3. Delancy
Delancy
I ’ve been stalking Noah for weeks now.
This morning, I overheard her telling that asshole, Adam, that she was meeting her bestie in SoHo for brunch. I know there’s only one spot in SoHo where the women like to meet. Boqueria is their favorite restaurant, so I told a past hookup to meet me here.
I wanted to make Noah jealous, but I don’t think it worked.
I need her to desire me, obsess over me, so I can fuck her and get her out of my system.
Instead, I’m the one desiring her, obsessing over her. She’s beginning to get in the way of my plans.
She’s distracting me.
It’s been ten minutes since Noah and her friend left and the redhead across the table—Vickie—is talking about God knows what.
I take out my phone and text my brother who heads the Queensboro Mob.
Me
Got a job for me?
I started my killing career taking hits for the QBM. When that wasn’t enough, I expanded and became the Marionette.
I check the kill order message board, but nothing piques my interest: either because the jobs don’t pay enough or it’s too complicated of a hit.
Typically, I wait a few days before accepting my next assignment. Taking jobs back-to-back opens the door for errors. I like to plan and scope out the target before making my move.
But I’m desperate to murder someone. I need to relieve this tension that builds every time I see her .
I could just give in and end her life.
The thought makes my heart ache and my stomach twist with panic.
I tuck my phone away because I know Elias won’t respond anytime soon. He’s horrible at communication, especially texting.
So, that means my urge for violence will just need to be satisfied some other way.
Maybe I’ll find an underground fighting match and beat the shit out of some cocky amateur.
Or maybe I’ll go snoop around Noah’s place.
Yeah. That idea excites me more than spilling blood.
I stand and take my wallet out of my suit jacket’s pocket and extract a hundred-dollar bill to toss on the table. That’ll cover our meal and fifty percent of the tip.
“I have to go,” I say and storm out of the restaurant.
Outside, I flag down a cab. Before I get inside, Vickie places her hand on my arm.
“You need me to help with whatever’s bothering you?”
No. I can’t.
She’s not her.
But maybe Vickie can help me forget, even if it’s for a few minutes.
I step back for her to get in and she tells the driver her address. The moment the cabbie takes off, her hands reach for my pants. She gives me a sly smile as she undoes my belt and glances to the front, but the man is on the phone, not paying attention.
She pulls out my cock and licks her lips, breathing heavily. Her nipples harden in her skintight top. Vickie is an exhibitionist. The two other times we’ve met to fuck have always been in public. She loves being watched… the thrill of potentially being caught.
Her lips close over the head, and I sigh when her tongue laps up the pre-cum. She fists me up and down a few times, then stops and frowns.
“You’re not into this, baby?”
I glance down at my semi-hard dick. Apparently, it only wants to be buried in one mouth. One pussy.
And that would be Noah’s.
“Keep going,” I say and close my eyes, thinking about how fantastic Noah looked today in her pink crop top sweater, black skirt, and black stockings.
“That’s better,” Vickie says.
I shove her head down on my cock, making her gag as the tip hits the back of her throat.
The driver’s eyes dart to the rear-view mirror and widen. I place my index finger over my mouth and smile. He shakes his head but does nothing to stop us.
The only way I can get off with Vickie’s mouth on my dick is thinking about Noah. Her plump lips. Her soft stomach that she loves to show off. Her thick thighs that need to be around my head.
Does Noah think about me when she’s fucking her one-night stands?
I want nothing more than to punish my rainbow bright. Spank her for making me feel this way. She isn’t part of my plan.
My balls tighten, preparing for release.
“Swallow,” I grunt, holding Vickie’s head in place as I pour cum down her throat.
“Better?” Vickie asks after removing herself from my cock and wiping spit and cum off her chin.
I nod, zipping up my pants and latching my belt in place.
Before she can question me further, because I know she didn’t believe the lie, the cab pulls up to her apartment building. Vickie gets out, leaving the door open for me. When I don’t follow, she leans down to look inside the car.
“You’re not coming?”
I hold up my phone as if I just got a text or call. “Something came up. Rain check?”
She frowns then smiles faintly. I should feel bad for using her to get off, but to be fair, she offered. I never promised I’d reciprocate.
Maybe that makes me an asshole.
“I’ll hold you to that rain check, baby.”
She shuts the door, and I roll my eyes.
I hate it when she calls me baby.
I instruct the driver to take me back to Astoria and hand him two hundred dollars for the trouble.
