Prey upon me a dark stal.., p.22
Prey Upon Me: A Dark Stalker Romance, page 22
“My old man gave that to me for my eighteenth birthday. She was there,” I argued, but there was no point. He had already made up his mind that I was a thieving scumbag. Or he was in on it.
He asked me if I had any verification, and I told him my father had provided me with a “proof of gift” letter that had been stored with the timepiece, but the officer claimed there was no such thing found at my house.
He also found it “odd” that I didn’t post anything about it on social media. “A lot of kids your age would show off something like that. I know my son would.”
Yeah, well, then he’s a fucking idiot.
When you live in the Valley, you don’t show off shit unless you want it stolen. If I took a picture of that and anyone saw it, I would have needed to report a dozen break-ins by the end of the day.
I tried to explain this not-so-common common sense, but I may as well have been arguing with the wall. I didn’t have any witnesses with me at the time of the supposed break-in, and I didn’t know if there were any surveillance videos available where I had been, but I knew there were plenty on my father’s estate. I said as much, only to get another smirk.
“You’ve been to your father’s manor multiple times, yes?”
I nodded.
“Whoever broke in clearly knew the layout of the home. He managed to evade all but one of the cameras positioned around the outside of the property.”
Lillian obviously gave him the footage, because he pulled it up on the tablet in his hands and slid it across the table to me.
The footage was dark, but not dark enough for the night vision to kick in yet. Likely around the time I had just left the cemetery at sunset.
The figure captured in the video was clearly masculine, dressed in head-to-toe black, and had a baseball cap pulled low over his face. Due to the darkness of the footage and the angle, it was impossible to even make out the lower half you could see as he slinked across the property and into the house, but Officer Williams seemed to think that was the nail in my coffin.
“Whether you’re aware of it or not, your stepmother saw you enter the home through the second-story balcony, and I can’t say I can argue with that. Looks an awful lot like you, doesn’t it?” He pointed to the tablet with such certainty that you would think I had posed for the camera.
But even with how dark the footage was, that looked nothing like me. I knew the property and the height of the doorways. If anything, I would have thought it was Jax, if not for the fact the intruder was more muscular. The guy had to be at least four inches taller than me.
And then I saw it.
Clearly, this person didn’t know shit about how to jump from any kind of height, because the burglar leaped off the balcony and landed nearly upright, doing nothing to absorb the impact on his knees. One leg buckled, and even as he took off running, the knee locked up again, making him almost fall.
Funny.
Who had I just met later that night with a trick knee?
Anna curls up next to me, her head resting on my bicep as she drags her fingers over my chest. “Your stepmother did all that just because she didn’t like you?”
There isn’t doubt in her voice. Just complete bewilderment. Because, honestly, who would do that to an eighteen-year-old kid? With my father gone, I had no connection with her family. It was obvious my brother wasn’t interested in having a relationship, and I sure as hell didn’t want one. I would have been out of all of their hair.
But, as it turns out, pettiness was Lillian’s second reason.
“My father’s will actually gave her fifteen million reasons to get rid of me,” I say, feeling Anna’s fingers go still. “He wanted his sons to participate in his businesses, so he stipulated that each of us had to work for at least five years at one of his companies before we could receive our part of the inheritance. The only thing that could remove us from contention was a criminal record.”
My little canary shoots upright, and she sounds pissed on my behalf. “Are you fucking kidding? She sent you to prison because she didn’t want you inheriting what was rightfully yours?”
“If, for some strange reason, I ran into a problem with the law, my portion of the inheritance would then be split evenly with the other two heirs,” I say, coaxing her back against me. As much as I like hearing that fire in her voice, I miss her warmth more.
I still can’t believe my brother went to work at Westfall. When my old man stipulated he wanted us to join one of his companies, he obviously meant that in an executive way. He wanted us in a position where we could learn the ropes of the business so that we could eventually take over for him. Instead, Devin decided to take a managerial position at one of the jewelry shops where he didn’t have to do shit, dumping all of the responsibilities on his secretaries and spending all of his time trying to fuck his sales associates.
“Shouldn’t the police have found that suspicious?” Anna asks, this time resting her head down on my chest. “The one eyewitness to this break-in just so happened to be the same person who would get seven and a half million dollars if you went away, and no one thought to question that? People have killed for a lot less.”
“My stepmother has influence, and I had a public defender who couldn’t even remember my name. I got four years for grand larceny.”
“What about the assault charges?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Even more bullshit. The charges for punching my brother were dismissed, and the ones with the officer ended with a hung jury, twice. As it turns out, one of my old classmates was parked in her car across the street and witnessed part of what happened. She testified to seeing the officer punch himself, but the prosecution showed her old social media posts, claiming she had anti-police sentiment. Her bias cast enough doubt that some of the jury didn’t find her testimony credible. After the second mistrial, the prosecution had no choice but to drop the charges. My friend, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. Because there was doubt about the witness testimony, we couldn’t prove that he acted in self-defense. The only conclusive evidence was the body cam footage that showed him grabbing the officer and then dislocating his knee. He had to serve three and a half years.”
