6. Maddison
Maddison
My eyes are unfocused as I walk through the office, leaving a meeting with my father. I didn’t hear a word.
My mind is stuck on last night. So is my body, with the way my hands and knees still ache from colliding with the ground. And the way... The way my body came alive last night. Shame should be forefront in my mind right now, especially for what I did once I arrived back at my apartment in a daze.
Instead of rushing to the shower and scrubbing my skin the way I assume a normal person would have, I fell onto my couch, hand wandering over my skin, tracing the places he touched. Actually, a normal person would have gone straight to the police station and reported the stranger.
But no, not me. I let my fingertips swirl over my sensitive clit before sinking into my sore core, trying to replicate the feeling he gave me. The feeling of my pulse going wild and my skin burning. The feeling of not being able to breathe until he decided I could.
The orgasm I chased ran faster, until my other hand skimmed over my torn blouse, fingers causing a shiver to run through me as I imagined they were rough, blood-covered hands.
A short-lived pleasure coursed through me when I squeezed my own throat, around the already tender muscles.
But it was nothing like before. Not even a fraction of the fire that ran through my veins like before.
So, no, I’m not full of shame. I’m frustrated. Angry. Pent up. And it’s all because I made the mistake of stepping foot into an unsavoury bar, ran by criminals. I need to put an end to it.
Not only is it dangerous to have this blue-eyed lunatic following me around and taking me at my workplace...
dangerous may be an understatement. But I work for a billion-dollar company, and I can only imagine what my father would say if he saw me next to the man with torn, leather clothing and black ink crawling up his face. I would be a disgrace.
Everything about me is tailored to look a certain way.
Act, walk, talk, be a certain way. My hair is dyed a natural-looking blonde, bright and champagne coloured and cut in a perfectly straight line just below my shoulders.
My teeth are whitened to sparkly pearls and lips injected with just enough filler to still look natural, but make men look at them and dream about sliding their dicks into.
Nails are sharpened to a point, painted with white French tips, and my wardrobe is worth more than most people’s houses.
Don’t get me wrong, I was never ugly. But in this world, people expect utter perfection. So, Father turned me into just that. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t help me out. Men move out of my way, even if it’s just so they can look at my behind. Doors open, people listen, opportunities land.
But the glossy veneer cuts both ways.
Because the same men who open doors also think they can own me.
They see the pristine exterior and decide I’m something pretty to be gained, like the Rolex on their wrist. They speak to me with that practiced politeness that barely hides their hunger.
They assume I’m fragile. Obedient and tame. A prize, not a person.
And women? They watch me with sharp eyes, clutching their husbands tighter when I enter an event. They should. Because their husbands’ dicks have most likely been in my mouth at one time or another. Not that I want it. The thought makes me feel so nauseous that I refuse to let it linger in my mind.
So that is why I can’t take chances with this incident.
I need to clean up this mess and chalk it down to a momentary lapse of judgement and forget all about it.
Even though it’s barely lunchtime and I have completed none of the endless work constantly piling up, I leave the Dally building.
Walking to the police station that is a few blocks away.
As I said, being a Dally has perks. One of them being, if we want a problem to disappear, it vanishes. I would feel bad for the mystery man who has been haunting me for a week, but he brought this on himself.
For a gang leader, he sure doesn’t do his research on who and who not to mess with.
I lift my chin as I enter the station, a sense of calmness settling the turmoil inside me. Knowing that someone will sweep up my mess in a few hours helps me forget the way he made me feel.
In no time at all, I’m taken into an office, the chief police officer taking notes as I let him know about my issue.
I leave out the part where I willingly walked into his establishment, and the part where I came over his fingers.
Just sticking to my story that I’m being stalked and that I need this problem fixed… yesterday.
“Okay, Miss Dally,” his tone steady as he types the statement into the system.
“I understand your concern, and I will do everything personally that I can to see that we fix your issue. But I’m going to need more to go on.
A tall male, heavily tattooed, well, that description applies to a significant portion of the individuals frequenting Havenport Harbour’s less... reputable districts.”
His eyes flick to mine, probing. Professional, but cautious, as if he’s deciding how far he’s allowed to push.
