Stalkers: A Dark Romance Anthology

by Ally Vance

Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  About Ker Dukey

  Infatuation

  Jessica Ames

  Author’s Note

  This book contains themes of murder, mayhem and other topics that may be upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

  This book is set in the United Kingdom. Some spellings may differ.

  To my amazing beta readers, who help me more than they know.

  Chapter One

  Fury

  I hate noise. It grates on my nerves and makes my insides stab with tension. It’s Friday night and the clubhouse is packed. My brothers are getting their fill of the club bunnies, women who whore themselves around in the hope of getting a property patch. They’re deluded if they think it will happen. My brothers are also whores who just want to get their rocks off with no strings attached, enjoying the free pussy they’re offered.

  I watch their little orgies from the darkened corner I’m standing in, my lip curling into a snarl. Hiding in, if I’m telling the truth. I don’t want those bitches touching me and even though they know not to, occasionally they get brave and try, or someone new will come in who doesn’t know any better. Best to stay out of the way, so I don’t have to unleash my monsters.

  As I watch Levi crook two fingers to Noelle—a tiny blonde who he treats like his woman, rather than a bit of tail—I let my mind wander back to earlier today and the basement. The body is gone now, disposed of by the prospects, but I can still feel the blood coating my hands. There’s something purifying about bleeding a man, cleansing even. It makes the demons in my head quieten down for a little while before they start talking again. It feeds the thirst that is always on the tip of my tongue. I’d rather be in the basement, smelling the fear that lingers in the air, feeling the ghosts of the men I’ve taken than in the common room of the clubhouse. The shit that goes on in here drives me nuts.

  “Fury, how’s it going?”

  I peer up as Sin strides over to me and leans his back against the wall next to me, careful to keep some distance between us.

  Like most of the brothers in the room, he’s wearing his kutte, a leather vest that is worn over his clothes. Across the back, the Untamed Sons insignia of a skeletal head with wings and a crown sits and he has the vice president patch on the front, while I have sergeant-at-arms. He’s a large guy, around my height at six-foot-three, with a mop of dark hair that he seems to spend his life pushing out of his eyes. I want to take a fucking knife to it, but he’s brother by blood to our current sitting president, Ravage.

  He’s also a cunt.

  There’s something about the little fucker that grates on my nerves, makes my demons snap their jaws, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. I know I’m fucked up, but looking into his eyes, I can see his darkness smiling back at mine. His is different, though. It makes my skin crawl like a thousand fire ants are attacking me. He’s just better at hiding it.

  I don’t usually talk to the fucker. I only hold my tongue because he’s Rav’s brother, but the thought I might need to use my knives, quench that blood thirst that drives me, has me answering him with a, “What do you need?”

  Sin rakes a hand through his dark hair, his gaze going over his shoulder to look at the debauchery taking place. “Nothing, brother. Just making small talk. You should try it some time.”

  He walks off, laughing and shaking his head. My fingers stroke over the handle of my knife attached to my belt. I’m forever walking on a knife’s edge, even around my brothers. It’s something I’ve learnt to control over the years, keeping my demons caged, but the urge to kill is always a heartbeat away. My fingers twitch at the thought as I lick my lips, sniffing the air as if I can smell the metallic taste of blood that seems to seep from my very pores. There’s only one person who can soothe that beast inside of me, bring peace to the chaos in my mind.

  I shouldn’t go there. I shouldn’t feed my infatuation, but that niggle inside that wants me to can’t be silenced. Obsession wars through common sense, and the former wins.

  I push a booted foot off the wall and move through the crowd. I’m careful not to touch anyone. Most people know me and my quirks, so move aside, parting like the Red fucking Sea. Tonight is an open house, so there’s hangarounds and out-of-towners sitting down and enjoying the hospitality of the club, but Fury the freak is well-known by everyone. I’m the man who brings fear even to his brothers, who guts men like pigs and basks in their moans and pleas. I’m the man who gets rock fucking hard hearing them beg.

