Hunt Me (Murder Hearts #1)

Chapter 1

DENVER

‘Someone sent you this.’

I stare at the drink in Rene’s hand. It’s one of my favorites: a Manhattan on the rocks, two extra cherries, and a splash of grenadine at the end to make it sweeter.

‘Who made it?’

‘Casey,’ he says, jerking his chin toward the bar. Casey catches my eye and winks. We had a thing once. It didn’t last, and thankfully, it didn’t end badly, so we’re still friends.

‘He made me a drink?’ I ask as I take it.

Rene shakes his head. ‘The guy at the end of the bar.’

I freeze with the drink halfway to my lips and peer around the curtain. There’s a man there with only his profile visible. He’s got pale skin and dark hair, and he’s speaking aloud.

That’s all I can make out.

And then he turns. His eyes find mine, and something twists in my stomach. The feeling is ugly. It’s like I’m being taken apart by his eyes—seen in a way I didn’t consent to.

He smirks and turns his back to me, speaking to Casey again.

Looking down at the drink, it’s suddenly sinister. Like if I slosh some of it over the side, it’ll hit the floor in a rush of hissing skulls and crossbones.

Moving back behind the curtain, I slide toward the back door and crack it open, pouring the drink on the pavement. Rene is still staring at me with a quirked brow, but I offer no explanation, and he doesn’t ask for one.

‘Not thirsty?’

‘No.’ I set the glass down on the stool and wonder if I should text Thorne and see if maybe he still knows any forensics guys who can test it.

Something tells me this was meant to be a threat. Thorne will probably think I’m losing my mind, but he might humor me anyway.

Before I can panic and overthink it too much, Rene signals me since I missed the cue lights flashing. It’s time for our duet.

Adjusting my wig, I take a deep breath and follow him past the curtain.

The spotlight is bright, and I take a moment to adjust as we step out, following the beat underneath our feet. For a moment, I lose myself in the choreography and the dance. Rene and I play with the audience as we move around each other and get everyone’s energy up.

There are hands in the air and people enthusiastically signing along, and I feel like myself again. Not just some buttoned-up, nerdy professor, but also this.

Me.

Glimmer Dear.

A piece of me I had repressed for so long until I ended up here and embraced parts of myself I thought would lie dormant forever.

It’s good.

Until it’s not.

Until I peer across the room and see him again. He’s closer to the stage this time, though still in the shadows, so I can’t really see his face. All I can see is that he’s pale, thin, and tall.

Something creeps up my spine. Fear, I think. Almost like terror. It’s enough that I miss a step. Then another.

Rene shoots me a concerned look and lifts a brow like he’s asking if I’m okay, and I give a hopefully barely there nod before getting back on track.

Mostly.

I can’t keep my eyes off the stranger now though. What the fuck does he want? It reminds me of the feeling I got when the text messages started.

The stalker telling me he knew where I was. What I was wearing. What I was doing. Something about this is way too familiar, and I hate it.

I only breathe a sigh of relief when the song comes to an end and I notice the stranger is gone. I allow one long look around the room before feeling confident he’s left the bar. But even so, I don’t think I can relax.

Rene drags me behind the curtain. ‘Talk to me.’

‘The guy with the drink. He…’ I stop. I don’t want to sound like I’m losing it or that I’m being paranoid. ‘I don’t like him.’

‘Want me to have Casey ban him?’

In my fear, I almost forgot that was an option. I peer around the curtain as the Fruit Basket trio is setting up for their next number, and I see Casey talking to another man at the bar. I can’t see him well either. He’s in a dark shirt, hunched over, head bowed.

But I don’t get the same feeling as I got before.

Turning back to Rene, I nod. ‘That would be a good idea.’

Rene, once again, doesn’t ask questions. ‘Let me go talk to him while you get changed.’

There’s one more number left—the finale. Then I can go home and pretend like this night never happened.

If only those weren’t famous last words.

The feeling of being watched during the finale is making the back of my neck itch. I hate it: the feeling of dread everywhere I go, the thought that someone is out there, someone I don’t know, looking at me.

Looking at me, but I can’t see them.

But the feeling is there. It twists up my spine and makes my skin break out in goose bumps. It’s why I’m currently wiping the makeup off my face and simultaneously getting dressed.

‘You okay?’ Rene asks, his eyes crinkling as he watches me. ‘I told Casey to ban that guy, so you should be good.’

