Page 61 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
You can't run from what's yours, little songbird. You'll always be my sun. I'll make the universe revolve around you again.
—B
The card slips from my fingers, fluttering to the floor like a dying bird.
Bryan.
Bryan who disappeared after the attack. Bryan who the police never identified beyond being an alpha. Bryan who Ithought—hoped—had moved on, found some other victim to obsess over.
But he's been watching.
All this time, he's been watching.
Waiting.
The viral videos. The band switch. Vespyr trending on every social media platform because Rex Steele personally recruited their new singer. The headlines speculating about Bells's meteoric rise.
I've been so fucking visible.
"Bells?" Phoenix's voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "You okay?"
Am I okay? Am I fuckingokay?
I've spent years in therapy learning to manage my paranoia. Years of exercises to rewire my brain to free me from seeing my stalker around every corner, behind every door, in every shadow. I'd finally gotten to a place where I could walk down a street without checking over my shoulder every five seconds. Without suspecting literally every alpha around me. Fuck, it's why I hired a beta I can't stand to be my manager when there were a hundred alphas even more qualified vying for the job.
And now my stalker is back.
Or maybe he never left.
My therapist's voice echoes in my head, calm and measured.Setbacks are normal. Progress isn't linear. You have tools now. Use them.
But the tools feel useless when I'm staring at roses that smell like my worst nightmare.
"I'm fine," I hear myself say, and it sounds hollow even to my own ears. "It's just from family."
Rafael's staring at the roses, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought you said the other day no one knows you're here?—"
I shove the roses into the kitchen trash can before I start screaming, the petals and thorny stems crushing against takeout boxes and coffee grounds. I slam the lid down harder than necessary, the metallic clang echoing through the apartment.
"Bells," Phoenix starts, but I'm already moving.
"I'm tired," I mutter, heading back toward Rex's room. "Think I'm gonna crash."
I don't wait for a response. Don't let them see the way my hands are shaking or the tears threatening to spill over. I just get behind Rex's door and lock it, sliding down to sit with my back pressed against the wood.
Rex's room doesn't feel like the fortress it was an hour ago. This is supposed to be safe. This is supposed to be the most secure room in the penthouse, even.
But all I can think about is Bryan. About how locks and security didn't stop him then, and they won't stop him now if he's decided it's time to finish what he started.
My hand goes to my collar automatically, fingers tracing the leather that hides the crescent-shaped scar. The incomplete mark that fucks with my body every time my hormones fluctuate. The permanent reminder that someone tried to claim me, to own me.
And I couldn't stop him.
Chapter
Eighteen
REX
