by Kenya Wright
This had been the trickier moment of them all. I wasn’t sure of the video shoot location until this morning. I had no real time to prepare how I would shoot Zola, just that I would.
Luckily, I now had access to make some decisions. I talked to her staff and had her dressing room moved near a tree I could climb in. With so many rooms, there was no problem following my request. I seemed important enough after all.
It gave me a good view of everything.
I watched him lick her.
In the tree, I was hidden enough for anybody walking by to not see me. Perhaps, if they looked up, there would be a problem and I would have to kill them. But so many people rushed around due to the distraction Hunter had made at the video shoot.
As soon as he stomped on stage, I left the area and went to the tree, knowing they would return to the dressing room soon. But then he tore off her costume and put that mouth on her sex.
And I didn’t have it in me to cover her in red.
They needed to have their moment. For now.
I stayed in the tree, gripping my sniper rifle. Lucky for Zola, I’d modified this one to only shoot paint.
She wouldn’t die.
Not that anybody cared. The director had gone ballistic, ranting on some live Twitter feed. Two dancers got into a fight. Trigger never woke up. He was definitely alive but would be getting a good rest this evening.
When Hunter grabbed her, I followed them back. I could see the look of desire on his eyes when he watched her on the stage. I knew before he did, that he was going to rush up there and take her away. Love did that to people.
I miss that passion.
Once they entered the room, I placed the mask on my face, raised the gun, and pointed it at the window. I ducked behind branches and leaves just in case one of them happened to look. They never did—too caught up in passion. Afterwards, they sat there and talked for a few minutes as he held her.
And then the signal came.
Hunter rose and left the room. I grinned under the mask. Zola rested on the couch by herself. Still naked, her nipples were hard, a look of pure satisfaction spread across her face. It made me so mad and turned on at the same time.
Damn, I miss that feeling of being loved.
I leaned to the side and checked the front, not seeing anyone in my area.
All clear.
I pointed the rifle and shot it. The paint bullet broke the window. The glass shattered. She jumped up and screamed. I shot again, this time aiming at Zola. The paint bullet hit her. Red paint splattered all over those bare breasts.
She screamed and fell to the floor, trying to hide from more bullets.
I shot at her again.
Movement came from farther away.
I climbed down as fast as I could, fire burning my lungs. I pushed through it, landed on the ground, and raced away as Zola’s screams continued to rip in the air.
Close. So close.
22
No Turning Back
Hunter
I checked on Zola as fast as I could. There was a moment of fear in my heart.
Please. Not Zola.
Luckily, the psycho had just painted her with fake blood. For some reason, the scent reminded me of a memory, but I couldn’t hold on to it for too long.
What is it about that smell?
I had no time to think as I helped her up and out of the dressing room. My guys ran up and surrounded her, keeping Zola at the center of a tight body circle.
The fact that the stalker had got a good shot on her chest terrified me. Had it been a real gun, she would’ve been dead, and there would’ve been no bringing her back.
When I’d first come to New York, I thought the stalker would be on a low level. But this guy displayed top skills. He knew how to use a weapon. He’d left no trace or fingerprints. He was on my level, and that scared me even more.
If he was on my level, then this had nothing to do with Zola. In fact, I’d probably wasted valuable time looking in the wrong places. There was no way Alexander’s cocaine-induced ass would’ve climbed a tree and shot with such precision. I doubted Takako or CiCi could’ve done it either.
There was always the chance that they pretended to be who they were for all these years only to truly be some secret assassin getting close to Zola. But for what? If that was the case, they had done it to get closer to me. While I had enemies, none of them—barely even any of my friends—knew about Zola.
Where the fuck are you? Come shoot me!
“Stay here with Zola. I’m checking the area.” I gave the order to my men and ran outside, placing my gun up. The whole time, I scanned the area, searching for the psycho.
He’s too damn good. Why would Zola have such a skilled stalker like this? No. this is bigger than her.
Different parts of the grounds around the mansion had been roped off. Police, media, and EMT vehicles crawled around the place. It could’ve been due to my tussle with Trigger, but the sound of the gun and broken glass sure brought everyone upstairs. Everywhere I looked there were reporters, cops, cameras, microphones, and about a million miles of cable.
Still scanning the space, I never broke stride, elbowing this guy or that person who ended up in my way. The scene had shifted into a sideshow. TV crews had set up like there was going to be a big press conference. A food truck had even rolled to the front of the gate and started selling tacos. The crowd shifted and swelled like a darkening storm during hurricane season.
I spent thirty minutes combing the place and saw nothing. It was all out of order. All chaos. All suspicious strangers looking odd.
Damn it. I fucked up. He’s gone.
I rushed back inside, slipped through the crowd, ran up the stairs, burst through the door, and headed to Zola’s dressing area. She was wearing the robe from earlier and was sitting on the couch. Someone had given her a towel, but there were still red paint stains around her neck and on her hands.