  I hate strangers being in our space, but most of our prospects start off as hangarounds, so it’s a ritual Ravage indulges in. I put up with it because I have to, but if I had a choice none of these fuckers would be here.

  My mind is oddly empty as I make my way to the main entrance. It’s been eight months since I was ordered to watch over her. It’s been seven since I was ordered to step down. I didn’t. I don’t know if Ravage knows I’m still visiting her. I don’t care. It’s none of his fucking business, but she’s a compulsion I can’t remove. She’s embedded under my skin like the thorns from a rose bush.

  As soon as I step outside, I’m hit by the chill in the air. I step over to my bike and throw my leg over the back of it, the dull moan of the music from inside grating on my nerves. I’m tired of this shit, tired of bitches and parties and whatever the fuck else. It’s part of this life, but it’s one I’ve never got used to. I’d rather see her than these fake as fuck women who beg for my brothers’ cocks.

  I tug my helmet on and turn the key, the engine roaring to life, then I kick up the stand and begin my ride across town on autopilot. The busy sprawl of the city is calmer this late in the evening, but there’s still buses and taxis moving on the roads. I should be more alert. I know all it takes is for one cage driver to take his eyes off what’s behind him for me to end up roadkill, a possibility that increases with only the streetlights to guide the way. My mind remains unfocused as I weave between the light traffic, taking the same route I always do.

  Businesses give way to housing estates and high-rises, upmarket apartment blocks nestled between the bay-windowed terraces. There are few people milling around, walking home after a night out maybe. Living normal pedestrian lives like I’ve never had. Even as a child my life was a fucked-up mess.

  As the address comes into view, I slow the bike and stop at the kerbside before I idle the engine. I let my eyes gravitate towards the building. It’s an old red brick Victorian terrace. There’s a hanging basket on the front, overflowing with blooms and a few flowerpots in the tiny front yard. I ignore that, my eyes sliding up to the ground floor front window. The lights are on, despite the late hour. My heart starts to pound and tingles race over my skin as she steps into view.

  Her dark hair is scraped into a messy topknot, as she usually wears it in the evening, and the oversized sweater she’s wearing has fallen off one tanned shoulder. I unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth as I stare at her, a thousand thoughts colliding. I’ve never had a visceral reaction to a woman, until Amalia—and it scares the fuck out of me.

  My heart thuds in my chest, my blood racing through my veins like liquid fire.

  I should let her go, but I can’t. It’s not love, but obsession and I am completely infatuated with her.

  Chapter Two

  Eight months earlier…

  Fury

  I watch as Sin’s fist pulls back and slams into Roger Lazlo’s face, excitement singing through my belly. I lick my lips as the blood sprays from his mouth, relishing the way it splatters onto the concrete. The scent of copper is heavy in the air and as always it relaxes me, makes my demons die down enough for me to focus on watching the action unfold.

  “What did you do with the fucking product?” Sin roars in his face.

  Lazlo doesn’t answer, just hangs there like a limp noodle, blood trickling from beneath the shackles around his wrists, which are attached to a meat hook in the ceiling. It’s the only thing holding him up. His legs gave out a whi
le ago, leaving him dangling, and his face looks like a pile of mincemeat. I can’t stop the elation that rolls through me seeing him like this. I just wish it was me doling out the hits, although I wouldn’t use my fists, but my knives. There’s no grace in hitting someone, but there’s real art that can be done with a blade. I can see in my head where I would carve, watching as the lines of blood appear, his screams and pleas filling my ears.

  This isn’t my party, though. It’s Sin’s. I’m only here in the hope he’ll step aside and let me have my fun. He doesn’t show any sign that might happen. The little fucker is enjoying this ride too much. That’s Sin, though. He hides this part of himself, but he has a darkness inside of him that makes my demons roar, wanting to cut slices off him, but he’s a brother and there are rules.

