Kindle Edition
©Stray
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced. It may not be used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the Author.
Cover photo © 123rf Photos
Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele
Edited by Corey Amador
Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Formatting by Suzanne Steele
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All content herein is protected under copyright law.
This e-book is Rated 17+
To the Reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from but yet
you are drawn like a moth to a flame. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. Many times my heroes carry what would be
considered an obsession for the women they love. Each and every character I write about has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which at times the reader may not always agree with. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Epilogue
Prologue-Captive-Sated
Prologue-The Governor
Prologue
My name is Striker Malone but that hasn’t always been the case; I was forced to change it. Well, actually the state changed it when my father was imprisoned and killed after he was unjustly prosecuted for a string of serial murders.
Life wasn’t great before that defining moment but it was majorly fucked beyond repair afterwards… and so was I. That guilty verdict, that decision, made me the man I am today.
I’m not a good man and whether or not I can blame that on nature, I’m not sure. I do not doubt, however, that it is based on nurture or, at least, the lack thereof.
I do not hold anyone but myself accountable for the decisions I have chosen to make. I do, however, blame the parties involved in my parents’ deaths for putting me in the position to make those hard decisions. Had it not been for their deceitful lies, my life would have taken a much different course.
No man should be led down that path where he struggles with the choice of whether to stalk or kill. I suppose the fact that I have enjoyed stalking the daughter of the judge who sentenced my father does say something about my dark nature though. Perhaps that darkness within is a mixture of nature and nurture; I quit trying to figure it out long ago.
I’ve embraced my dark, sadistic nature. Like anything in life, it has been a journey and this is the documentation of that journey—a journey of revenge, murder, and my quest to avenge the death of my parents.
My choice was taken away years ago when my father was made a pawn in a game that the rich and elite played. Now, I’m the master of my own destiny and though they are unaware, I am now the master of theirs. Yes, I have to agree with that old saying. Revenge is most definitely a dish that’s best served cold.
Chapter One
Claire
Growing up in a family of high society and wealth had its perks, but it also had its pitfalls. Claire was never more aware of them than when she was subjected to lunches with her father. Granted, she loved her parents and as an only child, she had always been privy to the best their wealth and abundance had to offer. However, there was no one more aware of the fact that money isn’t the answer to all of life’s problems than she was.
To the outsider, her life had been one of perfection. That was the problem. It had always been mandatory that she have the right friends, go to the right schools, and now she was being asked, or more like decreed, to marry the right man.
“Claire… your mother and I have worked very hard to maintain a certain standard of living for you. We aren’t always going to be around. Marrying Victor Bloomberg lll is an insurance policy of sorts.”
“Father, I don’t need insurance and I most certainly don’t need a man to be successful. I’m doing quite well on my own.”
“Dear, your little real estate ventures don’t exactly constitute success.” Even the way her father was patting her hand, as if she was still his naïve little girl, was demeaning. Her family had a way of showing disdain in a very belittling way when they weren’t getting the results they desired. It especially boiled down to one thing with her father: control.
“Choosing the right man to marry is of paramount importance when dealing with a woman of your social standing.”
“That’s the problem. This isn’t my decision; it’s yours.” It would do no good to tell her father that when Claire married, she intended to do so for love. Right now, the only thing she felt any love for was the idea of escaping her well-meaning parent’s control.
“I did not raise you to disrespect me, young lady.”
This time it was Claire who patted her father’s hand as she spoke. “I’m not disrespecting you, Father. I am telling you that I have no intention of marrying Victor, or any other man, at this stage in my life. I’m married to my career and that’s just how I like it right now.”
She rose from her seat and kissed her father on the cheek. “I love you, Father, but I have an appointment and I can’t be late.” She made her way out of the private dining club before he could object. It was only a matter of time before she would have to hear the same, old, tired sermon again. It would be a different day, a different lunch, but the same argument was, no doubt, certain to be brought up again in the future.
Chapter Two
Striker
Striker stood across the street and leaned against a pole to watch the young woman in the restaurant, well, the private dining club.
Everything about her spoke of high society and even though she was nothing more than a cog in his sadisti
c game of revenge, he couldn’t help but respect the girl.
