8. Alaric
ALARIC
It’s dark outside when I leave the hospital after my shift.
As I cross the road, a breeze brushes my face. My hands are stuffed in my hoodie pockets.
And my head works relentlessly.
I can’t stop thinking about Lilith and how I touched her earlier today.
My fingers still remember her clit fluttering and hardening beneath them. My ears ring from her little moans and the way she said my name.
Her face…her body…
She’s breathtaking, even more so when she’s flushed with need. When her eyes beg me to take her.
When she pushed her ass back, and I caught a sliver of her pink, swollen cunt, it was as if it were the first pussy I ever saw.
So fucking perfect.
My teeth grind as I remember how beautiful she was when she came.
The sight alone turned my orgasm into something violent, intense. It reached into the depths of my soul. That’s how powerful it was.
As each memory plays before my eyes like a goddamn movie, my cock thickens in my jeans. While I’m walking down the street.
The out-of-control hunger must be written all over my face, because a man walking toward me slows as we pass. His brow furrows, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long.
This is bad. Really fucking bad.
No matter what goes on inside my head, I can’t afford to be memorable.
Those who stand out end up being placed at crime scenes. Sure, cameras cover nearly every corner of the city. But they don’t point at you and say this one man who passed through here yesterday, he was…off. They just show a cluster of pixels, of dozens of faces that mean nothing.
That’s why inside the hospital, I’m just another doctor. Out on the street, I’m an average thirty-five-year-old in jeans and a plain hoodie, blending into the crowd.
Except this only works if my expression stays neutral.
Which, at the moment, it isn’t.
So I force my features to relax, unclenching my jaw as I roll my shoulders, easing the tension from them. Years of practice make it a simple enough task.
My head and heart, however, are just as chaotic as they were a minute ago.
It can only be explained by the Lilith-shaped hole she dug inside me today.
Such a deep goddamn hole too, that I couldn’t leave the hospital without telling her goodnight. The evening shift had taken over by the time I got to the cafeteria, and…
Fuck me, my teeth grind all over again.
Calm the fuck down.
I try, at least outwardly.
Then the questions come.
How old is she? What’s her last name?
Who hurt her?
I already know she was my patient. Her reaction in the supply closet confirmed that.
But when?
Years ago. When she was much younger. So young that I can’t remember her.
I mean to continue digging into who Lilith is, but a strange feeling pulls me out of my head.
When I turn onto the block lined end-to-end with coffee shops and bars, the hair on the back of my neck rises. Someone’s gaze burns between my shoulder blades as I pass storefront after storefront, each one advertising pumpkin spice drinks with Halloween decorations strung everywhere.
I’m being followed. It’s the same unseen presence I’ve felt shadowing me through the hospital for the past week.
I just know it.
There’s no shaking it off anymore. No attributing it to exhaustion.
I.
Feel.
It.
So…my missing boxers.
What if I haven’t been wrong about them? What if they were stolen?
Anger presses against my ribs, doubling in size by the second.
Refusing to be either stalked or intimidated, I stop in my tracks. Whip around.
A blonde woman and I almost crash into each other. At the last second, she mutters, “Ugh, watch your step,” then sidesteps me.
Neither she nor the others behind her lingers as they walk around me. None of them gives a fuck about anything except getting to where they’re headed.
Scowling, I glance into the nearest coffee shop. The people there are either waiting in line for their drinks or sitting at a table or on a stool, absorbed in their phones, laptops, or books.
No one sneaks a glance toward the door or looks over their shoulder to see if I’m still outside.
My lips press into a fine line as I’m back to studying the street.
More of the same. Strangers on top of strangers.
I blink when I notice the heavy weight of being watched is almost gone.
But as soon as I turn around and start heading home again, the heat at my back returns in full force as if it never left.
Shaking my head, I steer my thoughts to Lilith.
How, instead of going through with kidnapping Harold, I’m going to lock myself in my apartment tonight and jerk off with her in mind, again.
Naked, begging, whimpering.
That’s how I want her.
But that’s not all.
I need more than her body. I need her honesty too. I’m craving every truth about her, including who hurt her.
And just like that, in a complete one-eighty, my mood shifts, going from horny to protective.
I’ve already deduced from her nose, tooth, and sad eyes that she was abused.
By whom?
More importantly, did I take care of them?
If I haven’t, if that person is still alive, I’m going to destroy them. I’m going to spend weeks—no, months—running trials on them until there’ll be nothing left of them, not even their bones.