  The basement of our clubhouse is my favourite space. The bare concrete walls are lined with polyethylene sheets, designed to catch any forensic evidence. The rest can be washed down the drain that sits in the middle of the floor. I swear if you listen you can still hear the ghosts of the past and their cries.

  Sin moves over to the sink and runs the water, washing the blood off his knuckles and I scrape my fingers over the handle of my knife, wanting to take over. The tool trolley in the middle of the floor is filled with some of my favourite toys, all designed to make a man who doesn’t want to talk spill his fucking guts. I’d have this fucker squealing already, telling us what we want to know, but Sin enjoys the build-up of this game too much to rush it.

  I watch as he picks up a pair of pliers from the trolley and turns back to Roger. His swollen eyes try to widen and without any more probing, he tells us everything.

  Damn.

  I wanted to see where this was going, what Sin would do next.

  The brother puts the pliers down and steps towards Roger’s swinging body.

  “We’ll check it out, but if you’re lying…”

  He lets the threat dangle and I lick my tongue over my lips, my mouth suddenly filling with saliva. Roger’s dead, no matter if his lead turns out to be true or not. We don’t make a habit of keeping witnesses around. I hope I’m the one who gets to put out the light in his eyes.

  Sin glances at me. “Let’s go, freak.”

  His lips pull into a smile that I want to wipe off his fucking face. I am a freak, but I don’t appreciate being called one. I have to clench my fists at my sides to stop from reaching for my knives.

  We head out of the basement and to the bike parking area. I climb on my Harley, the black metal shiny, the pipes glinting in the mid-morning sunlight. Once my helmet is in place, I glance at Sin and he gives me a nod. I start my engine and follow him out of the parking area.

  London traffic is, as always, a nightmare, but we weave between the cars and taxis. We pass famous landmarks that fade into the background of the hustle and bustle of the city, barely noticeable anymore.

  When we reach our destination, my heart gives a little twitch as excitement starts to flood my veins. This is what I live for. This is what keeps me getting up in the morning. The thrill of the upcoming fight.

  We park our bikes at the side of the street and I kick down the stand before pulling my helmet off and tugging down the bandanna covering my face. Sin comes to stand next to me as I climb off my bike and he runs his fingers through his hair.

  “Whatever happens in there, I’m leading this shit, got it?”

  As vice president, he outranks me, but I’m not some shrinking wallflower, so the dismissal pisses me off. I can handle myself. There’s a reason I’m the fucking sergeant-at-arms of our club and it’s not so I can stand on the periphery, watching him have all the fucking fun.

  “Why’d you bring me?”

  His lips tug into a grin. “Back up.”

  My jaw clenches. Back up? Fucker. I grit my teeth as I follow after him as he moves towards the storefront of the pawn shop.

  He pushes through the main entrance, the bell over the door jangling and I follow behind him, my eyes squinting at the change in lighting. As soon as they adjust, I let my gaze roam around the space. There are cabinets filled with old jewellery and other bits of crap. Shit fills every inch of available space, tech in one corner of the room, a stack of expensive looking handbags in another.

  Sin pulls off his sunglasses as a weaselly looking man with a small nose and sunken eyes that tell me he’s probably used some of the product he stole from us steps in from the back. It’s the man who Roger told us about—Max Taylor. He takes one look at us, his eyes going to our kuttes and he darts in the direction he came from. Sin’s faster. He leaps over the top of the counter, scattering the stock everywhere, and snags that fucker by the back of his shirt.

  I watch, my eyes narrowed as he slams the man’s head against the counter, blood spraying into the air and dripping down the glass like crimson tears. Fucking beautiful.

  “Now, now, Maxy. Where you running to?” Sin demands.

  I hate all the small talk. It’s so unnecessary. We know he did it. Just bleed the man.

  “I didn’t do shit,” Max laments, his voice pitched unusually high.

  “No? Then why the fuck are you running?”

  “Have you looked at you two? You’d run too if you were me.”