‘Thanks, but I think I’m just not feeling well.’ Rene cocks his head like he doesn’t believe me, but he just nods.

‘You see someone else out there?’ he asks.

The face I make must tell him I think I did. Or I felt someone who didn’t belong. But either way, that feeling is back, and I can’t ignore it. Last time I did, I was really hurt.

I can’t go through that again. I’ve learned over time to trust my gut. The only problem is, my gut has me running more often than not.

‘It’s fine. The show must go on.’ He waves his hand toward the back door, and I stare at it, my hand faltering slightly. I need to sneak off before I get roped into an encore, but going into an alleyway when I feel like someone is out there waiting for me…but then again, I can’t just leave early.

My boss is out there.

Fuck.

‘I won’t tell. You need someone to walk you out? I can call security.’

I shake my head and then wave him off. ‘I’m fine. I’ll be fine.’

He doesn’t look so sure. I don’t feel so sure, but this damn stalker I’ve had has interrupted far too many of my shows. They’ve interfered with my life in more ways than one. It doesn’t need to interfere with this.

‘Okay, text me when you get home.’ Rene leans down and brushes a kiss across my now bare cheek. I still have smudges of mascara around my eyes, but that can wait to be taken off when I get home.

I shrug on my shirt and grab my satchel. I walk to the back door, take a deep breath, and then push it open.

My gaze peers back and forth. I don’t see anyone waiting for me, no suspicious figures lurking in the shadows, and several yards to my left is a busy street. People are walking by, and I know if I can just get to them, then I can get to my car and make it home.

A home that is feeling less and less safe by the day.

I steel myself and then step out, a light rain coating my exposed skin. I tuck the hat I’m wearing a little lower on my head and bunch my shoulders. Maybe if I act less like Glimmer Dear, then they won’t know who’s sneaking out the back.

If anyone is watching at all.

My fingers clench tightly against my palm, and I know they won’t loosen until I’m safe at home.

My legs pick up the pace, one of them landing in a puddle, but there’s no time to lament that. I just want to get out of this damn alley safely. To a place I can breathe.

Suddenly, I see it, a flash of light behind me. Purposeful. Loud.

I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help but turn around. What if it was Rene trying to get my attention? What if someone needs me?

As I crane my neck over my shoulder, my heart thumps in my chest, that tingling sensation moving up my back.

And then I’m knocked sideways, my body falling into the brick wall at my side.

I let out a small wheeze and blink at the hooded figure standing there, watching me.

My vision goes white, pure terror pulsing through me. I should run, should scream, but I’m suddenly unable to do anything but stand there. Normally, I carry a can of glitter-pepper spray with me, but I don’t have my bag, and even if I did, my arms feel oddly weak.

The hooded figure takes a step toward me, and another, and then they rush forward. My mouth opens in a desperate shout, but I don’t know if it’s even loud. It could be nothing more than a wisp of air exhaling from my lungs.

Hands move around my neck, squeezing.

My hands grapple for purchase, but I can’t do anything but slump forward, my vision going in and out. This is it. I didn’t imagine someone watching me in the crowd. Like I said, my gut is never wrong. I should have left sooner, but I didn’t, and now I’m being strangled in an alleyway.

Will they find my body in the morning?

What will I look like when they do?

Suddenly, something warm and wet hits my face, those hands slipping from my throat.

The man who was trying to kill me slumps to the side, and I blink up at another man looming just in front of me. Big, tall, muscular.

I hold up a shaking hand to my throat as he steps closer to me.

For some reason, I don’t feel unsafe with him.

He reaches behind him and pulls his shirt off, exposing his ripped chest, and gently reaches out. I don’t even flinch as he gently wipes off whatever landed on my face.

It’s not until he pulls the shirt away that I see the stain of blood.

Oh my god. Blood.

I blink, and he cocks his head, turning to look at the man scrambling across the alley floor, trying to escape.

For a moment, I think he’s going to go after him, but he only shrugs and turns back to me and leans in.

I lick my lips, and his eyes track the motion and then he grazes his mouth on mine.

It’s a ghost of a kiss, a whisper, a promise of something more, but instead of giving that to me, he steps back.

‘You okay?’

It takes me a moment to realize he’s signing with a fluency that isn’t Deaf but also isn’t an early learner either. I take a breath and nod, even though that’s a complete lie.

