He Hates Me: A Dark Stalker Romance (Hate & Love Duet Book 1)

by Rina Kent

  He presses himself against me, his hands rough as he feels me up, and when I cry out, he backhands me. I gasp from the unexpected pain, my eyes filling with tears. I struggle against him, but he raises a hand and hits me again.

  I’m so shocked I can barely breathe and it seems as if we’re both rendered speechless by his slap.

  But he’s not done yet.

  He continues trying to grab hold of me while I desperately fight him off.

  Then, there’s a loud beep like a car being unlocked, and he's momentarily distracted. I use the moment to slip from his grasp and take off toward my car, rattling with the door handle and praying he’s not fast enough.

  I get in the car and lock the door just as Dr. Martin runs up to me. I rev the engine and get the hell out of that parking lot.

  I hate what tonight has turned into, but not as much as I hate myself for agreeing to this date in the first place.

  The drive home is quiet and sad, and when I walk into my apartment, my cats greet me with loud purrs. I fight the urge to cry. I feel utterly exhausted from the disastrous date, and I'm tempted to run to the deli beneath my apartment for another bottle of wine. But I don't let myself do it. The only reason I’m still sane is because I keep my demons at bay.

  Instead, I curl up in bed with Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson, their warm bodies a welcome comfort against my shivering form. I shut my eyes tightly and will myself to sleep.

  I dream of someone comforting me.

  5

  Jasper

  A doctor.

  That’s who she’s wearing the lingerie for. The one she dolled up for and put on perfume.

  He seems in his forties, clean cut with golden blond hair and bland blue eyes that appear washed with bleach.

  Or perhaps that’s what I want to do to those eyes. Carve them up and wash them with bleach —or wash him, I’m not picky.

  They’re having dinner in a secluded restaurant at the urban side of the city.

  Secluded because the little doctor here is hiding from his wife. I’ve seen him with her at the time I was watching Rebecca and then again when I was following Petal. This is probably where he brings his mistresses.

  Does she know?

  I lean back against my car that I parked in a hidden area, but still gives me a partial view of the restaurant. My binoculars are glued to my eyes again as I tilt my head to the side.

  Petal is getting drunk; her cheeks have reddened and she’s been giving that fake smile more than usual.

  Is that what this is all about —fucking a married older man? Is that her kink?

  My grip tightens on the binoculars as he brushes his hand against hers. Petal doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t give in either. Her expression is frozen in that fake smile that she’s struggling to maintain the more she drinks.

  Interesting.

  This couldn’t have been going on for too long. Otherwise, she would’ve been sucking his dick in the bathroom by now.

  A dick that will be cut off, by the way.

  I stand in the cold, only wearing my suit and no coat. My fingers have turned numb from all the time I’ve spent here, but I don’t focus on that.

  Cold is merely discomfort that will eventually go away. Being cold, hungry, or in pain are only phases. I’ve been through worse and I’m still here.

  After some time, both of them exit the restaurant. Petal’s steps are slow, probably because she’s drunk as fuck and should’ve stopped at the first glass.

  Dr. Asshole reaches a hand to steady her when she trips. She giggles, then hides the sound with the back of her hand.

  She fucking giggles. I don’t hear her, but I see it loud and clear.

  The doctor hears her though. Not only he wined and dined her, but he also hears her giggling.

  Fucking giggling.

  They stop in front of a car. I move in the other cars’ blindspots, making sure I give my side profile and back to the restaurant’s two blinking cameras.

  I stand opposite them behind the corner. This close, I have no need for the binoculars. It’s dark in the parking lot, but it’s not too dark so I can’t see. There’s a faint light in the distance that gives a perfect view of my little Petal and her cheater doctor.

  Petal has her back against a car as Dr. Asshole closes in on her, almost flattening his body against hers.

  I notice it before I see it.

