Page 15 of Stalk

It’s dark inside, despite it still being light on the outside of the building. The curtains or blinds must be closed. I close thedoor in the same way I opened it, then scale against the wall as my eyes adjust to my new surroundings.

Eventually, I end up inside the kitchen, hidden behind a small sliver of wall. At least the stove light is on. To my surprise, it smells like Lysol. In my experience, an addict rarely takes care of their homes. Noticing this small detail makes me go on high alert. Maybe she’s a clean freak addict, or maybe she’s not as much of an addict as her profile painted her out to be. Either way, I’m not overlooking it.

I slowly take a peek into the living room, and that’s when I notice Helena passed out on the couch. The television must be on mute, because there’s no sound, but the light from the TV dances across her pale body, curled up in the fetal position. She breathes in and out roughly with her mouth open. This is good. This is exactly how I want her. Asleep, doped up, and totally easy to take out.

My plan suddenly shatters to a million tiny pieces when I hear the door open. The sound is so faint that at first I think my eardrums are mistaking me. But when I divert my gaze away from Helena and back toward the front door, I immediately spot a figure closing the door behind them.

I instantly stop breathing. I want to take action—want to attack whoever has made an entrance and get them out of my way—but that would be sloppy. No. I can’t do that. I have to wait and watch. I can hear my pulse in my ears as I stare at the figure who is seemingly frozen in place, lingering against the door. I become more impatient and more on edge the longer the person just fuckingstands there.

Finally, the shadow moves. Cautiously. Without a sound. Just… like I had done minutes before. They slowly walk closer to the living room, then pause right before crossing the threshold. It’s then that the small amount of light in the living room shows me what the figure is holding.

A dagger.And something else—something much smaller that I can’t make out. Only then do I realize I’m not the only one trying to kill Helena tonight.

So I do what I’ve been trained to do.

I fucking lunge.

CHAPTER 8

Ren

What theFUCK? What in theactualfuck?

ThesecondI muster up enough courage to get this assignment over and fuckingdone with, a hand clamps down on the front of my neck, hard enough to crush my Adam’s apple and make me bite my tongue. My eyes bulge out as I reach out in front of me, trying to grasp at the wall. But my eyesight hasn’t adjusted to the dim light yet, so instead, I flail about like a goddamn fish out of water. In seconds, another very strong hand puts an end to my embarrassment, trapping my arms up by my chest with a single forearm.

Again.What the fuck? What is happening?

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and in my throat as adrenaline and fear consume me. When I’m completely trapped, my body falls back as I’m dragged backward and off into the kitchen.

I don’t know if I should be more ashamed that someone snuck up behind me so easily or that I was pinned down in seconds without a fight. I guess all of Catherine’s training was practically useless, after all. To put it simply, I’m mortified. And pretty fucking pissed off, too. This isnothow tonight was going to go, and now I’m going to have to report all of this to Cathe?—

Once again, I’m jostled around. This time, my assailant flips me around in one fluid motion that I’m weirdly envious of, then shoves me against the wall. In a quiet manner, of course, because Helena’s still asleep in the other room.At least I hope she is.

The person holding me captive is quick to replace the hand that was holding my neck back against my throat as soon as I’m plastered to the wall. He doesn’t bother holding my arms down, at least. Small miracles, I guess.

I can barely breathe with this guy restricting my airway, and I honestly don’t know what I’d say or do if I was free, anyway. If he wasn’t paralyzing me in place, my anxiety surely would. The lack of oxygen forces a little bile up my throat, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. When I choke, he loosens his hold on me, but not by much.

The guy gets close enough to me that we’re nose to nose. I still can’t see him. Is he someone I know?Shit.Is it Helena’s boyfriend?

“Listen to me,” a deep, rugged voice whispers in the air between us. I can’t help but notice that he speaks slowly, enunciating his words carefully, more than likely because of his very apparent accent. “I will release you, but only if you promise not to freak out or blow our cover. Nod if you understand.”

His demanding voice makes goosebumps pop up all over my body. After I suppress the urge to shiver, I manage to nod.

“You better not be a liar,” he mutters under his breath.

I roll my eyes, unable to help myself.Who the hellisthis asshole?

Right when I’m starting to doubt that he’ll actually remove his heavy hand, he slowly lets me go. Immediately, my dominant hand comes up to where his hand was to rub soothing circles over the tender skin he left behind. I need to cough, but I can’t, so instead I swallow roughly and force a small breath.

“Who are you?” he asks.

I glare daggers at him. “Who amI?Who the fuck areyou?” I retort.

I hear him exhale roughly through his nose, then he reluctantly takes a small step away from me. That’s when I really see him for the first time. It’s still pretty dark, but with the small light from the oven nearby, I can see him well enough to stop breathing.Again.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to drop my jaw or gasp, because—is this dudereal?He looks like he should be on the cover of GQ, not creeping around in some woman’s apartment on the bad side of town.

He’s dressed in all black, like me, but he definitely wears it better. Even in the semi-darkness, his extremely toned body tenses and bulges in all the right places. But his body has nothing on his face.Holy fucking hell.I know I should be pissed right now, and I don’t even know who this person is, but the chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, wavy black hair, and the hint of a smirk that’s threatening to pull his full lips up into a smile make my knees go weak.

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