Baptiste arrived minutes later. “What the fuck happened?”
“He shot her with a paint gun. Some sort of sniper specialty.”
Baptiste walked into the room, stopped at the shattered glass, and pointed at the tree. “He sat there?”
“Yes.”
Baptiste pulled the trigger of an invisible gun. “It would’ve been three clear shots for a guy that had knowledge. Even though it was paint bullets, there would’ve been kick back. And he never fell out of the tree while he was shooting.”
“He knows more than we thought.”
“This is higher.”
“It is.”
Zola entered the conversation. “What do you mean?”
I sighed. “We’ll talk later.”
People opened the door and entered the dressing room—news crews. Reporters. Alexander and the rest of Zola’s make up team.
At that point, I’d had enough. “Get the fuck out of here!”
People looked at me in shock.
Pulling out my gun, I swept Zola up for the second time that day, parted the sea of bodies, and rushed us downstairs to the car.
After a while, Baptiste reached to my side. “You can put the gun away. It might be easier to hold her.”
Zola added, “And I can walk, Hunter.”
My jaw clenched. “Both of you be quiet.”
Zola held me tighter. “Hunter, I’m okay.”
“He sprayed red paint on you.”
“I know.” She trembled.
I glanced at Baptiste. “Did you find anything at the makeup team’s apartments? Was there anything that could be helpful?”
“Nothing. Takako has a small fascination with Zola, and it looks like Takako might be overcharging on the makeup budget to get extra, but that was it.”
Zola raised her eyebrows.
“Alexander does more than cocaine,” Baptiste continued as we waited for the car to arrive. “He pops pills too and has several sexual assault cases he’s going to lose soon. The scandal is set to come out in a week. Apparently, he threatened the
reporter, and the reporter punched.”
“That explains the black eye.” I nodded. “That also makes him look like a pussy next to our stalker.”
“No way our stalker is getting punched by some gossip reporter.”
Zola trembled as I set her down.
“What about CiCi?” she asked.
Baptiste stirred, but continued to talk to me. “CiCi means well for Zola, but she’s also getting pressured by her pimp to recruit Zola. I saw a couple of emails. She told Mr. Moon she’ll ask Zola in a few weeks, but I don’t think CiCi intends to. That might be dangerous for her, if she doesn’t do it.”
Zola shook her head in shock. “Pimp? Recruit me? What?”
“Long story,” I muttered. “I’ll tell you later.”
The car pulled up.
Baptiste let out an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I’ll do better next time.”
“No, this was my fault.”
The driver parked right in front, jumped out, and opened the door for us.
I gestured for Zola to go in first then ducked my head in. “Let me talk to Baptiste really quick, and then we’ll go.”
Her bottom lip quivered as she nodded. “Okay.”
I left the car, closed the door, and faced Baptiste. “She didn’t see him. I didn’t see him either.”
Baptiste frowned. “You’re too close to the client this time.”
“She’s not a client.”
“She is, when we’re guarding her.” Baptiste shrugged. “Maybe…you should have us switch. I watch her, and you go hunt.”
“No.”
Baptiste continued against his better logic. “I should be with her, while you check the perimeter and—”
“I stay with her.”
“I heard that you punched her boss in the face.”
“Trigger’s not her boss.”
“Well, he’s not the stalker, which would’ve been okay if you’d punched him. He was knocked out cold on the floor. While you were in the dressing area with Zola…talking…his boys and him left in an ambulance vehicle. I had Stark and Meridian follow them. All of Trigger’s entourage is accounted for.”
“Meridian is here?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like him.”
“We needed heavy hitters.”
“Make sure you control Meridian.”
He nodded. “I’ve been told I’m the only one who can.”
“So, Trigger and his crew probably have nothing to do with this.” I scanned the crowd. “What about Zola’s people?”
“They were all there.”
“Then, it’s one of them. This shit is too personal, and the stalker happens to be where she is, every damn time. How would he know her schedule? How would have known about the hotel suite?”
“He could’ve followed.”
“I’ve been paying attention. No one’s been following us.”
Baptiste leaned his head to the side. “Are you sure you’ve been paying attention?”
I gazed up at the sky. Nature had mimicked reality. Vultures hovered up in the air as if searching for prey below. I turned my view to outside of the mansion’s gates. Hundreds had come out—onlookers and news. Ton of people had their phones out, recording everything and probably not knowing what the hell they were capturing.
Bird poop fell on my shoulder.
Baptiste smiled. “That’s good luck.”
“I’m close to shooting the birds and you right now.” Scowling, I took off my jacket.
“According to a Russian superstition, when bird poop lands on you or something that belongs to you, it will bring you wealth.”
“Then, let’s hope my good fortune connects to finding Zola’s stalker.”
“It will. You’ll just have to pay attention.”
“Find the mask or the motherfucker, and don’t worry about what I’ve been paying attention to.” I opened the door, slung the jacket on the floor, and climbed in.
The door shut behind me.
The car left.
