While I walk back to the restaurant, I use Dove's phone to look up the photographer she was out with. I'd researched the companies in that office building she left days ago, and I instantly recognized the bastard when he picked her up for the date. Now, I realize the idiot has used his home address for his company. I smirk. I know where I'll be spending the night.
Because I was tired of having to hitch a cab every time I needed to follow Dove, I decided to invest in a ride of my own. As I approach the rusty Harley Davidson I splurged on earlier, I grin to myself. At least I'm fucking traveling in style now.
I stash Dove's bag in the storage compartment and drive to the address I found. Raphael's not back yet, probably still giving a statement to the cops at the beach. But I'm fairly certain I ruined their little moment. Dove will be scared now. She won't let him kiss her anymore. I smirk to myself, pleased with my work.
I only have to try three times to find the right code to unlock her phone. It's her birthday. Not careful enough, little bird. I'll have to teach her better.
Her phone is filled with texts from her brother and a few from guys trying to get her attention and miserably failing. Some prick's been texting her every month for two years. Give up already, you're embarrassing yourself, I think to myself. Besides, she's fucking mine. I block the guy's number. He won't be bothering my little bird again.
Dove's camera roll reveals only a few selfies. The rest of her photos are ominous shots of LA, nothing like the vibrant, colorful atmosphere people associate with the city. There are no social media accounts except for Instagram. I click through to that, knitting my brows together when I see she actually does have an account. And one helluva lot of followers. Fifteen thousand of the fuckers.
I scroll through her page. It's private, none of the selfies are on there – but the dark, moody shots are. I'm impressed with her as I peruse the pics. She has a good eye.
It doesn't take long for me to install the software that will track every move she makes on her phone. I'll be one step ahead of her now, always, and the thought pleases me.
Just then, I see Raphael's driver pulling up to his building. I slip into the shadows, Dove's phone in my pocket, and watch the guy go inside while clutching his still bleeding nose. I got him good there.
I'm pleased to see he returned to his apartment alone. That means Dove will be home now, too. I'll drop by before I head to the motel, make sure she's okay.
Just as I'm about to leave, I notice a familiar ride pull into the parking lot before the building. My eyes narrow as the bubblegum pink car comes to a screeching halt. Two long legs emerge. The girl flicks her long blonde locks, clutching another designer purse holding her insufferable pest of a dog.
Interesting. What the fuck is Elise Howard doing here?
I watch her ring one of the doorbells and argue with someone over it. The doors don't open, and she paces the pavement in front of the building until a man emerges. It's Raphael.
I smirk at the sight. So there's another connection here. One that excites me, because it means I can fuck things up for the photographer even more. I watch from the shadows as Elise and Raphael argue, the dog yapping into the night. Looks like a lovers' spat to me. And my suspicions are only confirmed when Elise throws herself at the guy, kissing him with desperation.
Raphael has enough common sense to push her off, rubbing his temples. She starts begging then, the little drama queen, even adding some tears for show.
Finally, the guy seems to cave. He unlocks the door and they both head inside the building. Laughing out loud, I get back on my bike. I did the right thing by coming here tonight. I fucking knew that smug piece of shit was hiding something.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back in front of Dove's house. The lights are off everywhere except her bedroom, and I already know she'll be up for hours still. Little bird doesn't sleep much.
I think about my next move. I wonder whether that guy Sam is still around. Leaving my bike parked a couple streets over, I walk to the alleyway, and sure enough, there's Dove's little buddy. Except he looks much worse for wear today, what with the fucking needle sticking out of his arm.
"Sam," I mutter, kneeling next to him. "Hey, Sam."
He doesn't respond. I pull the needle out of his arm and toss it aside. I shake him then, and with a groan, he finally wakes up. It takes him several moments to come to, and the first thing he does is reach for the needle I already removed before meeting my eyes guiltily.
"Nasty little habit you got there," I smirk. "Dove know about it?"
