The Stalker
One fucking week and we still have no clue who fucked with my angel.
Zane spent six hours tracing back the footage and replaying it until we could find a lead, and all we came up with was that the bastard avoided a lot of main street cameras to get to her apartment.
The fucker had thought this out; this wasn’t an impulsive attack.
All we came up with was a medium build, black jeans, a black hoodie, and a black and red mask that looked like it came from a children's toy shop. At least we have a profile. It's not… nothing. Knowing that will make me suspicious of every fucker that has a build like him.
I’ve been on extra stalker duty ever since, not straying an eye for more than a minute from my girl, ensuring I don’t miss anything.
She stayed home all week. I watched her cry.
I watched her kick herself for not doing more.
I watched her eat her weight in ice cream.
And I watched her laugh while she spoke to herself in the mirror, saying words of affirmations and talking to herself.
Don’t worry, baby. I’ll find the fucker. Even if I have to set this whole world on fucking fire. I’ll do it for you.
My ego inflated seeing the smile she had on her face after receiving bouquet after bouquet after bouquet.
There is no such thing as too many, right?
I’d buy her every fucking flower on this planet if I could.
Then after I would chase her down and fuck her till she forgot why we were there in the first place. That would be the perfect situation.
Once we get over this hump, I’ll see to it happening. My girl is strong, resilient, and smart. I believe she can overcome this, whether she wants to do it on her own, or if she needs me to lie in her bed beside her.
Did I also install a tracker in her car?
Yes. I knew she would be back at work as soon as she felt she could.
I also made sure that I was seeing her today as a client.
Deep within me, like another version of myself, feels right when I’m with her.
All these fucking feelings are colliding inside me and I’m unsure how to deal with them.
Between Zane crying like a fucking baby for breaks, and me going completely unhinged, we spent the rest of the week hunting down every store that sold the type of mask that scumbag was wearing.
We narrowed it down to three locations. One in town at a local mom-and-pop toy shop, which won’t be difficult to look into.
Another in the next city over, about a thirty-minute drive from my Little Flower.
The last is way the fuck out on the outskirts of town.
We tracked every camera in the surrounding areas, looking for the same attire, assuming he bought it the same day.
If not we would search for someone with the same build.
My god, playing detective is fucking hard.
Who would’ve thought? Zane makes it all look so damn easy.
Too bad listening to him bitching and moaning all week was anything but.
Let me see my girl this and let me see my girl that.
He acts like if he doesn’t get his dick wet for one fucking second, the world is going to end.
I forgot about the Zane before this version of him; it’s like he’s a whole new person.
Am I turning into another person, too? Who fucking knows and who fucking cares?
All I care about is seeing this bastard pay while I fuck around with my Little Flower some more. Which reminds me, I have to get going.
I shut the TV off that has multiple cameras of my girl's whereabouts on the screen.
Giving my hair one last comb back, I grab my helmet off the bench by my front door and leave.
I went with my bike this time. My ZX-10RR is a fucking beauty.
Other than Dahlia, this girl has my heart.
She's never strayed me away. I have her decked out in custom black chrome all the way around.
Baby can go sixty-three miles in ten seconds.
Back when I used to race, finishing first was a piece of cake.
I had her decked out with custom attachments and exhaust back then.
Now those aren't needed, with me hosting and all. This perfect body of mine isn’t what it used to be.
I mean, it’s perfect still but aging fucking sucks.
You gotta worry about fragile bones now.
The fuck? I’ve had to incorporate omegas and vitamin C, D, and a bunch of other shit into my daily routine.
Never thought I’d be here, but here I am.
I zoom through the city traffic, not wanting to be late.
A few lights and irritated middle fingers later, I arrive at Parker Raines Therapy Center.
I get off my bike and pick at my crotch, pulling down the tightness of the jeans that rises a little too high when I ride, and sigh in relief.
I unbuckle and remove my helmet, holding it under my arm for security.
Checking myself one last time in my small rearview mirror, I comb back any wispy strands of hair that may have fallen out of place before heading into the building.
I open the clear doors and notice the girl behind the desk already looking in my direction.
I can’t tell if she is trying to be good at her job by staring at the door all day or if my presence intimidates her.
Once I enter, she lets me know she will mark that I arrived.
It’s kind of nice not needing to speak to anyone besides my girl. I could get used to it.
I pull my phone out and click on the cameras I have placed in here.
Nothing like a little stalking to pass the time.
I sneakily placed the camera on her office doorframe, when I was here last. My Little Flower is still in session with a client.
God, she is fucking beautiful. She could wear a trash bag and I’d still get rock hard.
I flip through the other two surveillances, curiosity piquing my interest.
There is an older, ungroomed, disheveled man eating a poor excuse of a lunch in the break room.
My face turns in disdain at the sight, instantly put off by the unprofessionalism of his look.
I flip through to the next video and, oh look, it's my jeans. I’m already bored, and I have a whopping two more minutes until I see the most beautiful woman that's ever been on this earth.
I twiddle my thumbs and my leg gets restless. I’ve never been fond of waiting. I'm quite an impatient person, actually. Punctuality has always been my thing. Why waste time sitting around when there are more important things to do? Like stalking my girl.
I check my wrist for the time and notice she hasn't come out yet. We are now running five over, and I’m already uncomfortable being alone in a room with an awkward girl who keeps peeking over her computer with “here comes Johnny” eyes.
Not being able to wait any longer, I stand and head toward the restroom.
I might as well use it since I obviously have the time.
I make it nearly halfway before I’m greeted with a face that I already want to cave in.
He is passing me in the other direction, and I can’t help but give his shoulder a little nudge.
“Is there a problem?” he says, whirling around and sizing me up. This guy would be better off running a circus; he behaves more like a clown than anything else. The corner of my mouth perks up in amusement. I have about five inches on him, forcing him to look upward.
“I don’t know. Do you have a problem with women saying no?” I ask, sarcastically knowing damn well there is truth behind it. His brows furrow in confusion, and I want to wipe that look straight off. But I refrain.
“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” Oh, he's angry now, and it only amuses me more.
“I think—” I’m cut off unexpectedly.
“Axel?” I turn, seeing a magnificent woman with white-blonde hair peering at the two of us in concern.
If she hadn’t interrupted, I think people would wonder why the walls were all the sudden painted red.
I peer down at her and give her a playful smile.
The apples of her cheeks turn pink, and I can't help but feel pleased inside.
“I’m ready for your session, if you are,” she says politely, unaware of the confrontation taking place in front of her. I gesture to the door and bow, letting her know I’m ready. I turn around and give Parker a wink before following her inside.