“Do you have a name, something you’ve heard in passing? Or vehicle? Anything more specific and I can really narrow down the search.”
My nails dig into my fingers as I try to think of anything... anything that could help identify the man in question. But the moment I reach for details, my mind can’t find a name or vehicle.
It gives me him.
The cold floor beneath my knees. The weight of his hand locked around my throat. Blue eyes gleaming at me like I’m prey pinned beneath a predator. And worse, how my body reacts to it.
A wave of heat and humiliation rolls through me, turning my stomach.
My throat tightens. The air becomes shallow and sharp.
The room feels small. Too small. Like the walls are inching closer with every breath I fail to take.
The sound of the keyboard buttons clicking echo in my head, the ticking of the clock on the wall bursting my ears.
“I...” My voice fractures. I swallow once, twice, but it doesn’t help. “Can I just... I need a moment.”
The officer straightens, his fingers pausing above the keyboard. His eyes flick to mine before he nods once. “Of course, Miss Dally. Take your time; I’ll come back in ten to see if you’ve thought of anything. There is no rush.”
But there is.
Every second this case remains unsolved is another second he could pounce again. With the way my mind is spiralling after only a couple of interactions, I doubt I’d survive another.
The second he leaves, I take my first full breath, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Shaky hands pull my phone out, and I pull up a message thread, a moment of desperation making my fingers work.
Maddison: What is your name?
All I can hear is my rapid breathing as I see he has read it and he begins typing immediately.
Unknown: Why is that, Angel?
I grit my teeth. What an insufferable, psychotic asshole. One message and my panic turns into irritation.
Maddison: So I can tell the police who the insane criminal who won’t leave me alone for no reason is.
I know I’m stupid. Although the police will sort this problem out for me, I shouldn’t be purposefully trying to anger a man like this. But he’s getting under my skin in a way I’ve never felt before.
Unknown: Oh, there’s a reason...
My brow furrows, hand clenching the phone. Another message follows.
Unknown: Ash Vargas. Let me know if they give you any trouble, Angel x.
I could almost laugh. What a self-assured, idiotic bastard. The deputy strolls back in, a fake smile plastered onto his face as he deals with something that is most likely beneath him, but he has to do it since I’m, well... me.
“So ... Name? Work? Anything?” He prods, hands clasping on the table as he leans forward.
I want to yell at him; tell him I’m not being some stuck-up rich girl with a vendetta. The man we are dealing with right now is a criminal. I’m certain I’m not the first person to have issues with him but I definitely will be the last.
“Ash Vargas,” I state assertively. Because even though I don’t know the man, I have a feeling he is that conceited that he didn’t lie to me.
This gets the deputy’s attention, his body shooting upright and his eyes locking onto mine.
“Did you just say Ash Vargas?” He asks, voice low.
I nod, chest still heaving. Finally. Finally, we are getting somewhere. “Yes. That’s the man who has been harassing me. He’s dangerous, I just know it.”
His brows draw together, not with concern, but... calculation. A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. And then, just like that, his body relaxes, his expression flattening back into dismissive indifference.
He lets out a long breath. “I think you’re confused, Maddison.”
My mouth parts as I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
What is actually happening right now?
But the deputy just stares back at me, not backing down.
“I just gave you his name?” My voice rises, my restraint snapping at the edges. Then, my eyes narrow, awareness seeping in. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard the name,” he says, eyes sliding away from mine. “But Mr. Vargas is a respected businessman. Owns several clubs. Real estate. I think you might be reading into a situation a little too strongly.
Stunned, I blink back at him, my head shaking slowly as disbelief oozes out of me. What kind of alternate universe did I stumble into? “I think we have the wrong person, because Ash Vargas is no respected businessman, he is a crim...”
“Look, Miss Dally,” the police officer interrupts me with a placating hand up.
He leans in close, his face hardening as he speaks.
My stomach swoops because I know nothing good is about to come out of his mouth.
“My advice? Avoid Ash Vargas at all costs. But...” His jaw shifts, a muscle ticking tight.
“Something tells me if you’ve caught his attention, so that’s going to be easier said than done. ”
My pulses stutters. “So that’s it?” I hiss. “You’re just refusing to help me?”
