It’s Not Stalking
IT’S NOT STALKING
Itook four different routes, each one more complex than the last, just to stay hidden, just in case the driver knew I’d been following him.
My heart pounded and my breath hitched as I finally pulled into Redmont’s legendary club—a place soaked in every kind of thrill and danger.
The weight of tension tightened around my chest as I parked near a row of motorcycles, as I silently prayed this wasn’t one of The Nightshade’s crew.
Honestly, it should have been too far south for their routes, but you never really know with these monsters.
I shut off the engine and slowly circled the bikes, cursing under my breath when I saw the gleaming number across one fender—a cruel, mocking insignia.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, my voice almost a whisper of fury and fear.
I hurriedly pushed my bike away from that cursed piece of metal and shoved it between a pair of frat boys—arrogant douchebags who looked like they lived for this stupidity.
My steps toward the bar felt heavy, every sense sharpened to a fever pitch.
When the security guard tried to block my way, I couldn’t hold back a laugh—sharp, defiant.
“You really wanna say no to a Callahan?” I challenged, eyeing him fiercely.
I even flashed him my license—just to remind him I was barely old enough to be here, that I wasn’t to be underestimated.
“Sorry, Ms. Callahan, I didn’t know—” he stammered.
“No worries,” I interrupted sharply, “but remember my face. We won’t have a problem later.” I pushed the door open, the club’s pulse thumping urgently behind it.
Inside, the club roared to life, and a wave of chaos hit me—the packed bodies, the pulsing lights, the sound that vibrated in my bones.
I stood frozen for a heartbeat, my eyes darting across the sea of faces, hunting for that perfect shade of blonde.
I found her—the one at the bar, laughing as she ordered shots with a fiery redhead.
Every fiber of my being screamed to yank her away from the red and claim her as mine—tangled in my desire, my obsession.
But I held back, watching instead, every muscle tense. My gaze locked on a man approaching her—a dark, sinister shadow moving through the crowd. My stomach clenched painfully. Lee.
What the hell is Lee doing here?
He turned his head then, and my curse was a silent, bitter cry. I dropped low, slipping toward the stairs that led to the upper landing, body pressed tight against the chaos. A cold gloved hand shot out, grabbing mine, yanking me into the shadows. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave.
“Shhh, I’m not going to hurt you,” a whisper, low and urgent, in my ear—Mike.
I spun around, my eyes locking onto his black suit, the familiar silhouette that chilled me to the bone.
“What is this supposed to be—some kind of meeting?” I asked sarcastically. Of course it was a meeting. Night clubs were the business. Well smuggling but that was best through the clubs.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice so quiet I could barely hear over the pounding music.
“Fuck you,” I snapped, furious. “I came to—” I didn’t finish. The words caught in my throat.
“I know why you’re here,” he interrupted, nodding toward the crowd—toward her.
Anna. To Lee, who was now charming her, trying to win her with a smile.
Watching them made my chest tighten so fiercely I thought I might break.
Every fiber screamed for me to interfere, to pull her away.
A primal jealous rage wrapped around my hand, pulling me forward, urging me to intervene.
Then Lee moved away—a fleeting, almost taunting retreat—and I dove back into the crowd, my heart hammering madly against my ribs.
I caught Mike’s steady gaze—a silent warning, a dangerous flicker of something unspoken—before he embraced Lee, their figures disappearing up the stairs toward the back rooms. The door clicked shut behind them, the blinds falling into place, sealing whatever shadows they were conjuring.
My focus snapped back to Anna. She was lost in her own world now—dancing with the redhead, bodies pressed together in perfect harmony, unthinking, consumed.
Their movements were instinctive, and I could feel jealousy clawing at my chest, wrapping around my throat like a noose.
My hands aching to reach out, to claim what was slipping through my fingers—yet part of me hesitated.
Maybe it was better she saw me here. Maybe it was time she knew I wouldn’t walk away. With a shuddering breath, I moved closer—closer to her, closer to everything I couldn’t admit I needed.
I hurriedly made the decision to head to the bar.
Anna's laughter rang out again amidst the sea of faces, a beautiful, infectious sound that pulled me in effortlessly. I never reached the bar; my feet betrayed me, guiding me straight to her, driven by an undeniable need to be closer, to be near her radiant spirit.