Page 13 of Fetch

I’m lucky that these girls are fans. Usually, I get cursed out by Gen-X parents, furious with me for ruining the image of their kids’ idol. I just wanted to skate.I never signed up to be a fucking hero.

I lean against the window and watch as Roxy flashes the barista a massive smile when she places the latte in front of her. “Thanks, girl.”

It didn’t take long for me to track her down. There are only three coffee shops within close proximity to Vinyl Delights. BratBaby, a.k.a. Juniper, was dumb enough to announce that Roxy works at ten this morning. So I was able to get a head start.

The process of elimination was easy. The closest one to her work is a big chain coffee shop with questionable associations and shitty coffee. Roxy doesn’t seem like the type to give money to places like that. The second shop is so bougie that the cheapest latte goes for seven dollars. And that’s just for a small. That’s half her hourly wage at the record store.

Which brings me to spot number three. Pick Your Poison—a funky little hipster café just three blocks away from Vinyl Delights. She arrived promptly at 9:30 a.m., as I predicted. That gives her thirty minutes to take her time and enjoy her drink on the walk back over.

I turn my back and step to the side as she approaches the condiment bar. She still pays me no attention as she fiddles with her lid and cup sleeve. Roxy needs to learn how to be more aware of her surroundings. I can’t let what happened to her at Joystick transpire again. It was too close. Lucky for her, I came along when I did. Now she has me looking out for her.

I catch a whiff of something sweet like peaches and cream. My mouth salivates. I want to lick every inch of her skin. Mmm, my fragile little bud.I can’t wait to brutalize you. I’m going to make her stronger, tougher, and wild as the fucking weeds that ravage the sidewalks of Lavender Heights.

The squeak of her sneakers across the linoleum floor serves as my cue. I count to ten while I wait for her to pass through the door. Once the cool draft caresses my cheeks, I’m on the move again.

At six foot three, I’m anything but inconspicuous. But I keep my head down with one eye trained on the swish of Roxy’s hips. I follow her for three blocks until we reach the record store.

I lurk near her car. The same one I broke into the other day. Leaving the Joystick flyer on her seat was fucked up, but I need to see just how fragile she is. I watched her from afar, waiting to see how she’d break. But she didn’t show any emotion on her face. She held her composure. I had to resist the urge to follow her home. To see her crumble in the safety of her own space. But I can’t risk her discovery until I’m ready.

Stalking her is my foreplay. I’ve never found anyone worthy of hunting before her. This is a new kink for me. I hadn’t meant to stay hidden that night at the arcade, but following her in the shadows made me so fucking hard. It’s a game I want to keep playing.

My heart races when I spot the dude who’s been coming in here every day this week. On Roxy’s days off, he leaves without buying anything or even browsing. But when she’s here… he stays for hours, chatting her ear off. This jersey-wearing troll is short, stocky, and drives one of those lifted trucks with a sticker on the back that saysGo Wolves.

He was the jock in high school who shit on skaters and thought football was king. I knew so many assholes like him. The kind who thought they were better than me. They think skateboarding isn’t even a real sport. Until the day these douchebags find out they’re nowhere near good enough for the NFL, while I end up traveling the world making millions of dollars in sponsor deals.Who’s the mother fucking king now?

I watch as he makes a direct line for Roxy. She smiles politely, of course. She’s too fucking nice. I come out of my skin when he pats her arm. Fucking hell. Sweat beads on my forehead. She’s mine. How fucking dare he? No one should be touching her but me. Now his filth is on her.

I grit my teeth when she throws her head back and laughs at something he says.Fucking hold it together, Punk, or you’ll ruin everything.But I feel more alive than ever. More clear and focused. Who needs drugs when you have pure fucking rage? It’s like no other high I’ve ever known. And I’m addicted to it.

I release a shaky breath when that piece of shit finally leaves the store. As much as I want to stay and watch my girl through the window, it’s more important to eliminate this new threat. He wants to do vile things to her, just like the man I pushed off the roof of Joystick. But this time, I’m going to take care of it before he even gets a chance to corner her.

This fucking dude. Imma call him Bryce. He looks like a fucking Bryce. With pop-punk music bumping from his speakers over the engorged exhaust of his stupid truck, this fucker has no clue that I’ve been tailing him all day.

He paid two hundred and thirty-seven dollars to fill up his monstrous gas tank after scarfing down an entire bag of cheese-dusted chips and a diet soda. Fucking disgusting. I’m up every morning at five—shower, gym, shower again, green drink and acai bowl for breakfast, plain chicken breast and water for lunch, then steak and sparkling water for dinner.

My body is a sculpted fucking temple. One that Roxy is going to worship very soon. And to think he touched her with those same grubby hands. My cock twitches as I fantasize about choking him with the beef jerky stick he didn’t finish.

We’re back in motion again, driving aimlessly through Lavender Heights. It’s like he’s trying to waste timeandall that fucking expensive gas he just filled up on. I tighten my grip around the handlebars of my bike, growing more impatient by the second as the engine rattles the flesh on my thighs. The hum usually soothes me. But my craving to spill blood consumes me. I need another hit before I explode.

I hoped to go back to the record store and watch Roxy close up, but this fool hasn’t stopped long enough for me to get a hold of him. I hang back farther now, careful not to alert him. I check the tracker on my phone when I stop at the red light. He’s about six blocks away, heading toward the industrial district.

I managed to tag the underside of his truck when he stopped for gas. One of the perks of being a millionaire. I have lots of cool fucking gadgets. I switch tracker profiles and see that Roxy’s car is still parked in front of Vinyl Delights. I check the time on my phone. Fuck. It’s 6:30 p.m. She’s going to be clocking out soon.

I hit the throttle and continue tracking Bryce. After a few more miles, he leads me toward a cul-de-sac in the seedier part of town. Perfect. No one gives a fuck about their neighbors here. I kill the engine a few blocks away. I take off my helmet and replace it with a black surgical mask. People can think I’m a germaphobe or some shit. And it’s less suspicious than the glow-in-the-dark one I like to wear to parties. I pull my hood up over my head and creep in his direction on foot.

He stumbles out of his truck and slams the driver’s door shut, leaving cheese-dusted fingerprints on the shiny black paint.Is this fucker drunk?I glance inside the truck to see an empty bottle of vodka on the passenger seat. I chuckle. I’m doing the world a fucking favor.

As Bryce lumbers up the stairs to his apartment, I glance around to make sure no one’s paying attention. I spot an old lady shutting her blinds in the house across the street. It’s dark, and I’m wearing all black. There’s no way she’d ever be able to place me. Not to mention she doesn’t fucking care. People tend to mind their business in this part of town.

When I reach his door, it’s wide open. It’s like the universe wants me to kill this guy. I step in and shut it quietly behind me. I also lock it just in case he has any buddies who are planning on stopping by.

I hear a crash and head toward it, finding myself in his mess of a kitchen. Dirty dishes pile up in the sink, the trash overflows onto the floor, and flies buzz around a half-eaten burger that looks like it’s been there for days. Bryce pops up from the open fridge with a beer in his hand.

“What the fuuck?” he slurs. “Who-who is you?”

Fucking hell. He can’t even speak properly. “Oh, Bryce.Lookat this shithole. You really are a disgusting pig.” I wave my hands around at the cesspool that surrounds us.

He rubs his bloodshot eyes and blinks a few times before stumbling forward. “You want a beer, man?”

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