He gives a slow shake of his head with what looks like pity in his eyes. No, I won’t let Ash get away with this.
“My father would be deeply appreciative if you could make this issue go away, deputy,” I plead, lip trembling.
“There are people in this city,” he says, tone grim and final, “that surpass even the likes of Mr Dally.” He huffs a mirthless laugh, pushing on the desk to stand.
Wide and unfocused, I stare at the place he just left, a feeling of utter hopelessness settling deep within me. When he makes it to the door, he turns back to me. No words leave his lips.
They are unnecessary. The look on his face says enough. His hand rests on the frame, giving me one last glance before he disappears out the door. Taking the shred of hope I had with him.
Leaving that look of pity in his hard eyes seared into my brain. It takes me a few minutes to finally stand; the sound of the city hits me as soon as I step out of the door.
The city moves around me in fast-forward. Cars honk, people rush, and the wind gusts. But I feel frozen. My only options are to avoid him and pray he loses his sick interest in me.
A text sounding pulls me out of my head, and I pull my phone out.
Unknown: I hope they were polite to you, Angel. I’d hate to have to fire anyone.
My stomach turns as I glare down at the message, reading it and rereading it until it’s burnt into my mind. The police were never going to help me. Not when Ash Vargas owns them.
The pedestrian light flashes red, forcing me to stop at the edge of the road. Cars rush past in a blur of metal and noise, the wind tugging at my hair, whipping it across my face.
And then I feel it.
That prickle between my shoulder blades, like spiders running down my spine.
The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
My eyes lift... and widen.
Across the busy street, half shadowed beneath the soaring glass skyscrapers, a black Harley idles like a predator at rest. Leaning against it is a man I’ve definitely seen before. Leather vest stretched tight across his chest, dark arms covered in black swirls crossed.
He isn’t looking at a phone. Isn’t scanning the street. His dark eyes are on me. Watching me, unblinking. When I spot him, he doesn’t bother to look away, eyes locking together.
Not Ash Vargas, but one of his unnerving members. The one with the identical twin.
The light changes and people surge forward, but I don’t move. My heart pounds so hard I swear it’s visible beneath my blouse.
So, I’m being stalked now. Great, that’s just great.
Anger snaps through me, clean and hot, slicing straight through my fear. After the meeting I just had with the deputy, the sinister text I just received and now this. My jaw tightens as I curl my hands into fists.
I refuse to be hunted. After all I have survived, this man will not get the best of me.
Stepping off the curb, I weave through the crowd of bodies, eyes never leaving his dark ones. With every step, the fury builds, fed by humiliation, helplessness, and frustration.
I don’t stop until I’m standing right in front of him.
Up close, he’s even more terrifying. Tall and broad, his body is built of pure muscle. His presence presses in on me without him moving an inch. Dark, empty eyes meet mine with zero feeling.
No curiosity, no anger, no interest.
Just observation.
“What do you want?” I snap, voice shaky with my growl. “What does he want from me?”
The street noise continues around us, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink or shift. Just stares at me with those black, soulless eyes.
My anger falters, unease slithering in its place.
“Stop following me,” I demand, heat trembling beneath my words. “Whatever game you think this is, I’m not playing it.”
Still nothing. Not a word. Not a reaction. Only the low rumble of the Harley, vibrating through the air. His eyes are like bottomless pits of night, so dark I can’t differentiate his pupil from his iris.
He could be a statue if it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Overwhelmed by the intensity, I drop my eyes.
They fall to his ink-covered arms, so full of tattoos I can barely see any of his dark olive skin.
Something else catches my attention. Hundreds of small, raised circles covering his arms, hidden by the ink.
They look like tiny scars, littering his skin.
For the first time since I spotted him, he moves, uncrossing his arms and folding them behind his back, hiding them from my view.
My brow furrows as I look up at him again, but his eyes reveal nothing.
My eyes flick between his, trying to get my mind to remember what I came up to him to say, but it’s slipped away.
“Just...” I start with a defeated sigh. “Tell him to leave me alone.”
Turning, I walk away as fast as my feet will carry me, only looking back once I’m sure he won’t be able to see me. In my distracted state, my body collides hard with someone, my purse spilling out onto the street.
Today is not my day.