Page 3 of Marked By my Stalker
I smirk. “Wow, I think you have the beginning of a pop song.”
“I’ll finish writing it right after I wake up.” She cuddles herself deeper into the blanket.
I linger at the window a second longer, watching the condensation trace lazy veins across the glass. He’s there again. Same spot, same lean, same unreadable face beneath thatovergrown beard. The tattoos on his forearms glint faintly under the buzzing streetlight, like they’re whispering something I’m not close enough to hear.
Maybe Penny is right. Maybe I should have fun with this.
Chapter Two
Jack
The Navy Seals are unlike any other branch of the military. We’re taught to vanish, to observe without leaving a trace. We’re taught that the mission comes above all else.
Right now, the mission is reconnaissance. I gather intel, and I share it with her mother. I study her smile like a map, track her schedule like it’s protocol, and I remain a shadow in the corner of her days, keeping her safe from any and all forms of danger.
So far, it hasn’t been that big a deal. She’s a well-behaved girl. Goes to classes on time, studies hard, and has a few close friends who also seem to have the same moral standards. Well, everyone except the boyfriend.
I stick to the edges of the interior of the house, beer in hand, hoodie zipped halfway, ball cap low. I nod when they nod, laugh when they laugh, blend as best I can. The kid offering me shots thinks I’m someone’s dad, and another thinks I’m campus security gone rogue. Either way, I play along.
I don’t usually take jobs like this. Watching college kids from the shadows seems beneath my skill set, but this isn’t about pride, it’s about returning a favor. A favor I owe her father.
God rest his soul.
Someone cranks the music to ungodly high levels, and bass rattles the floorboards. I guess I’m getting old because I don’t understand why music has to be quite this loud.
The girl in question leans against the back wall of the kitchen. She’s approximately five feet six inches with long blonde hair and hazel eyes. Her build is thick with curves that spill from her clothes.
Someone should tell her to cover up. It sends all the wrong signals to all the wrong types of people.
I’ve seen them looking. Watching her, eyeing every bend and shift she makes in that tight, little, sweater dress.
The boy she came with is a lanky fellow with buzzed hair and a scruffy beard. His build is lean, and his mouth is constantly running. People talk too damn much. It’s weak, and I’ll never understand it.
The kid rattles on to some young thing, laughing and making too much eye contact for a man who’s here with another woman. I log it all. His weakness. His tightening posture. The tension hiding in the bend of his elbow as though he’s interested in more than a conversation with the brunette by the door.
That said, I’m not here to act. I’m only here to observe, note, and report. Nothing else.
I take a sip of the beer I’m holding, though I don’t swallow much. It’s more for show than anything. I’d guess there are at least a hundred kids in attendance, though I saw some sneak upstairs, and a few others went out into the backyard with a joint.
Kera hugs the girl she’s been talking to and rounds the corner of the kitchen toward the boy she came with. The boy who’s now leaned so close to the brunette that they look like they’re about to kiss.
What the fuck?
For months I’ve watched Kera study hard, volunteer at the animal shelter, and smile at strangers that didn’t deserve her courtesy. She’s cautious and smart, not the kind of girl who falls for flashy distractions or sweet talk from skinny punks with no sense of loyalty. So, I can’t figure what she sees in this asshole.
I shift my weight against the counter. If I step in, I’m not some anonymous guy her mother hired anymore. I’m in the game. I’m an active participant in her life. If I stay put, I watch her get played. Neither option is optimal, but I have to stay strong. The objective is clear.
I’m here to watch her and keep her from danger.
The asshole brushes the tip of his finger ever so slightly against the new girl’s shoulder. It’s a subtle move, barely there, one most wouldn’t pick up on, but I notice it immediately.
My fists itch to put him in place, but I remind myself again that I’d be overstepping.
Kera doesn’t seem to notice his subtle behavior, or she does, and she’s so used to it she doesn’t think twice. I’ll never understand assholes like this one.
I try to relax, but as I watch her speak, I can’t help but notice how she folds herself small so he can seem bigger. I’ve seen it before, in wives who stay quiet at fundraisers, in soldiers who lower their standards for companionship. I know what it leads to, and a sweet girl like Kera deserves better.
I scrub my hand over my beard and try and remember the mission, but if I was meant to stay blind, her mother would’ve sent a camera, not a man with a conscience. Besides that, her father would’ve wanted someone to step in. He would’ve wanted his little girl cared for, looked after. He would’ve wanted some player bitch asshole punched square in the fucking jaw for doing anything that evensoundedlike messing with his daughter.