"She's trying to get me to quit." His eyes are hungry as they meet mine. "Do you have any stuff?"
"No," I reply firmly. "I don't mess with that shit, man. And you shouldn't, either."
Since I've spent several years on the streets, I know firsthand how dangerous these addictions can be. I've seen them kill too many people to count. I don't want Sam to be one of them.
The thought is surprising, the fact that I somewhat care about the old bastard. I don't care about anyone but Dove. Well, at least I didn't until now.
"Don't tell me what to do," Sam mutters in response.
Oh boy. "I'm not," I hiss. "Just trying to fucking help. I don't want Dove all depressed when she finds you kicked the bucket someday."
"I'll be fine," he waves his hand dismissively. He groans, picking himself up. Whatever high he was on is gone now, and he groans, running his fingers through his messy hair. "You got something to eat?"
"Sorry," I mutter. "I'll bring you something next time. But here." I fish a twenty out of my pocket and offer it to him. He hesitates, but then pockets the cash anyway. "Get some food. Not anything else."
"Yeah," he mutters. A part of me already regrets giving him the money. Something tells me he won't take my advice.
"Dove got home okay?" I ask, and he nods, giving me a curious look.
"Where were you?"
"Keeping an eye on someone else," I mutter. "Did her date drive her home?"
"No, she came in a cab. I saw it pull up earlier."
"Good." I can tell he's itching to get away, probably spend the money I gave him on something he shouldn't buy. "You kept your promise, right? You didn't tell her about me?"
"Haven't spoken to Dove today, but your secret's safe with me."
"It better stay that way," I say.
"What?"
"I said it better fucking stay that way."
His brows shoot up. "Are you threatening me?"
"No," I say. Not fucking yet, at least. "I'll see you soon, Sam. You take care of yourself."
"I will," he mutters, already distracted. "See you, Nox."
Still, there's some kind of silent companionship in the air, and I appreciate that. It's nice to have a friend.
***
Tonight is the night I finally get to break into Dove's apartment.
I have some unfinished business and I can't resist any longer. I want to see her. I want to smell her. I want to fucking touch her. Little bird's a light sleeper though, so I need to be careful.
It doesn't take me long to pick her lock, and with a click, I'm in.
The door opens into her apartment and I walk in, closing it soundlessly behind me. The apartment smells like her. Everything in here has that powdery, rosy smell that's been driving me wild since I first caught a whiff of it.
I'm quiet walking through the rooms. Years of sneaking around has taught me how to stay hidden in the shadows. The thought that she's only a couple doors away is so fucking exciting my cock twitches in my pants.
Even though the desire to break down her door and claim her right the fuck now is overwhelming, I force myself to take a breather. Instead of going upstairs, I head to her kitchen.
Everything is tidy. There are no dirty dishes except for a coffee mug on the counter. I pick it up, inspecting it. There's still a trace of her lipstick on the rim. My cock jumps to attention.
I raise the mug to my mouth and lick the rim. By now, I’m sure my cock is fucking
leaking with precum. I want her. I want her so fucking much.
I set the mug back down and rummage through her pantry next. There's barely any food, barely anything in there. She seems to be a coffee addict though. She has bags upon bags of coffee beans. The other thing I notice are the plants. Plants fucking everywhere. Her place is like a goddamn greenhouse.
It's getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that she's so close. My cock wants her. I want her.
Busying myself with the rest of the lower floor, I flick through her magazines and books. I go through her laundry in the bathroom and find the black lace thong she must've worn to her date tonight, because it was at the top of the pile. I hold the thong to my nose and breathe her in. A musk so sweet I can’t help squeezing at my goddam aching cock. I pocket the thong and I want to take more, but I don't want to arouse her suspicious just yet. I only want to fuck with her head for now. Make her think she's imagining shit.
