give her everything she deserves.

  I close my eyes wanting to see Charlie’s face, but the image of Chelsea’s dead body flashes through my mind instead, causing my heart to temporarily stop. I clutch at my chest, pain soaring through me.

  What the hell was that?

  The demons are returning, the same ones that have trapped me for all these years. The same ones that linger amongst the shadows and torture me with their ghostly presence.

  I need an escape now, anything to take away the pain.

  The demons taunt me, their eyes thirsty for the white-laced acid.

  Fucking run. Now.

  I race back to my car, knowing I have to use all my strength to distract myself. The only healthy thing I can do right now is head back to my office and throw myself into work. I just need to get through today. Survive.

  Distract yourself with work, I repeat in my head.

  My workplace has become a home away from home. The building is located in downtown LA and is fairly new. Like any newsroom, the atmosphere is constant chaos. Employees are running around like turkeys a week before Thanksgiving, others sitting behind their partitions talking loudly on the phone. The sound of keyboards clicking at record speed echoes throughout the office, the desperate task of trying to hit that sought-after deadline.

  I walk into the main foyer to be greeted by our receptionist, Nyree. She is new to our office, and I’ve barely had a chance to talk with her. Our phones ring off the hook, and she’s constantly busy. Today, she’s sitting quietly at her computer typing away.

  “Good morning, Mr. Baker,” she cheerfully greets.

  “Nyree, call me Julian, please,” I scold playfully.

  “Sorry, Julian,” she enunciates. “I’ve got a ton of messages for you. You may just be the most wanted man right now.”

  “That depends by whom…” My eyes dance as I watch her, waiting for her flirtatious reaction to my comment.

  Nyree is an incredibly beautiful woman, tall and slender with the perfect number of curves in all the right places. Her piercing blue eyes and unruly blonde hair stand out. She lets out a wide grin, handing me the messages. Our fingers touch for a moment.

  Hmm, wouldn’t she be a nice girl to fuck? Okay, seriously, don’t mix business with pleasure, but all my dick can think about right now is pleasure. This is what happens when your nephew moves in with you, and you have no private time to jerk off. I give her a wink and head to my office, trying to hide the bulge in my pants which needs relieving.

  With a mountain of work done, the day goes by fairly quickly, and before I know it, the clock reads five-thirty. The office starts to clear out when my phone rings—it’s Nyree.

  “Miss Parkins, staying late? Quite the productive employee,” I tease.

  “I have someone here to see you,” she politely answers.

  Fuck, I wish it was a booty call. Seriously, Julian, go to the fucking restroom and jerk off now.

&
nbsp; “Sure, who is it?”

  “He’d prefer to see you…”

  Huh, odd. “Okay, send him in.”

  I tidy up my desk, making it more presentable, not knowing when she said someone would be here to see me that meant I’d find Lex fucking Edwards standing in my office only moments later.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I stand up and extend my hand as a polite gesture. If he sees my hand is as solid as a rock, he won’t know I think about Charlie almost every second of the day, and that last night, my lips touched her. I retract my arm as it’s evident he doesn’t want to play along with my game.

  “Lex, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  He stands at my door, his glare fierce. Lex is a tall man, pretty much on par with me. He’s standing there dressed in a business suit and tie, arms folded. He’s trying to intimidate me. Perhaps it’s working, but all I have to do is remember that I was once inside his wife, more than once actually, and with that thought alone, I know I’m not the only person scorned in this room.

  I motion for him to take a seat, which he declines by remaining silent.

  “Do I need to be more cautious of my wife’s whereabouts?” he grits.

  “Excuse me?”

  He pauses, trying to remain calm, but I can see the vein almost popping on his forehead. The way his words come out strained to the bitter gaze he can’t seem to control in my presence.

  “First, I hear that Eric is dating your nephew.”

  “I wouldn’t call it dating, considering Tristan is straight.”

  “Not according to Eric,” he snarls, eyes wide as he continues to fixate on me. “I can’t stop Eric from doing whatever the hell he wants, but I can stop Charlotte from having any contact with you.”

  “Interesting. Your wife hasn’t contacted me, and if you know Charlie, she’ll do whatever the hell she wants. Remember, once upon a time she was going to marry me. I know her inside and out just like you do.”

  Inside and out, especially inside.

  I watch him as his fists clench, his eyes bulging out of his head. My defense is up, and I’m certain he’s going to strike at any moment. We’ve gone head-to-head once at the restaurant, and although I’d gladly smack my fist into his face right now, Charlie will never forgive me.

  He shifts his neck, creating a slight crack. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

  I think about his question carefully, but know I must answer promptly because my hesitation can be interpreted as guilt. He’s calling my bluff, and I’ve studied this man enough to know this tactic will not work on me.

  “Could you be more specific? C’mon, Edwards, I’ve got shit to do, and I don’t appreciate my time being wasted.”

  This time, he inches closer, his hands leaning on my desk for support. “Someone has been at my house, and I’m this close to ending your fucking life right now.”

  I look him straight in the eye, refusing to allow Lex fucking Edwards to intimidate me despite the fact he’s hot on my trail. “Do you think I’d be that stupid to break into your house? Besides, Charlie made it perfectly clear to me she’s married. You won. Game over. Leave now.”

  “Game over?” He lets out a chilling laugh. “I believe it’s still being played. I’m warning you, so listen carefully… if I catch you anywhere near Charlotte, and I mean anywhere near her, I’ll personally hunt you down and beat the fucking shit out of you with my bare hands.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Edwards… if you did that, do you think Charlie would be happy?”

