Page 3 of Savage Stalkers
Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her shoulders, and the way she shakes her head while he leans forward, talking with his hands. Whatever he is saying, sheis having none of it. Good girl. She stands to leave, but the asshole’s hand shoots out and wraps around her wrist, using his strength to yank her back down. Skye’s face twists in pain, and something dark and violent explodes in my chest.
My fingers grip the handlebars so tight my knuckles go white. Nobody, and I mean nobody, puts their hands on her. Watching this entitled prick manhandle my Skye makes my vision blur.
She yanks her arm free from that bastard’s grip, and her face is flushed with anger. Then she storms toward the door, not looking back.
I swing my leg off the bike and cross the street, slipping into the narrow alley that runs alongside the coffee shop. From here, I have a perfect view through the side windows while staying hidden in the shadows between the dumpster and brick wall. The preppy douche is still seated, running his hands through his hair, and my jaw clenches as I watch him check his phone while she gets into her car and pulls out. I press my back against the cool brick, pissed off that I can’t follow her home. Rage boils over as I watch him exit the shop. I smile to myself as he turns this way, and as he steps near the alley, I grab his wrist and drag him into the dark.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps.
I don’t answer. Instead my right fist finds his face, and he howls in pain, clutching his nose.
“If you want money, I have it.”
I move closer, gripping his wrist again. His other hand shoots up, but I twist sharply, and the sound of bone snapping under my palm rings out. His scream ricochets off the alley walls, and the sick part of me basks in the sound.
He staggers, cradling the broken bones to his chest. I shove him so his back slams into the brick wall, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze.
I lean in, my visor inches from his face, then I jerk forward as if I’m about to headbutt him, though I stop just shy. Flicking my visor up, I glare into his eyes. “Touch what doesn’t belong to you again, and I’ll do more than break your fucking hand.”
As I lower my visor, I leave him crying to himself and step out of the alley. Racing across to my bike, I pull out my phone and see that Skye is heading straight back to her apartment. I want to follow her—to make sure she is okay—but Zay pops into my head. He wants me at his fight tonight, which means there is a reason, and I can’t let him down. I set an alert on my phone so I know when Skye arrives home and when she leaves. This is as well as the motion sensor, which automatically activates after eleven when she and her roommates go to bed.
One day she will be mine, but the timing must be right. If I rush it, I could ruin everything, and my obsession won’t allow that to happen.
Chapter Two
Skye
As my roommate Adrian and I stroll across the quad toward the psychology building, I shift my backpack higher on my shoulder. The cool morning air is tinged with the smell of coffee, which I need desperately to cope with Adrian’s rant about his statistics professor again. Today it’s about how the guy assigns pop quizzes like he’s trying to ruin everyone’s grades, but honestly I’m only half listening. I have a weird feeling creeping up my spine, like someone’s watching me. Glancing back over my shoulder for the third time in five minutes, I scan the faces of the people nearby, but nothing seems out of place.
“Earth to Skye,” Adrian jokes, waving his hand in front of my face.
I feel completely ridiculous, but I’m not scared; instead, I’m excited. My heart beats faster, and there’s this little buzz running through me I don’t understand and don’t want to analyze too deeply.
It’s stupid—really, really stupid. Normal people don’t get a high from feeling like they’re being watched. Normal people call campus security or even the police. But I have never beenaccused of being normal, especially not by the daughters of Mom’s country club friends, who think excitement is all about which sorority gets to attend the best parties.
Adrian asks about a party coming up on the weekend, but before I can reply, Macey—my other roommate—appears out of nowhere and hooks her arm through mine.
“Sorry, Adrian, I’m stealing her,” she announces, already pulling me away. “Girl emergency.”
“I’ll meet you in class,” I call back to him.
Adrian just shakes his head and waves us off; we’re both used to Macey’s dramatic personality. She told me she let him move in with her because he’s hot and she thought maybe she could have dick on tap, but after a failed one-night stand, now they are purely roommates.
Once we’re out of earshot, Macey leans in close. “Okay, so you know how I’ve been complaining about the lack of good sex?” she starts, then glances around to make sure no one’s listening. “Well, I found this website, and it’s called Wild Steps. It’s completely different from those trashy hookup apps everyone uses.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Different how?”
“You can live out any fantasy you want,” she says. “The security process is great, and the best part is that everything is anonymous.”
She pauses to check my reaction before continuing. “I met someone through it last week, and let’s just say I didn’t know you could pass out from orgasms.”
I chuckle. “I don’t even remember what an orgasm feels like. Everyone my mom sets me up with has a better skin care routine than I do.”
She snorts. Her family is well off but not in the caliber of mine, and she is very vocal against the idea of arranged marriages.
“Babe, your mom needs to chill. She’s out there like some high-end Tinder pimp, swiping right on every frat boy with a trust fund. One more setup and I’m staging an intervention.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I would pay to see?—”