Finally, the urge overwhelms me. Quietly, I sneak upstairs. Her bedroom door is closed but I can hear her mumbling something in her sleep. I wait until she quietens down before closing my hand around the door handle.
The door opens with a creak, and I cringe inwardly, but she doesn't stir. I wait another few moments before entering the room. The window's open, and I'm grateful for the sounds of the street.
I pull out her purse from under my arm and place it on the green velvet armchair in the corner of the room. Her phone's inside, and she will be none the wiser about the tracking app I put on it. Finally, I turn to face her.
I haven't been this close to my little bird in a long time.
Wanting to touch her, I reach out, but change my mind at the last moment. I can't risk it.
Instead, I let my fingers linger just above her scar. It still looks so angry. She'll never be able to move on. I ruined her life.
I smile at the memory of putting the scar on her face. She wasn't as pretty then as she is now. I wish she knew that.
My time with little bird is coming to an end. The sunrise will be here soon, and I need to disappear into the shadows before it happens. I fist my hand before I have the chance to touch her. I just can't fucking risk it.
Eyes wandering over her pretty face, I commit every feature to memory. Her curved Cupid's bow, the way her nipples strain against the oversized shirt she's wearing. Her hand is fisting the sheets, and her lips are open, a soft O-shape taunting my cock to take her, claim her, push myself into her throat and just put an end to my misery already.
But I can't.
I shouldn't.
Not yet.
I force myself to pull back and I leave her room, closing the door softly behind me.
My fingers wrap around her panties in my pocket, and I smirk.
At least I have a memento of tonight to keep me busy until I see her next.
Chapter 7
Dove
I wake up with a start. I had one of those dreams where I was falling, and my body twitches as I come to, finding myself in the comfort of my own Egyptian cotton sheets. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize I've slept through the night in God fucking knows how long.
I pull myself up, push my feet into my slippers and head for the window. I always leave it open, but the room's chilly now, and I need some warmth. I close the window and when I turn around, I stop in my tracks as I take in the sight before me.
My purse, the one that the thief stole from me last night, is resting on the armchair.
This can't be right. I rush toward the chair, grabbing the bag as if to make sure I'm not still dreaming. But it really is there. And when I open it, I find everything in there that I took with me last night. My lipstick. My keys. My phone. My wallet. Nothing is missing.
I don't understand how this is possible. My first instinct is to call Raphael. Make sure I didn't imagine that guy taking off with my purse last night just as my date and I were sharing a moment on that sandy beach. But I don't. I don't want to be the crazy girl that doesn't even remember everything that happened.
Did I drink that much last night? I wonder. I had two glasses of wine with dinner, and it's true I'm not used to alcohol... But I'd remember something like the robbery correctly. Wouldn't I?
Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I scroll through my messages. There are a few from Robin, asking how my date went last night, and nothing from Raphael. I send back a quick reply, not mentioning that I got mugged on the beach. I'm still not sure whether the whole thing is just a figment of my imagination.
I'm working at the plant nursery later, but before then, I owe someone a visit.
I change into one of my regular, baggy outfits and head outside. It's not a very warm day, and I wrap my free arm around my body, so I don't get cold. In the other, I'm clutching some snacks I had at home, making a mental note to pick up something more nutritious for Sam next time. He refuses to go to the soup kitchen where I volunteer, claiming other people need it more than he does. I admire him for his selflessness.
My opinion quickly changes as I make my way into the dark alleyway that's been Sam's home for the past two years. My friend is slumped on the ground, and next to him, there's a needle.
He promised me he wouldn't do this again. He promised he'd do his best to get clean this time. That he really wouldn't spend any more on drugs. Where the hell did he even get the money? I never give it to him anymore because we both know it ends up with his dealer.
"Sam," I say, shaking him on his makeshift bed of newspapers and cardboard boxes. "Sam, wake up."
His eyes fly open, and a huge weight falls off my chest. I've found him like this too many times to count, and the fear that one of these days, it'll be too late, is twisting my stomach into knots.
