Stalk Her

by Snow, Jenika

  He laughed softly and shook his head, focusing on the road in front of him. A car drove past Butcher’s vehicle, slowed, looking inside. I could see the dazed look of the driver, probably high or drunk. His piece-of-shit car rattled, probably a loose muffler ready to fall off.

  But then I saw the realization on the man’s face, saw when he recognized it was Butcher. His eyes widened as he straightened and looked forward, his throat working as he swallowed.

  And then he hauled ass out of there.

  Then it was just us again.

  I stared at Butcher. He stared at me.

  Nothing was said, but the tension was high, the emotion electric.

  “I can walk myself home.” I put the gun back in my bag and exhaled. “And stop fucking stalking me.” I wanted to tell him I’d call the cops if it kept up, but then again, he and I both knew I wouldn’t. I’d be lying.

  He didn’t say anything, so I turned around and just left, starting to walk to my place. I looked over my shoulder and watched him, pleased he seemed to be listening, that he wasn’t advancing in his vehicle.

  And despite the fact that I was glad about this, happy he clearly saw some power in me, a part of me sensed that safeness I’d felt with him start to go away the farther I moved from him.

  It confused me, but most of all, I was afraid of those feelings.

  * * *

  Butcher

  I watched her leave, walk away from me. I didn’t know if Poppy thought I’d give up, listen to her when she told me not to follow her. She didn’t know me very well.

  However, she would.

  She disappeared down the road, and I drove forward slowly. I circled the block so she couldn’t see me following her… stalking her. But I did it all for her.

  I pulled the SUV down one of the alleys right across from her complex, turned the vehicle off, and sat there, watching her building, making sure no degenerate or druggies or motherfuckers got to close. A moment later I saw a light go on, knew it was her bedroom. Hell, I knew the fucking layout of her apartment from when Shyne looked her up for me.

  She didn’t have any proper blinds, and I didn’t fucking like the fact any asshole could see right through. I rested my head back on the seat and closed my eyes for a moment, running my hand over my jaw, knowing I was using a hell of a lot of self-control not to go to her right now.

  I opened my eyes and looked at the apartment complex once more, sat up straighter as I saw a man open the front door and walk inside. It could have been a resident, but the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My gut told me this wasn’t right, so without thinking, I got out of the car and headed to where Poppy was.

  I had to make sure she was okay.

  Chapter Nine

  Poppy

  I leaned back against the front door, my eyes closed, and reached out without looking to put the deadbolt in place. I rested my head back on the dented, paint-chipped metal, and just breathed.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  I didn’t notice Butcher following me after I told him not to, and I didn’t know what was wrong with me, why a part of me felt like it—I—should be okay with him doing it. It’s like I should be okay with him breaking the law and going around doing predator shit.

  But the truth was, when I looked at him, when I felt his gaze on me, remembered how he beat that guy, saved my life, all I could think about was if he wanted to hurt me, he could’ve. If he wanted to do something shady and dangerous, he could’ve by now.

  But could I really believe that he was following me to keep me safe? His actions in the alley spoke truth to that, but it didn’t mean I should trust him, right?

  I pushed away from the door and tossed my bag on the small armchair to my left. It was stained and old, here when I rented the place. In fact, all the furniture in the apartment had already been here when I moved in. So not only was I paying cheap-ass rent under the table, but the apartment had been furnished.

  Even though the furniture and appliances were old as dirt, barely even worked, and had a strange odor to them, it was better than what I had at the trailer.

  It was better than a lot of shit I had in this life.

  I went into the bathroom and ran the water, letting my hand move underneath the spray, feeling it turn from cold to warm to hot. After plugging up the tub and pouring in some cheap shampoo that was tripling as body wash as well as bubble bath, I removed my shirt and tossed it into the corner of the bathroom.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, my bra white and plain, nothing fancy. I had my fingers at the button of my jeans, popped it open, and was about to pull the zipper down, when I heard the sound of a floorboard creaking. The noise of the water filling up the tub drowned out a lot, but not that.

  Was it just my nerves—paranoia? Maybe I was on edge because of everything, and so hearing things was normal. But my heart was racing, this sixth sense telling me something wasn’t right.

  And dammit, my bag was on the chair in the living room, my gun inside.

  I walked backward toward the tub, reaching out to grab the handle and turn the water off. And then I stood there for a moment just listening. The lights were off aside from the one in the bathroom, and I couldn’t see or feel anything. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was the neighbor. I felt my shoulders sag and turned around, even though I felt like maybe I wasn’t alone.

  It’s in my head. I’m paranoid.

  I turned back toward the bathtub, about to turn the water on once more, when I felt a breeze move over the back of my neck. I was just about to turn around when someone grabbed my nape, painfully digging their fingers into my flesh.

  My upper body was pushed forward, but I grabbed the edge of the tub, trying to stop them, staring wide-eyed at the half-filled porcelain, the steam from the water moving up toward my face. I cried out, yelled, shouted, but it wasn’t like anyone would help me even if they heard me. People in these parts kept to themselves, even if they heard a gun go off in the next apartment over.