  It’s bullshit, and Sin sees right through it.

  “I think you ran because you and Roger stole the coke you were supposed to sell and pocketed the money that should have been ours. That sound about right?” His hand holds the back of Max’s neck, ready to slam him again.

  I watch the blood streaming from his nose, the scent of it in the air making my demons sit up and take notice. They want to come out to play, but I push them back down. There will be time for that later.

  Sin slams his head again and more blood spurts from his face.

  “I didn’t steal from you!” he wails.

  “Where’s the product?”

  The man swallows hard and glances between us. I can see the cogs turning in his head, trying to work out the best way to walk out of this in one piece. He goes for what he sees as the path of least resistance. He’s wrong.

  “I’ll give it back. Just don’t hurt me.”

  That’s no longer a choice. He stole from the Untamed Sons, something that can’t be undone. We can no longer trust him and that makes the fucker a liability. If he thinks he can walk out of this, he’s deluded. He signed his own death the moment he took something from us.

  Sin grabs him by the back of the shirt.

  “Where’s the coke?”

  “In the safe at the back.”

  Giving him a shove in that direction, Sin pushes him into the back room. I follow, my head starting to pound. This is going to be over fast. Too fast. I need more blood, more chaos to sate that bloodlust I can’t control.

  I watch as Max kneels down and with shaky hands opens the safe. I pull my gun from my holster. I have no idea if the fucker has a gun in there, but I’m not letting my VP get his head blown off—even if I’d gladly do it myself. There’s no love lost between me and Sin.

  I aim at the back of Max’s head, my eyes watching carefully as he pulls the door open. He reaches inside and I steel myself, but he just pulls out a brick of white powder. The coke.

  Sin takes it from him, and then his eyes go to Max.

  “You fucking sampled it?”

  Max moves fast. I see the glint of metal heading straight for Sin’s gut, and I pull the trigger on my gun without hesitation. I’m not a fan of guns, but there is a certain satisfaction to seeing his brains splatter up the wall behind him. Max slides to his knees and goes down heavy.

  There’s silence for a beat. Then someone screams behind me.

  I twist on my heels and I’m greeted by the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. She has dark hair that falls down her back in loose waves. She’s delicate, small, perfect—everything I’m not. Her tanned skin is offset by the white summer dress she’s wearing. She looks like a fucking angel, and I imagine I look like a devil, standing here, gun ra
ised, blood up the walls behind me.

  She’s clutching a handbag in her hands and she holds it between us like a barrier, as if it can protect her from the hell she’s witnessing. It can’t.

  Her wide eyes come to me before she darts back through the door into the main store.

  Sin is the first to react. He rushes after her, and my heart starts to pound. Not from fear that she saw me, but from fear of what he’ll do to her.

  It consumes me like flames as my legs remember how to work and I take off after them both.

  When I rush back into the main room, Sin has the woman pinned against the wall, her face turned to the side, her arm pulled so high up her back, I don’t know how he hasn’t pulled her shoulder out of its socket. The fucker is licking her face as she struggles against him and his grin tells me Sin is enjoying it more than he should.

  Rage flares through me and I shove him off her.

  “The fuck, dickhead?” Sin complains.

  “We don’t hurt women,” I growl.

  It’s true, we don’t, but we’d never had a situation where a woman saw us committing a murder before. I don’t know how this plays out.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand of the angel. Her eyes flick to mine, widening as she takes me in.

  She should be sobbing, but she seems to be in shock. She hasn’t made a sound outside the initial scream.

  “Answer him, bitch,” Sin steps towards her.

  “Max owed me.” Her voice is shaky as she speaks, threads of fear running through it.

  “Owed you what?” Sin demands.

  “I uh… I pawned some jewellery a few months back. I paid the ticket, but he sold the items anyway. I’ve been trying to get him to give me my money back for weeks.” Her eyes slide to mine and I see the fear in them. “You… You just killed him.”