Page 26 of Painted Scars
Now it’s looking like my biker stalker may be behind this since he’s the only person who’s taken an avid interest in my life for whatever reason. Romantic gestures come in all shapes and sizes. Roses. Chocolate. Threatening my neighbor. Equine revenge dumps. Sigh. If this is courtesy of my mysterious biker stalker, then he’s definitely book boyfriend material. A menace with a moral code. And damn it, I know it’s too soon, but how can I not love him?
CHAPTER 8 - AUGUST
She’s onto me. I know it. She tried to shake me with several turns that led away from her home. After she noticed me tailing her, I pulled back and gave her a generous head start, parking two blocks away as protocol.
Kate’s in her room when I arrive at her place. Fairy light illumination spilling from her room is soft and warm, something that doesn’t belong in my life. She’s hunched over her desk, typing away on her keyboard, possibly writing one of her articles.
Crouched low and sitting by her window, I pull up my phone, which I’ve switched to dark mode, so the illumination doesn’t alert her to my presence. Thanks to Murder Spice removing every single spying device, I’m blind and need to get up close and personal.
I don’t even want to think of the extra complication of a possibly undercover friend. Katar will have answers for me on that front soon.
I type a message to Grayson on our encrypted three-way chat system.
Me:Find out what she’s working on.
Grayson:Roger that.
Katar:Is she using her new toy?
Goddamn Katar references the vibrator I broke.
Grayson needs to learn to shut his trap.
Katar:If she is,I’ll abandon my current task and pay a visit.
Dirty fucker.
Me:Watch her pleasure herself and you’ll be eating your teeth.
Katar:I need extra protein in my diet.
I put the phone away to prevent any more distractions.
Kate rubs her eyes and stretches. Long day seated at the computer. My fingers twitch to sink into her shoulders and ease that tension in her neck.
She gets up and tiptoes away from her desk. I duck and wait a solid thirty seconds, then surface, expecting to find her tucked into bed. Kate’s curled on her sofa, a creative project on her lap, sewing the velvet onto a lamp base in between cream panels. It makes sense that she creates light and hope from scraps of material. I blow melted glass from fire that’s fragile enough to break.
Wide awake at 12AM, avoiding sleep because she knows what’s waiting: the nightmares and darkness that haunt her.
I fight them every night too.
Part of me whispers,Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep watch and kill the monsters in your nightmares.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t smother the cop in me, the part that wants to protect the vulnerable, even if they compromise me and look at me the way she did nights ago.
Nope. Shutting down that line of thought. Can’t care. That got me burned once. Get back to the mission. Investigate. Infiltrate. Extract. Nothing more.
Distraction time. Scroll Kate’s socials while she sews, searching for any signs of a boyfriend or fuck buddy. No relationship status. Photos of colleagues, celebrations, awards, friend dates, and vacations. Discovering this should ease the pressure in my chest, except it doesn’t.
Muffled voices drift through her window, low, breathy, and dramatic. What the fuck? I tense and zero in, checking for intruders… or guests.
“Tell me you’re mine, little lamb,” the male voice growls, straight out of a dungeon fantasy. “Even if I have to bleed for it.”
“I’m not yours, King,” a woman counters defiantly.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Not a threat, physically speaking. To my ears and soul, that’s another story. Surveillance with a side of depraved audiobook boyfriends whispering homicidal nothings in our ears. If I wanted that, I’d ask Katar to talk dirty to me. My eyes widen when I hear a moan, chains clanking, the wordssacrificial altar.