It was obvious that she was in the midst of another disagreement with her controlling father. His condescending attitude towards his daughter was evident by the way he kept patting her hand. This wasn’t the first time he had been a voyeur in matters concerning this woman. Striker had been stalking Claire for the last year.
He’d seen enough. He turned and started making his way towards his downtown efficiency apartment. He needed to get some rest. He had a fight tonight and he wanted to be on top of his game for it. Ironically enough, the high-rise building he lived in was only two blocks from the prestigious dining club. It was one of the reasons he had chosen that location; it was easier to stalk his prey of choice.
Though most people assumed he was homeless due to his appearance, he was anything but. He was always clean and never unkempt, but he’d always been careful to dress down with jeans, a hoodie, and combat boots most often being his choice of attire.
Downtown Louisville was an odd area with a mixture of those who did well financially and those who made their living hustling in one way or another. All he cared about was keeping a low profile… and exacting revenge.
“Hey Striker,” a wino sitting on the sidewalk addressed him. He reached in his pocket and handed the man sprawled out on the concrete a five-dollar bill. It was always about money. Striker had made it a habit to keep his money separated so he didn’t have to remove or open the large wallet he kept chained to a belt loop on his jeans if he wanted to help guys like this out every once in a while.
“Don’t let anyone get that from you, Joe.” He called out over his shoulder but the man had already gotten up and was making his way down the street to the liquor store.
One more block up the street and he was at his building. “Hello, Mr. Striker,” the doorman called out as he opened the door.
“I keep telling you, just Striker is fine.”
“Yes, sir,” the doorman answered as he informed him that he had no messages or mail.
“No news is good news,” Striker responded as he made his way onto the elevator and up to his apartment. He could hear the doorman chuckle as the elevator doors shut.
He twirled his keys on his index finger as he made his way to his door and let himself in. He immediately went over to his desk and tossed his keys on it. His fingers lightly trailed over a picture of the woman that had become the center of his life a year ago. “Soon, very soon, I’ll be in a position to exact revenge. I have waited years for this.” Her eyes stared back at him from the photograph, her smile vibrant as if she agreed with the plans of a madman.
Chapter Three
Claire
Claire breathed a sigh of relief as she sat behind her office desk. There was always a certain amount of stress that went with being in her father’s presence. It was something she was loath to accept, but it was a factor in their relationship nonetheless. Her friends were no different than she was. They were able to reap the rewards that came from being born into money, but there was a definite price to pay—a price that Claire had no intention of paying. Giving in to her father wouldn’t stop his craving for control; it would only feed it. It would reinforce his power over her life. She knew if she gave in and married Victor, it would only be a matter of time before it was something else.
Claire was young when she made up her mind that she would leave home as soon as she was old enough. She wanted to cut any and all ties that her father could use to manipulate her life. She didn’t want any more money with strings attached; she would make her own way. It drove her father crazy that he couldn’t control her anymore and he remained relentless in his pursuit to bring her back under his thumb. She had even gone so far as to consider relocating out of state but she had built a financial portfolio and a client list here and she wasn’t about to give that up.
She grabbed the files that she needed for her next property showing appointment and, once again, made her way out the door. She’d done quite well in her pursuit of independence. Some of the largest commercial real estate sales had been accomplished by her and in this game of ‘Who controls Claire’s life?’ it all boiled down to one thing: money.
She would finish the day out with meeting clients and showing real estate. Every client, every property she was successful selling, and every time she stood up to her controlling father put her that much closer to her goal of securing the one thing that she wanted more than money or success—her independence.
Striker
There was always an adrenalin rush that went along with making his way through the locker room, down the long hallway, and finally into the ring to meet his opponent. Unlike legal MMA fighting or boxing, underground fighting took things to a whole new level—MMA with no holds barred. The only rule was no weapons, but anything else was allowed. For Striker, fighting fed the sadistic beast within him that needed to be sated. Bones crushing, blood flying, and screams of agony fed the monster that resided inside him. What better way to calm the beast within than with a consensual bloodbath? There was also the added bonus of cash flow; there was a lot of money to be made in the sport.