I was annoyed that I’d taken my anger out on Baptiste, but someone had to get it. I turned to Zola. “I fucked that up.”
“You did not.”
“I was eating your pussy instead of making sure that guy didn’t attack you.”
She gave me a nervous smile. “I’m still alive, and my pussy is very happy.”
I stared at the paint stains on her neck. Rage consumed me. When I found this guy, I prayed no witnesses would be around. I needed to take my time with him.
Her hands shook. “I wish I really focused, when I saw him. But it was just like the other times. All I could focus on was the gun. It was black. I swore it was real. And then dark red paint sprayed, and I thought it was blood…”
“It’s okay.”
“All I could do was scream. I didn’t even fucking duck or jump to the ground at first.”
“It’s a natural reaction.”
“I need to be stronger.” She blew out a long breath and turned to me. “Can you teach me how to shoot a gun?”
“No.”
She blinked. “Why not?”
“Because I’m with you. If I’m next to you, then you should never need to reach for a gun.”
“You’re not going to be with me all the time.”
I wasn’t mad at her, even though I scowled her way. “I will.”
She leaned back in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Zola.”
“What? You’re here for this stalker, I understand. But what about when you find him?”
“Let’s focus on me finding him first.”
He fucking shot red paint at her. How did I let this get so out of hand?
“Wait.” She rested her hands in her lap and kept closing and opening them. “But…what happens, once you find him?”
I hadn’t wanted to have this discussion yet. I was just realizing this in my head. In fact, the moment I had been racing toward the masked psycho.
Zola whispered next to me, “Hunter?”
“I’ll be here still.” I turned her way even though confidence didn’t rise and fall in my chest like it usually did. “I’ll be here regardless. I’m selling my house in Cali.”
“You’re moving to New York?”
“Yes.” I stared out of the window.
“When did you decide this?”
When he shot you with paint.
I turned her way. I had all her attention. She didn’t even blink as she listened.
But still, I nervously continued, “I’ve always loved you. I’ve always wanted you. Now that I’ve tasted you, I don’t want to stop. Now that I see so many creeps around you, I can’t walk away. I need to protect you, and I definitely want to fuck you. And once won’t be enough. And moving here is only the beginning.”
She swallowed. “The beginning of what?”
“You should know, Zola. I’ve never felt this way before. Have you?”
“Not like this. I’ve had crushes, but…when you touch me, it’s like our bodies, our souls, have merged.”
“You’ve been away from me for too long.” I pulled her to me, wrapping my arms around her. “But it’s true. We’ve started something. We have to see where this goes.”
“Yes.”
I kissed her, and she drank me in.
This was beyond logic. No longer did I consider York or even Mrs. Ellen. In the dark corners of my heart, guilt sprouted and grew. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t stop being with Zola.
How fucked up was I? Mrs. Ellen had invited me into her home, and all I could do years later was obsess over stuffing my cock in her daughter.
I didn’t care.
Let the devil take my soul. I won’t stop.
“I can’t believe you’re moving here,” she whispered between kisses.
Me either. I guess I should let my team know that too.
I inhaled her and nipped at those soft lips. “I’ll always love you, Zola.”
>
Her breath caught a little as she whispered back, “I’ll always love you too, Hunter.”
She leaned into my arms.
“Are you cold in that robe?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She closed her eyes.
I held her tighter. “Talk to me. How do you feel?”
“I don’t get this stalker.”
“No one ever does.”
“Why the fuck is he bothering me?” she asked.
“There’s never any logic to why.”
“What were some of the other types of stalkers?”
“There’s no need to talk about it, Zola, just let me—”
“I need to help. I can’t just sit around. You told me you would tell me everything.”
“I will.”
“Is there anything new?”
I sighed. “I’m not certain. This person is getting at you in restricted areas and during your events. And he’s skilled.”
“It’s all restricted, but for the people who work for me.”
“Exactly. I thought this wasn’t some stranger. I figured you might see this stalker every day. Now, with his skill, with the way he’s been able to sneak around me and show off…”
This might be about me.
“I trust you. You’ll find out who did.” She tightened her arms around me. “Thank you for coming, Hunter. I don’t know if I would’ve felt safer with anyone else.”
“You’ll never know that. Like I said before, I’ll always be here.”
She opened her eyes and raised her face. “What are the other types of stalkers?”
“There’s the Incompetent Suitor. He stalks due to lust. He’s not like the Intimacy Seeker who hopes to create a loving relationship by stalking you.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah. An Intimacy Seeker believes that stalking you is a sign of love. The Incompetent Suitor thinks the stalking will get him laid.”
“Because I’ll be so overwhelmed by his creepy attention?”
“Yes, that’s their logic. Either way, the person is indifferent to the distress of victim. Her telling him to leave her alone is sweet poetry to his ears. He thinks she’s just teasing and taunting.”
“This is sick.”
“And very real for a lot of women.” I ran my fingers through my hair.