  She’s uncomfortable. Her unfocused eyes keep straying sideways as if finally realizing she shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine —or the fucking third one. Her small delicate hand plants on the doctor’s shoulder and she subtly pushes him away.

  He doesn’t move. If anything, he goes in for a kiss like a hormonal teenager. I’m about to go in there and remove him, when she moves her head last second and his lips land on her cheek.

  Petal goes back to fighting him off, saying something about having to go home.

  To her cats, no doubt. She’d hold them and tell them she made a fucking mistake coming here today.

  That’s when the doctor makes his mistake. He lifts his hand and backhands her, harshly, violently. Petal remains frozen, but moisture pools in her eyes. Slowly, too slowly, she raises a hand and cradles her cheek as if she can’t believe what just happened.

  I believe it, though.

  My body believes it, too. Earlier, I barely had an itch to reach for my knife, but now it’s become a necessity as important as air.

  He’s just made his first strike.

  My little Petal is still focused on the violence of his slap when his fat hand reaches under her black dress. She opens her mouth, probably to scream. He slaps her again and continues with his hand between her legs.

  Second and final strike.

  Petal’s useless struggles get her nowhere. If anything, she’s only making him get closer and flattening his body against hers.

  I click the control to my car and the beeping sound interrupts his ministrations. My little Petal, although a bit drunk, pushes the doctor away enough to run towards her car.

  He yells after her like a madman with no reprieve. Someone needs some anger management classes. But he’s too late. Petal’s eyes are wide, face pale, but she has floored the gas and she’s out of the parking lot.

  The doctor curses, stomping like a child who didn’t get his toy.

  I don’t think twice before creeping up to him, making sure to leave the cameras behind me.

  He doesn’t feel me until I’m standing right at his back. He startles like a pig, dropping his keys.

  “What the fuck?” He stares up at me. “What do you want?”

  “Your blood.”

  He doesn’t get a warning. His stupified expression is the only thing that remains as I swiftly jam my knife into his throat.

  I twist it a few times for good measure until his eyes stare nowhere.

  I only remove my blade when he drops on the ground like a useless sack.

  His blood. Red and vibrant, trickles onto the asphalt.

  It’s the only type of payment I take.

  Ah fuck.

  I just killed someone without a reason —well, no reason that relates to Costa. I can’t ask his cleaning boys to take care of this.

  Doesn’t matter though. I wipe the knife on his clothes then sheathe it. Retrieving my gloves, I pull them on then search for his wallet. I take the few bills inside it then throw it on his corpse.

  Cause of death: a fatal wound to the jugular artery.

  Motive: robbery went wrong.

  Case closed.

  Making sure I stay in the cameras’ blind spots, I head back to my car and drive to the apartment — Petal’s, not mine.

  Her lights are out, and I sneak in through the fire escape, which is the easiest shit I’ve done in my life. As I said, no security whatsoever in this building.

  A low hiss stops me in the living room. One of her cats stares at me with glinting demon eyes in the dark. The other one winks at me from his position on the sofa.

&nbs
p; I place a hand in front of my mouth, but the cat growls then jumps behind the TV.

  Crazy fucking cat.

  My steps are silent and fast as I move in the shadows. Yes, she can come out and see me, and maybe that’s what I want. If she sees me, she’ll think twice about wearing lingerie and getting drunk with a perverted fucker.

  I stop at the threshold of her bedroom. Her eyes are shut as she sleeps, still in her black dress. Waves of her hair cocoon her face like some sort of a mask, different from the one she wears every day.

  My feet move of their own volition until I’m standing over her bed. Her face is flushed, probably from the wine, or the fright. Maybe both.

  The sheet falls to her middle, revealing the curve of her pale breast. My fingers latch on the covers and I tuck her in like she’s a child.

  She can be fragile and small, my little Petal.

  Lucio always told me to take contract jobs for his friends, but none of their money interested me. With the exception of Lucio, I never kill for people.

  Until now.