I haven’t talked about everything that’s happened with anyone, and now that I have, I feel…lighter somehow.
“You do realize you’ve told me enough that I could find out who you are, right?”
I may have omitted certain names from the story, but it wouldn’t take much digging for her to put the pieces together.
Still, I grin. “I know.”
Because my canary won’t look into it. Not now.
She proves it, trailing her fingertips over my forearm. “What can I do?”
“Sell one of those fancy pairs of shoes under your bed.”
“Why?” After what she told me about how she hates having to use that fucker’s gifts to survive, you might expect her to be offended. Instead, she sounds genuinely curious.
“I’d like you to make a donation.”
CHAPTER 24
KNOX
Sleep doesn’t come easy for me. It hasn’t these four years—the result of constant vigilance, having to keep one eye open. Even if you can trust your cellmate, that doesn’t mean one of the prison guards hasn’t been paid off. At any moment, that cell door can open, and if you’re fast asleep and unawares, you’re a dead man. As a result, your body turns you into a light sleeper out of necessity. The slightest noise, and I’m awake. And the only deep sleep I know comes from sheer exhaustion, when my body has nothing left to give and I more or less pass out.
I’m not exhausted, yet I only stir when a truck lays on its horn down on the street. It’s loud enough that both Anna and I wake up, but neither of us moves apart from my canary lifting her head. I’m content to shut my eyes, certain I’ll slip right back into sleep, but…
There’s traffic.
And I don’t mean just a few passing cars.
It sounds an awful lot like pre-rush hour outside Dominic’s house, just a more muted version, given the distance from the road.
Shit.
The pale blue numbers on the digital alarm clock are so dim that I have to move Anna off me to get a closer look.
5:21
It probably doesn’t sound like much to most people, but getting over five hours of solid sleep is new for me. The only thing I want to do is drape her naked body back over me and go back to sleep, but I have to get up.
Anna groans in protest, and it’s the fucking cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Sorry, love,” I chuckle, “but unless you want your neighbors seeing me scaling the side of your building as they head out for their morning workouts, I’ve gotta go before the sun comes up.”
And I’ve got somewhere this morning I need to be.
How does a man survive in prison? By making allies. And how do you do that? By earning them. If they have connections to the outside, even better. And if they just so happen to be related to the Don of the Italian mafia in Chicago? Well, you don’t get much better than that, especially when you earned his allegiance by saving his life. Nicolo Moretti took the rap for his uncle, the Salvatore Moretti, in relation to gun charges, and though his family’s influence managed to get his five-year sentence reduced to ten months, he still needed protection from said family’s rivals. He was also my cell mate, not to mention the reason I got shanked in the forearm and ended up with a dislocated shoulder after being thrown over the prison railing. That had been Nico’s first week inside, and it granted me the one thing every guy in his circle would literally kill for.
You don’t ever want to owe a Moretti any favors, but when they owe you a few? They can make shit happen.
And I’m cashing out my favors today.
The Morettis have safe houses and businesses sprinkled all across the Midwest, and every now and again, one of them will blow through town to check on the properties.
I can only suspect where the prior is, but I know the business is on Second and Highland. Vortex, a nightclub where most middle and upper-class men take their mistresses, doesn’t just offer atmosphere and top-shelf booze. It also caters to those who want a little “private time” but don’t want to risk the paper trail that comes with hotels and the like. Everything inside is sleek, dark, and polished, just like the owner himself.
Even at eight o’clock in the morning, Nico is dressed in a three-piece suit, looking every bit the cliché of what you’d expect, and he demands the same out of you. Hence, the literal funeral attire I’m currently sporting.
The black outfit is the only “nice” dress clothes I own, and it earns me a chuckle when Nico sees me approaching the VIP section.
“Well, look at Johnny Cash here. You gonna sing for me?” He waves me through when his bodyguards move in to frisk me, assuring them I’m clean.
We share the typical bro-hug, starting with a handshake and then patting the other’s back.
Neither of us is much for small talk, so as soon as we take our seats in the corner booth away from everybody else, he wastes no time. “Given that you wouldn’t talk about it on the phone, I can assume this meeting is about business rather than a social call?”
I take out the documents from the inside of my jacket, along with two silver dollars, sliding them all his way. “I’d like to cash in my chips.”
Nico flips each of the coins in his hands, confirming their authenticity. “You sure? You’ve only got one left.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
Nico just blinks. And blinks. And blinks. Having read the proposal twice now, I’m sure his silence and expression aren’t from a lack of understanding, but I’m seriously expecting him to give the coins back to me.
Can he really not do it?
“I thought you said a Moretti could move heaven and earth,” I challenge, but Nico just shakes his head. “What?”
He opens his mouth but shuts it again. Twice.
“Just spit it out, man. If you can’t do it, you can’t do it.”
Nico runs a hand over his mouth, still looking baffled. “Let me get this straight, I get to choose the location, and my men get to keep the rest of the haul?”
“…Yes.”
He starts laughing, the loud, full, belly-aching kind of laugh that echoes across the nearly empty room.
Now I’m the one blinking like an idiot, because he slides one of the coins back to me.