Noah doesn’t appear to be home so after I set my keys on the table, I walk through the living room to the set of windows along the far back wall to access the fire escape. I make my way across the metal landing to Noah’s living room window and peer inside, listening.
Yep. Not home.
I put on my gloves that I keep in my pocket in case of emergency—not that breaking into Noah’s apartment is an emergency—and test the window, which is locked.
That’s fine. I’ll get it open. This is an older building and the locks on the windows are shit.
They’re loose and rusted and with a little jiggling, the latch shimmies open, and I slip inside.
She should really get these locks reinforced.
It smells like sex in here. My jealousy rears its ugly head, and I have no right to be jealous, especially after the stunt I just pulled at the restaurant and in the cab ride after.
I walk to Noah’s bookcase, which has one shelf full of photos.
She’s traveled a lot. Places I've never been to like Brazil, Costa Rica, and South Africa. I pick out my favorite picture of her and take it out of the frame, then tuck it in my pocket. I return the frame to the shelf with the stock photo still inside, thankful that Noah didn’t toss it out.
It’ll take her longer to realize her photo is missing.
I don’t usually break in during the daytime, only at night when she’s asleep, but I’ve been needing to go through her belongings to see if I can find anything out of the ordinary. I ran a background check on her, but it was too perfect. Too... boring.
Noah is far from boring.
The moment I saw her moving in, I wanted her.
I learned her work schedule. Who she’s friends with.
She just moved back to New York City, but from where?
Despite stalking her, there’s a lot I still don’t know.
I’m not able to follow her around twenty-four seven.
Sometimes she disappears for days before returning home.
Something tells me she’s not who she says she is. She has secrets, and I’m determined to find them out. Even if that means straying from my plans for revenge.
It’s infuriating because I don’t have time to stray.
Noah’s spacious studio apartment is chaotic.
Her bed is unmade, and the condom wrapper Adam used is strewn on the floor with a bunch of dirty clothes.
She has stacks of books on the floor along the wall, in addition to the ones stuffed in her bookcase.
Curious about what she likes to read, I select a romance with a bare-chested man on the cover.
I make myself at home and stretch out on her red couch to flip through the pages.
Whoa.
Noah, you naughty little vixen. This book is porn on pages.
I didn’t know that was a thing.
Okay, I’m keeping this too.
I stand, tucking the book in the back of my pants before moving on to her bedside table. The top drawer is full of sex toys: vibrators, dildos, nipple clamps, butt plugs, lube, condoms... a strap on?
Fuck.
My cock jumps at the thought of Noah using it on me.
I’m tempted to take everything. If she can’t get off without her toys, maybe she’ll knock on my door and beg me for help.
I behave myself and choose only one, pocketing her bullet vibrator.
The kitchen is at least clean. Inside the cabinets, I find a box of Pop Tarts and take out a packet, leaving the last one for her. I finish perusing her place while eating the sweet treat. It’s been years since I’ve had one. My mother used to buy them for me and my brother all the time.
Her bathroom is also clean, but full of products. All kinds of shampoos and conditioners, body washes, lotions, perfumes, and other things that I have no idea what they’re used for.
God, it smells wonderful in here.
After leaving the bathroom, I continue along the back wall and crouch down next to a laundry basket in a corner full of small photo albums. I grab the top one and flip through it.
There are more photos of her traveling. I’ve yet to see one of her traveling with someone. A solo traveler, I’m assuming?
I'd love to travel the world with her.
I shake the thought from my head and keep flipping the pages.
At the back are pictures of Noah when she was younger.
I’d say around ten or eleven. There are photos of her at ballet, playing the piano, the violin, the flute.
Photos of her holding a bunny, a kitten, a puppy, riding a camel in the deserts of Egypt.
There are several of her as a child posing with a woman who is clearly her mother. She has dark brown hair, the same brown eyes, and a cheeky chipmunk smile that Noah has shown me out of spite too many times to count.
I take one of the photos of this woman out of the plastic sleeve and flip it around.
No name on the back.
I don’t find any pictures of Noah beyond this young age with the woman. Is she dead? I wonder what happened to her.
My gut is sounding the alarm, so I steal a few of these photos too.
The closer I get to Noah, the more mysterious she becomes.
I’ve tried to keep my distance since she moved in (stalking from afar counts, right?), but now I’m intrigued. I have a job to do. I can’t get distracted, but I’ve already decided to make an exception for this one.