The last bets were placed as he stepped into the ring and touched gloves with his opponent. Though the man he was fighting tonight did appear to be pumped up on steroids, Striker didn’t see any signs that he was tweaking or doing any other form of drugs and that was a good thing. If Striker was anything, he was observant and that goes for every area of his life.
He wasted no time tearing into his opponent and things were going fine… until the cage was opened and the one on one fight became a three on one fight. This was no longer anywhere close to being a fair fight and he’d be doing well just to avoid the hospital afterwards.
The last thing Striker remembered going through his mind was that if he made it out of there alive tonight, he wasn’t doing this shit anymore for an income. It was time to get a real job, one that wouldn’t put his life in danger. Though he was normally a huge fan of the blood sport, he found he was no longer a fan when it became his blood being spilled.
Chapter Four
Striker
Striker sat on the stone wall and eyed the woman he’d come to know as Claire Cooperman as she pulled up in her BMW SUV. She’d done quite well for herself and he had to wonder what would drive a woman to become a real estate magnate. Real estate just didn’t seem all that exciting to him. He probably should show some interest, though, since she thought he was homeless.
He watched as she made her way up to him and handed him a cup of coffee. “I was hoping you would be here. I’ve had enough coffee today to give me the jitters and I’m certain you can use this much more than I.”
“Thank you Miss Cooperman.”
“Striker, when you’re ready to quit living on the streets,” she stopped midsentence and gasped when she saw his face beneath the hoodie he wore. “That’s it, Striker, you’re coming with me.”
He winced as she pulled at his arm but, this time, he didn’t refuse her offer of help. Whether he liked it or not, he needed it. She made her way to the SUV, opened the door, and placed the coffee in its cup holder. She reached down to adjust the seat back and recline it just enough to try and make sure he was comfortable. He was grateful for the act because, right now, he wasn’t sure that one of his ribs wasn’t broken. She helped him in and he could tell that she was trying to hurry in order to avoid being seen. He wasn’t quite sure whether to be offended or grateful because, in all honesty, he didn’t want to be seen either. He wanted out of the underground cage fighting scene that was killing a little more of him with each match.
Though he had never expected loyalty in his line of work, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal about being subjected to three fighters against his one. He knew the men who ran the operation would not be happy about his retirement from the game and part of him was actually glad they had betrayed him. It gave him the upper hand he needed to get out of the fight scene and leave once and for all.
They spent the ride in silence but it gave him a chance to pay attention to his surroundings. After about fifteen minutes, it was evident they were headed into an upper class neighborhood. When they did finally stop, it was to enter a private gated community in the River Hill Road neighborhood of Louisville, Kentucky. He purposely turned away from the security guard at the gate so the man wouldn’t see his bruised face. To be honest, Striker didn’t want the guy to be able to identify him… for multiple reasons.
Claire made her way up a driveway and into the garage of a home that was a mixture of wealth and cozy and though he never would have imagined that the two could comingle, this woman had managed to pull it off. The landscaping was done in a way that shielded the home and gave it privacy. The lush, green grass covered a sprawling front yard that was meticulously maintained by professional landscapers; he was certain of it.
She turned and eyed him with skepticism when he hesitated to enter the brick home that was almost intimidating in its perfection. “Striker, you’re my guest. There’s nothing to be apprehensive about.”
He looked out at her from behind the hoodie that he was still using to cover his battered face and the sincere look on her face assured him that he was welcome here.
The first room that he viewed inside the garage door entrance was a large kitchen. He took in his surroundings as she led him further inside. To say he was impressed would be a gross understatement. Stainless steel appliances decorated the chef’s kitchen along with black granite countertops done over maple cabinets. High dollar cookware hung from an ornate, painted, pot rack. Its colors of black, silver, and just a splash of burgundy gave it a festive, yet classic, appearance.
Antique rugs were strategically placed over dark hardwood flooring in the sitting room that sat directly across from the kitchen. It had an open view making it easy to interact with guests while entertaining. Burgundy painted walls with white trim spoke of high class and attention to detail when mixed with the antique furniture collection. It was evident that this woman had done quite well for herself and it was a very good thing that he wasn’t a thief.
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