“You can’t throw me out!” someone shouts, cutting into my thoughts.
A man about my height stumbles backward out of the corner bar. His hands flail in an attempt to regain his balance.
Recognition slams into me like a freight train.
The gray hair stuck to his forehead. The narrowed green eyes.
The voice that has my hackles rising.
Harold.
Grabbing him from the street isn’t what I had in mind for him. Tomorrow, or the day after, I was supposed to break into his apartment, kidnap him, and vanish into the night.
Apparently, the universe has other plans for me.
As I devise a new plan, I press my back to the nearest building, spying on the bastard as he takes two wobbly steps toward the bar.
“I know my rights!” He shakes a finger at whoever’s in there. His charcoal suit is wrinkled as if he hasn’t washed it in weeks. “You’re… Law… Customer…” People side-eye the snarling man before quickly slipping past him. “Ahh, fuck it. My rights!”
“My bar, my rules.” A burly guy in black, with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, walks out onto the street. “You ever come around here again, being kicked out will be the least of your concerns.”
What’s left of Harold’s confidence withers in a heartbeat.
He lifts his hands in surrender, mumbling, “Sorry. Sorry.”
That’s the thing about bullies. They run with their tails between their legs as soon as a bigger one shows up.
He won’t be able to run from me, though.
One last glance behind me reassures me that no one is stalking or staring at me.
Good.
Back to Harold, who turns into the alley by the bar, staggering as he goes.
I’m right behind him. That fool, without knowing it, is making my job that much easier, especially since the alley is dark.
Too dark for anyone to see what I’m about to do to him, including the people living in the surrounding buildings.
“F-f-fucking fucker.” Harold’s speech is slurred. “All of them!”
His feet don’t carry him in a straight line. He stumbles again, but before he falls flat on his face, he reaches for what he must think is the nearest wall.
Except it isn’t a wall.
He’s so wasted that he doesn’t notice the construction dumpster shoved against it.
But then, instead of metal, his hand lands right on the poor cat sitting on top of the dumpster.
Though hurt, the mottled cat doesn’t stay down. A furious meow cuts through the alley, then he bares his claws, swiping at Harold’s face, scratching his cheek.
Good thing Harold’s only allergic to kiwi. He’ll survive.
“Piece of shit!” He covers his wound with one hand, waving a fist at the cat with the other. “You’re gonna get it now.”
Like hell.
Harold’s days of hurting people, and apparently animals too, are over.
That feeling, the heat crawling up my back, follows me as I stalk toward him.
This time, however, I don’t look over my shoulder. My long strides have already carried me far enough into the alley that no passerby can see us, especially with both Harold and me dressed in dark clothes.
“Gonna get ya,” he keeps growling at the cat, punching at the air.
The cat isn’t deterred. It just glares at Harold as if it, too, understands it’s dealing with a moron. I pull the hood of my hoodie over my head, smirking as I do.
“G-g-gonna…” Harold stumbles against the dumpster, then slides down, about to hit the ground.
While he tumbles, groaning like the pathetic sack of shit he is, his phone slips from his pocket. Good thing that he’s drunk, since he doesn’t notice me approach and crush his phone under my shoe.
I kick what’s left of it under the dumpster and move on to him. Hooking an arm around his waist, I hoist him up.
“Come here, buddy.” Pretending I’m his friend is a necessary evil. My stomach revolts regardless. “Let’s get you home.”
“Who…the fuck…” The alcohol slows his thoughts, his instincts. Harold leans all his weight on me instead of running like he should. “You…”
“Your friend, remember?” Using my free hand, I search for the spot on his neck that I know will make him pass out. “You called me. Asked me to come get you.”
Found it.
“I did?” Even in the dark alley, the confusion in his eyes is clear.
“Yes.” I lower my voice and bring my face close to his, ignoring his foul breath. “The third time you hurt your mother so badly she had to be admitted to trauma again. That’s when you called.”
“You…” His growl ends in a burp. Disgusting. “You’re that doctor asking too many fucking questions.”
“That’s the one.” I’m done talking to him, pressing two fingers to his neck, hard. “Buddy.”
In an instant, his body goes slack, eyes rolling back in his head.
Three…two…one…
And his eyelids flutter shut.
All that’s left for me to do is sling his arm over my shoulder and carry him home.
Like any good friend would.