I lift my hands to say something, but I get lost in his eyes. They’re so…dark. Everything about him should be terrifying—the breadth of his shoulders, the scar on his face—but it’s not.

Who is this guy?

‘Name?’

He smiles but doesn’t answer. I go to repeat myself, but he takes another step back, heaves a breath, then turns on his heel and walks off.

I’m in too much shock to follow, but the ghost of him lingers. I need to know who he is and why he protected me. And why the sight of blood didn’t make him flinch. Not even a little.

I manage to make it home, shaking and slightly nauseous. Locking my door with the two locks I had installed helps, and the shower soothes me.

But as I crawl into bed, a bat tucked in next to me, I think about the man who saved me.

So effortless, so simple. He punched that guy like it was his purpose, like it was what he was put on this Earth to do. And the small glimpse I got of him, the scar on his face, the width of his shoulders, his ripped chest, the sheer strength that seemed to emanate off him…

But also the kind way he touched me, wiping the blood from my face.

I should hire him to protect me. If I did that, I’d always feel safe.

Only problem is, I don’t know who it is. Who was he?

My fingers fumble with my phone, and I click it on, the bright light in the dim room making me blink wildly. When my vision finally clears, I go to the town’s social media pages and scroll.

He has to be a local. The town isn’t that big, but even so, I didn’t recognize him. But for the first several minutes of scrolling, I find nothing. Thing is, I’m not discouraged. I love doing this. My hobby is going to the basement of the library and going through old microfilm.

Fashion is my thing, vintage, current, futuristic. You name it. I love it. Perusing, admiring, thinking about the different ways I can incorporate vintage into what I wear.

And there’s something soothing about the slow scrolling on the translucent screen in that damp basement that comforts me. It’s truly quiet down there. No visual noise, no one to distract me.

My point is, I have patience.

So I carry on, moving through a variety of photos, some from the club I work at where I do drag, others from the different Deaf-friendly places in town.

I mean, he signed. It makes sense that he’d frequent those places. But once again, I don’t find him. I find nothing, in fact.

I press the phone to my chest and take a deep breath.

I need to go wider, bigger. Look at hearing places. That must be it.

I realize this incessant scrolling is most likely a hyperfixation.

One that is supposed to help me not think about the fact that I was almost choked to death.

My fingers flutter around my neck. It’s a little bruised, but nothing I haven’t experienced before.

If anyone knew what happened in that alley, they’d insist I go to the hospital.

Problem is, I don’t want the bills that come with it.

I know I’m fine.

I’ll be fucking fine.

I lift my phone once more and carry on, my eyes sagging from exhaustion, the adrenaline wearing off slowly.

A yawn cracks my jaw open, and I let out a loud breath—or at least I think it’s loud. Have no idea until a hearing person tells me it is.

My thumb swipes right, and then I shoot up in bed, my fingers zooming in on the face before me. He’s not in the main part of the photo, but he’s in the background, his head turned as he lugs something from a black tent.

Wait.

Is that a coffin? Is he carrying it on his shoulder? How is that possible? Aren’t they heavy?

This should make me more afraid of him than it does.

Instead, it only seems to intrigue me more. Suddenly, my mind isn’t on the man who tried to choke me but on the man carrying an eternal nap pod.

I zoom in closer and see that scar on his face, the determined look behind his eyes.

I pull my lips between my teeth as I breathe through my nose.

I still have no idea who he is, just that he’s actually in town. And that he’s carrying a coffin around like some kind of necromancer. Or vampire. Or psychopath.

That thought makes me giggle loudly, and I bite back the horrific sound I’m sure I’m making. I’ve been told by a hearing friend that my laugh is a bit like a donkey when I really let loose.

I love those animals and have no issue being compared to one, even if it was supposed to be an insult.

I flop backward in bed and close my eyes, touching my cheek gingerly. The way he touched me, soft, reverent.

I let out a shaky breath. I’m spiraling. All of this obsession is just from the trauma of earlier, from the stress I went through with my stalker.

The fact that I have a stalker again.

But now I have a protector.

And I have a starting point. At least I know he exists and it wasn’t all a figment of my imagination.

I zoom out and look at the cat café in the background. Maybe the workers inside saw someone walking by the store with a coffin, and they can help guide me in the right direction. I mean, a dude walking around with something like that on his shoulder has to draw attention.

Someone has to know something, right?

Yes, this is where I’ll start.