"Sam, what did you do?" I ask as he picks himself up, clearing his throat and dusting off his dirty jacket.
"I guess you saw it," he mutters croakily. "And we can't just pretend you didn't?"
"No, Sam." I groan, running my hand through my hair before handing him the paper bag. "Here. It isn't much, but I'll bring you something else for tonight."
"Thanks." He looks embarrassed as he takes the bag from me. An awkward silence follows. I know this is hard for him. He told me he never had friends – not even before he started living on the street. He also told me I'm the closest thing he has to a daughter. But none of that matters, apparently, because he still hasn't kicked his nasty drug habit despite me begging him to stop countless times.
And the worst part is, I know this is what drove Sam to part from his family.
He told me about his wife and daughter before. He got divorced early, but he still got to spend time with his daughter until his addiction took over his life. When it did, his kid cut off all contact. He has two grandchildren he's never met. I know how much it hurts him. I can see it in his eyes.
But today, I don't feel sorry for him. I feel too angry and betrayed for that.
I pick myself up and give him one last look. "I'll see you later."
His eyes meet mine, and the pain in them is almost unbearable. Before he can say another word, I walk away.
I spend the rest of the day working at the nursery, but my mind is swimming with too many thoughts to count. I try not to focus on Raphael. On my purse reappearing in my bedroom. On Sam.
My mind circles back to the events of one fateful night eight years ago. And once I go down that rabbit hole, I know there's no turning back.
I never could outrun Parker Miller.
***
8 years ago
We're alone in the Miller-Wildfox house. The help is all asleep. June's still out, doing God knows what. Now it's just me and her stepbrother, Parker. The guy I've been crushing on for freaking months, begging and begging for my best friend to introduce me. Finally, she caved.
We went out to a nightclub called Pulse and I proceeded to get mind-blowingly drunk. But it worked out in my favor, because now I'm alone with Parker – just what I fucking wanted. And so what if I exaggerated how drunk
I was? I got exactly what I wanted. Just like I always do.
Parker's lying next to me on the bed, swallowing me up with his hungry eyes. I'm wearing a short dress, my strappy heels still adorning my feet. I know I look good. I work hard for it. Hours in the gym, at the hairdressers, at the nail salon. Every inch of me is perfect. And Parker's approving look tells me he agrees.
"I want to see you naked," he murmurs. "Take that excuse for a dress off."
I stand up, never taking my eyes off his as I slip the straps of the dress down. My tits bounce free. They're not as big as June's, but they're perky and my nipples are rosy pink. Parker groans as I undress right down to my pink thong.
"You look good, little bird," he says. "Thong off, too."
I hook my fingers in the pink lace and tug them down, doing my best to seduce him. Parker doesn't know it, but my heart is beating a thousand times per minute. I don't know if he's figured it out yet. That this is my first time... But I wouldn't want anyone else to take my virginity.
I snap the elastic of the thong against my hips.
"I told you to take it off," Parker grits out. "Now."
Hesitantly, I push the thong over my ass. Just like the rest of me, my pussy is perfect. Waxed to perfection. His eyes drink me in, watching me with a look I can't quite describe.
"It's boring how perfect you are." I pout at the sound of his words. "You're missing something, little bird. You're just like all the others now."
"I don't think so," I smile in response, turning around seductively to give him a view of my pert ass. "I work so hard to look this good, Parker... Don't you like it?"
"I do," he smirks. "But I'd like it better if you didn't look like a copy of every fucking Instagram model with a couple thousand followers."
"I have more than a couple thousand," I brag.
"I don't give a shit."
"So what, then?" I put my hands on my hips. "You want me to look like June, is that it?"
He grits his teeth together, not answering me. Of-fucking-course that's it. It's painfully obvious my date is obsessed with his stepsister, just like I'm obsessed with him.
Tyrant Stalker: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Tyrant Dynasty Book 2) Page 5