  And then my head was submerged in the water, my hands slipping off the sides. The edge of the tub dug into my ribs, right under my breasts. I flailed around, water splashing everywhere, my hair sticking to the side of my face, making the choking, suffocating feeling intensify.

  Whoever held me under pulled me back up, their fingers still wrapped tightly around the back of my neck. That hand slid up my head, gripping my hair, tugging me back so my throat was arched and I gasped for breath.

  “You stupid fucking bitch.” His voice seethed with venom and rage. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you? Did you think you could hide?” Henry chuckled sardonically. “You actually thought you could have an alias like some kind of fucking spy and hide from me?” He laughed again, this one dark and foreboding. He leaned in close and I felt his hot, humid breath move across my cheek. “Girl, I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight.”

  I could see him out the corner of my eye, could see the evil smile spread across his face.

  “I don’t even care about the money you stole from me.” A moment of silence passed. “Because I’m going to get that ten times over before I’m done with you.” He leaned in and tried to kiss my cheek, but I jerked my head to the side, successfully slamming my skull into his nose. He growled low. “And you know what?” he whispered, thrill and excitement in his voice. “Your junkie bitch of a mother died three days ago, overdosed on some shit she injected into her vein.”

  I hadn’t cried yet, but in that moment, even though my mother hadn’t been a good parent or supportive or hell... anything, I felt tears start to form.

  “Ah, thatta girl. Give me those tears. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  He grinned and puckered his lips at me right before he used force to push my head back under the water.

  I flailed, my shampoo bottle being flung into the bathtub, water continuing to splash all around me. He pulled my head up
only for a second, allowing me to catch my breath before he plunged me back into the tub. My head smacked against the side of the porcelain hard enough that for a moment I was shocked, the pain and dizziness assaulting me to where I couldn’t even move.

  He pulled my head out, strands of wet hair stuck against my face, obscuring my view. I felt droplets move down my forehead, but then tasted the coppery flavor of blood.

  He pulled me back hard enough by my hair that I was flung against the bathroom wall, the back of my skull hitting the drywall. Pain exploded at the base and worked its way through my entire body. It claimed me, threatened to take me under. But I struggled to stay conscious, refusing to go under.

  He stood, towering over me, looking down, a smile on his face.

  I tried to stand up, but the dizziness and the pain in my head were too intense. He started chuckling then, crouched down on his haunches, and all I wanted to do was move away, that or kick him right in the balls.

  “You know,” he said slowly, precisely, as if he wanted me to really understand each word he spoke. “I watched your mother die.” His grin was slow, deliberate, and sadistic. “I probably could’ve saved her. Hell, I could’ve picked up the phone and called an ambulance.” He shook his head slowly, his expression sobering. “But despite what a shitty mother she was, I knew this little piece of information would really eat at you, dig into your very soul.” He was silent for a moment, just staring me in the eyes. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  He could think whatever he wanted. It didn’t make a difference in the long run. Yes, I was shocked that my mother was dead, but she’d been dead to me for a very long time. She’d been neglectful, wasteful with the time we had. Drugs, random men, and booze had been what were important to her.

  And if I could have, I would have left long before now. But I wanted him to think he had the upper hand. I wanted him to think telling me this made me weaker, vulnerable. He didn’t know me very well. I was a fighter, had to be with how I’d grown up and lived.

  He stood then, reached behind the small of his back, and then produced a blade.

  A hunting knife.

  “I meant it when I said you and I are going to have some real fun time, Poppy.” He took a step toward me and I braced, knowing that no matter what happened, I would fight until the very end.

  I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing I surrendered in any capacity.

  “Nothing to say, girl?”

  I pursed my lips. “Fuck. You.”

  I watched, as if in slow motion, as he pulled his arm back. He was going to hit me.

  I tensed, prepared. But as I closed my eyes, as time seemed to stand still, I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, heavy and loud. I heard the sound of Henry grunting, a body crashing against the wall right next to me. I curled into myself, my eyes still closed, the noise deafening, surrounding me.

  I heard a lot of noise, a lot of swearing and grunting, fists hitting flesh, and the scent of aggression filled the air. But still my eyes were closed. I couldn’t have opened them even if I wanted to.

  My heart was racing, painful and fast. And the noise left, going down the hallway, the fight getting farther away from me. I did open my eyes then, dizziness slamming into me, lights and flashes swimming in front of my vision. I found the strength to push away from the corner of the wall, to look around the door.

  I saw two bodies down the hallway, shadows shrouding them, the fight clear. One was Henry… the other was Butcher. I could see the fierceness on his face as the moonlight shone through the living room window. He looked collected and calm, but rage-filled and determined.

  I saw his fury. I felt it. It burned brightly, like a wildfire destroying everything in its path.

  And then in the blink of an eye, I saw Henry produce a gun, saw them scuffling right before it went off. Both men grunted, and I cried out, finally finding my voice, the strength to pull myself up filling me.