  My little Petal made me kill for her without a word or a penny. Well, she didn’t exactly make me, but it counts.

  I killed for her.

  And the best part? I would do it all over again.

  My fingers touch her forehead, tucking a stray strand behind her ear as I whisper, “Keep away from that brand of assholes if you don’t want them all dead.”

  6

  Georgina

  My alarm clock blares and I wake up with a sigh.

  The duvet is tucked in around me and I realize I just had the best night's sleep in years. My cats are excited as ever and I feed them before remembering the previous night, groaning. Facing Andrew Martin at work today will not be ideal, but at least I have my friends, who will stay on my side no matter what.

  I already know today is going to be hellish, but nothing prepares me for the shitshow I walk into as soon as I arrive at work.

  There are cop cars everywhere, officers glancing at me as I pass them by. I furrow my brows with worry. We do get policemen coming by sometimes, usually to deal with an especially difficult, violent patient. But this seems like more than that – like something's seriously wrong.

  I walk to the ER where I find a shaken-up Katya answering questions. She looks pale as a ghost, and when her eyes meet mine, she breathes, "Oh, thank God. There she is now!"

  Instantly, the heads of three policemen who are surrounding my friend turn toward me. My stomach tightens into a thousand knots and I nod at the officers as I near my friend, squeezing her arm in an attempt to comfort her. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

  "Oh, Georgie," Katya lets out a choked sob. "I... I don't even know how to tell you this."

  "Just let us do our job," an older policeman suggests, giving her a firm look and making her nod sheepishly before he turns to face me. "Miss Georgina Hill, is it?"

  "Yes," I reply warily. "What's going on?"

  "It's Dr. Martin," Katya blurts out, shaking her head in disbelief. "Georgie, he's, he's..."

  "Dr. Martin was the target of a robbery last night," the policeman says matter-of-factly. "He sustained knife injuries in the parking lot of a restaurant downtown, Antonio's. Unfortunately, the injuries were fatal."

  My mouth gapes open in shock and I glance between my friend and the policemen, trying to make sense of the cop's words. "You mean he's... gone?"

  Nobody answers my question, and the words float in the air between us. Finally, the older cop speaks up again. "My name is Detective Ramirez, Miss Hill. We'd like to talk to you about what happened last night between you and the late doctor. As I'm sure you know, his wife is very much upset."

  My expression falls instantly, and Katya and I repeat the word in unison. "Wife?"

  "Yes." The detective glances between the two of us with surprise. "You were not aware he was married?"

  "I know he'd separated a while ago," Katya mutters, shooting me an apologetic look.

  "No, he never separated." Detective Ramirez checks his notebook and shakes his head. "Been married twenty-six years. No kids. His wife, Debbie, was anxious when he didn't return home, and she's extremely upset about... the circumstances of last night."

  "I had no idea he was married," I go on, not letting the words get to me. "I'm sure my friends at the hospital did not, either. As for the circumstances, the guy groped me in an empty parking lot, without my consent. That about answer your question, detective?"

  I can feel Katya cringing next to me, trying to console me by gently squeezing my forearm. I haven't even had the time to fill her in on everything that's happened.

  "We gathered as much," Ramirez mutters. "There were security cameras in the parking lot. We saw the... altercation between you and Dr. Martin."

  "Good." I cross my arms defensively in front of my body. "So, what happened?"

  "He was attacked moments after you left the parking lot. We have reason to believe you were targeted by a hooded robber last night, the very one who stabbed the doctor and took his stuff. We needed to check with you to see if you'd noticed anything unusual, out of the ordinary. Perhaps someone following you around?"

  Ramirez has poised pen over paper, his notebook clutched in his hands as he looks at me expectantly.

  "I..." I chew my bottom lip, remembering the feeling of being watched.

  It was just a feeling, though – I have no solid proof somebody was actually watching. But now the possibility stretches ahead of me, filling me with dread and fear. Someone tracked us, targeted us. If I hadn't gotten away when I did, they might have hurt me too.