He smirks. “Consider it done. Just let me know when.”
My brain can’t compute what I’m seeing.
A Moretti doesn’t let a debt remain unpaid, and he sure as hell doesn’t give you anything free of charge.
“If anything, I already owed you another coin,” he says simply. When I don’t pick up on what he’s hinting at, Nico lifts his left hand to show off the gold band on his ring finger.
Holy shit.
Cue more blinking. “You’re married?”
A nod.
“To who?” I know it’s a stupid question, because I already know the answer, considering the coin he’s just given back to me, but I can’t believe it. “She said yes?”
The look he returns is nothing short of a shit-eating grin. “She didn’t have much of a choice.”
CHAPTER 25
ANNA
Is there such a thing as dick withdrawal? It sounds better than stalker withdrawal, because I know I’m suffering from at least one of them. He’s visited me every night these past two weeks, and we’ve carried on with our little rendezvous. Talking and fucking and thriving in the dark. It’s escapism in its purest form, closing off the outside world and living amongst the shadows. Even in the light of day, I find myself replaying our conversations in my head and smiling. The things he’s asked have me remembering things I haven’t thought about in years, and he’s provided me with stories about himself in return. Knowing what he looks like now, at least with the mask on, I still try to picture a preschool version of him running away in terror from the department store Easter Bunny his mom took him to. Or how he managed to burn off one of his eyebrows while attending a severely discounted version of the Boy Scouts. I told him about my summer trips with Nana to South Carolina and how stoners accidentally set off the fire sprinklers during my junior prom.
Given his history, my stalker doesn’t know much about movies and music released over the past few years, and I do my best to educate him, at least with the latter. For now. After tonight, I want to take him to the theater, sans mask.
And he’s giving me plenty of time to plan our date night, because he’s been MIA these past two days. I know why, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I’m not sure if it happened the night I confessed everything to him in my bedroom or subsequently—and very shortly—after, but I’ve developed more than a liking for my stalker. Not hearing his voice, not feeling the warmth of his laugh against my ear, not having him on me and in me…
It’s become painful. Like an itch I can’t scratch. A craving I can’t satiate.
And it’s only been forty-eight hours.
Knowing what I’ll have to do tonight has me more than panicked, but knowing what else will happen is enough motivation to fight past my nerves.
Keeping my hair simple, I curl it into large mermaid waves and continue the siren theme with my eyeliner, lashes, and bold red lips. I want to look every bit the femme fatale that I am.
“Well, well, well. Look at Cinderella here. Or should I say Jessica Rabbit.” Darcy wolf-whistles as I step into the foyer and do a spin for her to show off my gown. “Damn, girl.”
If there’s one thing being with my ex taught me, it’s how to dress for a gala. I may not be wearing Jessica’s signature red, but I’d like to think I look just as good. Being larger chested, halter styles are a particular favorite of mine, and this little number is my favorite of them all. Not only does it show off the girls quite spectacularly, but the black satin hugs my curves in all the right places before flowing out into a loose skirt that will make it easy to move around in. This is only further benefited by the high slit that nearly reaches the top of my thigh.
I feel sexy as hell, and I know a certain someone most certainly will appreciate it.
To my surprise, I get a notification that my ride is here.
My ride?
I had every intention of driving to the event in my car, but I go over to the balcony to see a limousine parked out front.
What the hell are you up to, mystery man?
I get all the confirmation I need that there hasn’t been some mistake. When the driver opens the back door of the limo for me, I’m greeted with rose petals scattered all along the seats and floor. There’s still a bouquet on the service bar beside a chilled bottle of champagne, and tucked between the roses is a note simply reading, “A petal for your petals. Don’t think I won’t be feasting on you in here later.”
The mental image it provides has me clenching my thighs, praying that the drive to the gala is short.
The sooner “later” can come, the better for me and my vagina.
CHAPTER 26
ANNA
Despite the trip itself being relatively quick, getting inside the event is not. Going through the valet process alone takes a half hour, and then there’s security. By the time I get through the metal detector wands and machines, identity verification, and ticket processing, it’s nearly eight o’clock by the time I make it inside the history museum.
Unlike when I first entered high society, I’m familiar with the format and what kinds of people you can expect to be in attendance, making it surprisingly easy for me to fall into my comfort zone. Between the designer gown and the jewelry adorning my wrist, neck, and ears, nobody would suspect me of being out of place. The fact that I’ve been to the Palais Garnier also helps to prevent this place from seeming so intimidating. Don’t get me wrong. The museum is beautiful, clearly inspired by Greek and Roman temples, but when you’ve seen some of the most stunning architecture Europe has to offer, the American equivalent is rather…cute in comparison. The artifacts, on the other hand, are something to behold. I take my time perusing the displays around the outskirts of the party, doing everything I can to distract myself from searching the crowds. Working my way through the World War II and Civil War exhibits, I eventually stop in front of a weapons display to get a closer look at some of the armaments when I sense more than feel the presence behind me. Sure enough, a silken voice purrs, “You have an affinity for knives, I see,” right into my ear.