  He almost spits out the words, “My wife doesn’t get a say in this.”

  I laugh at the thought. I’m safe. I know Charlie. She wouldn’t wish anything bad to happen to me despite my faults. But perhaps, him hurting me will effectively end their relationship, so that might be good?

  “Here’s the thing. Charlie loved me. Yes, loved me. Wanted to be with me the rest of her life… wanted kids… five, to be exact. If you hurt me, you hurt her. Simple. I’m not doing anything wrong here. I wish you guys all the best.”

  Lex’s ragged breathing is the only noise filtering throughout the room, and I’m so close to punching his fucking face. He has Charlie, he fucking married her and made children with her. The nerve of the fucking idiot to walk in here and parade what was once fucking mine.

  My calm demeanor is compromised as burning rage hisses through my body. The ferocity is like a venomous poison—the hatred toward this man engulfing my moralities and destroying my plan to climb out of this mess called my life and create a future with Charlie.

  “Don’t think this is over, you understand me? I’ll do everything to protect my family. Watch your back, Baker.” With those final words, he storms out of my office.

  Sweat beads trickle down my forehead as the realization that in the blink of an eye, my life can be over. That was a close fucking call.

  You fucking idiot, Julian, why can’t you just get your fucking life together for once?

  Now, what do I do? He’s onto me like a dog sniffing the trail, but now I need Charlie more than ever. I need her to get through the rest of my manuscript.

  Or I succumb to the white-laced acid.

  There is no alternative.

  Charlie is my only way to survive.

  The night is filled with raging continual nightmares. I’ve tossed and turned, trapped inside my rampant imagination. I’m always just a moment’s reach from pulling Chelsea’s body out of the wreckage, her screams echoing through the night.

  The fire blazing in front of my eyes is wild, out of control, and incinerating everything in its path.

  I’m paralyzed with terror.

  Chelsea!

  I scream, but my voice can’t be heard. My cries are silent pleas, and with force, I try, but it’s as if my vocal cords don’t exist.

  A loud noise awakens me, my body is drenched in a cold sweat as I sit up, unable to breathe from the horror of the nightmare returning.

  Burying my face into my hands, I try to erase the memories, bringing myself back to reality. With the sheets twisted around my limbs, I untangle myself willing the freedom to move around. My heart continues to beat erratically, and with exhaustion playing into the mix of emotions, I fall back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

  Everything about me is overly complicated. The voices need to stop—the ones continually taunting me. I battle with my good angel. We have a love-hate relationship but mostly hate. It constantly whispers in my ear telling me to fucking fix my life with reminders that once upon a time I had the world at my feet.

  That was until the world decided to crush me.

  I must try again to get back on track. I’m not stupid, my intelligence gives me opportunities others would kill for, and then to some. I apparently have the ‘entire package,’ the perfect mating partner, at least, on the outside. On the inside, I’m a train wreck on fucking crack.

  I’m not going to take Lex’s warning lightly. If Charlie were mine, I’d do the exact same thing. Maybe that’s why I battle with this decision so much. Yeah, I know he wants the best for her, but who fucking said he’s best? Then again, am I? What can I possibly offer her now?

  It’s too much thought for four in the morning, and the only clear decision I can make is that I need to get through the next eight weeks without seeing Charlie and definitely no coke.

  ***

  I start out on a roll with a fresh attitude, the writing flowing perfectly. Every night I sit in my apartment and pour my words onto the screen. It’s a different type of high—a positive high. I even position my Harvard pictures near my desk, reminding me of how hard I have worked to get to this point in my life.

  Life’s coming together.

  I can win this battle.

  I was doing well until all hell broke loose in my head. Tristan is annoying the fuck out of me, and I need my space. Okay, to be fair, he isn’t around as much. Eric’s taking this tour guide thing to a whole new level. I’ve even seen a physical change in the kid. I had to brin
g it up fearing he was taking steroids.

  “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but since when did you get so big?”

  “If you weren’t my uncle, I’d be extremely paranoid right now.” He continues to rapidly press the buttons on his control while whatever war game he’s currently playing is occupying his attention.

  And that’s another thing—the fucking PlayStation.

  I only have one television in my apartment, and forgive me for wanting to watch the news to catch up on what’s happening in the world. I’m this close to throwing it out the window and claiming the apartment was burglarized.

  “Just want to make sure you’re not mixing with the wrong crowd.” Who the fuck am I to talk about wrong crowds?

  “I’ve been hanging out with some bangin’ babes. If you mean wrong as in double-D hunnies, well…”

  I raise my brow. “Eric hooked you up with double-D hunnies?

  He pauses his game and turns to face me. “I don’t always hang out with Eric. I have a life outside of him. Besides, he prefers men.”

  “Yes, he does. Okay, just making sure you aren’t stocking up on the ‘roids. Okay, kid?”

  He presses play on the control. “I’m not a kid. In fact, I got a date with double-D hunny, Claudia, tonight, and considering it’s at her place, I’m pretty certain you won’t be cooking me breakfast.”

  “When have I ever cooked you breakfast?”

  It’s laughable. The kid eats Captain Crunch every morning.

  “It’s an expression. You know because I’ll be busy motorboating all night—”

  There’s a knock on the door, interrupting Tristan’s motor-boating comment. Staring into the peephole, I see Eric’s perfectly styled hair looking right back at me. Oh, dear God, seriously, here comes a tidal wave of drama.

  I open the door, and Eric walks right in and stands beside me. He’s dressed in gym gear—the tights hugging his thin frame and other parts prompting me to look away.

  “Make yourself at home, Eric,” I comment sarcastically.