  "I don't remember seeing anyone suspicious."

  The detective continues by asking me some more questions. He wants to know my relationship with Andrew, whether we'd been seeing each other regularly, how we got to the restaurant. I answer the best I can, but by the end of the informal interview, it's obvious both to me and the detective I won't be able to shine any more light on the case.

  "If you remember anything else that could help us, please give me a call."

  I glance at the business card he hands me before nodding and pocketing it. Katya and I say our goodbyes to the somber policemen and wait for them to file out of the room. I still have ten minutes before my shift, just enough to catch up with my friends, and Katya has so many questions she can't even wait for the other member of our group to join us.

  "Are you okay?" It's the first question to leave her lips when the cops leave, and I nod.

  We're joined by Dinah who seems just as shell-shocked as she slides into the plastic seat in the cafeteria across from us.

  “What a nightmare, Georgie,” she whispers. “I’m so, so sorry I made you go out with him.”

  "You didn't know," I mutter. "Nobody did."

  "A killer, so close to home. God, I took the kids to Antonio's just a week ago."

  I squeeze her hand to reassure her, but it doesn't do much to help. We're all shaken up by the news of Andrew’s murder, and even though he wasn't a nice guy, the thought that I was probably one of the last people to see him alive tugs at my heartstrings and makes me tremble with fear.

  There's a monster preying on the streets, and I just barely escaped his clutches. I should count my lucky stars. Dr. Martin wasn't as fortunate.

  The three of us eat our breakfast without saying much. I'm almost ready to start my shift when we're joined by Bill, a nurse that works with me in the ER.

  "Hey, ladies," he says, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Georgie, I heard what happened... I'm so sorry."

  "It's okay," I mutter robotically. I don't really feel like talking about it. Bill's sweet enough, but it's not like we're as close as I am with the girls.

  "Always here if you need to talk," he adds. "Want to walk together?"

  "Sure." I throw away my sandwich wrapper and wave lifelessly at my girls. "I'll see you two later, okay? Dinah, say hello to the kids for me."

  "Of course," she nods though her exp
ression is tinged with sadness. The murder has sucked the life out of everyone, not just Dr. Martin.

  I follow Bill to the ER. I'm grateful he doesn't try to keep up a conversation, because I'm not sure I could hold it up on my end. I'm working a double shift today, and for once, I'm grateful for it. It's going to be a good distraction from everything that's happened. I realize Bill's started talking, and I push my thoughts to the back of my mind and tune in.

  "I wish I'd known he'd asked you out. I knew he was married – all the guys do."

  "It's okay. It's my own mistake."

  "But it could have been prevented," he goes on. "I'm just sorry you had to find out this way."

  "I can't believe someone just... killed him," I say, surprising myself by opening up to Bill. "I was with him moments before it happened. It could have been me, too."

  "Thank God it wasn't."

  He squeezes my forearm and I manage a weak smile. I don't really like being touched by strangers, but Bill's sweet, and nothing like Dr. Martin.

  Even though I've heard other employees gossiping about his crush on me for years, he's never once been inappropriate. He hasn't asked me out either, which is probably for the best. I'm in no place to date right now, and I would feel bad turning him down.

  "I'm just glad you're safe, Georgie. Look, if it will make you feel better... I wanted to offer to walk you to your car after work."

  "That's really thoughtful, Bill." I manage a weak smile. "You're right, it would make me feel better. I might take you up on that offer."

  "Please do." His smile tells me I've said the right thing, and we go our separate ways when we reach the ER, him being pulled away to change some bandages, and me, to deal with a shooting victim.

  I work relentlessly through my double shift, only taking ten minutes off to grab a sandwich at the cafeteria. I need the distraction badly, and I'm grateful to my body for switching on the autopilot. I can work without thinking – there's so much to do, I barely have time to remember what happened last night.