  I stumbled down the hallway, placing a hand on the wall beside me to steady myself. Butcher leaned back against the wall for just a second, his hand on his shoulder. I was focused on Henry. My anger burned brightly inside me, fueling me, giving me strength. He turned and looked at me for just a second before opening the front door and leaving, the sound of him running away filling my head.

  And then I got to Butcher, saw him standing as if he hadn’t just gotten shot. He had concentration written across his face as he looked at me to the door and back to me again.

  He wanted to go after Henry, and maybe he would have if I hadn’t fallen to my knees right then, holding my hand to my head as I felt more blood dripping down my temple.

  “Your shoulder,” I managed to wheeze out, the pain in my head sending nausea and dizziness through me.

  “A flesh wound,” he said. “I’m more concerned about you.” He was right by my side then. “You’re okay now. I got you.”

  His voice sounded distant.

  I wanted to stay conscious, but I knew it was futile. I felt those dark talons creeping around my vision, curling their long claws into my brain, squeezing until pain exploded behind my eyes and I finally gave in.

  Chapter Ten

  Poppy

  It was the pain that woke me up, a burning, heart-racing-induced agony that had consciousness slowly filling me. I didn’t open my eyes, but I could tell there was a light on, its orangey glow casting shadows behind my closed lids. I took stock of where I was, what I was feeling. Aside from the pain, I was on a bed, softness and warmth surrounding me. I could smell something masculine, cologne maybe. It enveloped me, calmed me.

  I could feel the tips of my hair brushing along my collarbones, the ends having dried already, tickling my flesh. The memory of why they were wet swam through my head like a broken record, bits being plucked out one by one.

  I opened my eyes then, blinking a few times past the harsh light. I realized it wasn’t bright at all but this dim glow coming from the corner. But it felt like the sun was in the room, and all that did was make the pain in my head intensify. I lifted my hand, groaning as I did it, and touched the side of my temple, right by my hairline. I felt something hard, dried blood maybe, right below the softness of what I assumed was a bandage.

  “Easy there.” The voice was deep and close, and I turned my head to the side slowly to see Butcher sitting in a chair in the corner by the light, his big body seeming to dwarf everything.

  For a moment, I was reminded of Alice in Wonderland, when she ate the little muffin and grew and grew and grew. Was I losing my mind to be thinking of something so strange at a time like this? I tried to push myself up but groaned at how sore I was. I thought about flailing around in the tub, my body banging against the porcelain. Made sense that I felt like I’d gotten run over by a cement truck.

  “Easy there, Poppy,” he repeated.

  I sat up and moved back, resting against the headboard as I looked at him, the concern in his voice sincere. He was standing now, his hand shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, the leather motorcycle club vest he wore having patches and embroidery on it, his MC and his title stitched into the upper corner.

  Devil’s Right Hand MC

  President.

  My heart was racing as I remembered everything that happened. “How long was I out?”

  He took a step toward me but then stopped, as if he changed his mind. “Just a couple hours.”

  My mouth was so dry it felt like I’d been chewing on cotton. As if he read my mind, he walked over to me and picked up a water bottle I hadn’t noticed that sat on the bedside table. He popped the cap and handed it to me, and I greedily sucked it down as soon as the edge of the top touched my lips.

  I could feel him watching me, but I didn’t make eye contact. I was confused and angry and hurt, not just physically but emotionally as well. I was drained mentally, tired of trying to survive. I just wanted to live, not have to worry about looking over my shoulder.

  I drank half the bottle and he took it from me, putting the ca
p back on and setting it on the bedside table once more. And then we stayed there for a moment not speaking, the thickness of the air in the room increasing. I had a lot of questions, but the thing that overrode all that was the fact that I felt safe.

  I felt safe with Butcher. I shifted slightly again and looked over at him now. He was towering over the bed but finally walked back to the chair, as if he knew to put a little bit of distance between us, as if I needed a little breathing room to get through this.

  “What happened after I passed out?” I remembered hitting the ground and then everything else went dark.

  He lifted his hand and ran it over the back of his head, his dark hair a little on the longer side, getting messed up as his fingers moved through the strands. “Not much.” He cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking slightly. “I ended up carrying you out to my SUV and taking you to the clubhouse. I had Doc look you over. Thankfully, it’s nothing a little rest won’t cure.”

  In just a short amount of time, I had to meet the MC resident doctor twice. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

  “So I’m at your... clubhouse?”

  “Yeah. It’s the safest place for you to be while we work on bringing this fucker down.” The way he said that last part had my heart racing.

  It was said with so much venom, so much anger, that I actually felt it, as if it were icy fingers skating down my arms.

  I didn’t say anything for a moment, because I didn’t know what to say. But I forced myself to find my nerves, needing to know what was going to happen, how this would go down.

  “When you say ‘work on bringing this fucker down,’ what does that mean exactly?”

  He didn’t speak for long seconds, just stared at me from over in the corner, one of his elbows propped on the armrest of the chair, his hand curled into a fist as he rested his chin on his knuckles. He didn’t have to answer for me to know what he was talking about, but I wanted to hear him say it.