Page 10 of The Stalking King

“You know what’s going on,” I grunt. “You stood up to a bad man. Now, there’s a chance he has it out for you. My job is to keep you safe. That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “Why was that poor young man hit by a car? What’s so important about the phone? Who are these bad men? And who are you, Maksim? Online, it says you own a bunch of businesses. But I’m not stupid.”

“I would never call you stupid,” I say earnestly.

“You came in with a gunshot and a fake name.”

And she cared for me. She spoke to me like a regular guy. Just like she is now, without fear, without nerves. Or, if it’s there, she’s hiding it well. Burying it deeply. That just makes me want to peel back her layers and get to know the real her… not the version I’ve watched on my computer.

“So, who are you? I’m guessing some kind of crime boss.” When I tense up, she takes a step forward, almost closing the distance between us entirely. It takes everything I have not to reach forward and sink my hands into those tempting hips. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I can’t tell you anything. Except that you might be in danger and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

She looks shocked by my words, tilting her head at me. “Why?” she murmurs.

I shake my head. “Just—just know that you’re protected.”

“What if I don’t give you permission?”

“I’m not going to let anybody hurt you.”

“Again, why?” she says, with more insistence this time.

“Do you want to be caught in the middle of this?” I snap. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“And I’m trying to go home after a long shift. Anything else?”

“Your number,” I say. “So I can call if anything goes wrong.”

“Nope. Are we done?”

For a long moment, we just look at each other. She’s got that tempting challenge in her eyes, the sass and confidence off the charts. I’m torn between impressed and furious.

“Sure,” I say, turning away. As if I don’t already have her number. I just needed a legitimate reason to have it. But if she wants to play this game, that’s fine with me too. “Have it your way.”

I walk away, smirking again, feeling as if we’re at the start of something… which is a dangerous thought for a man in my position. For me, and for her.

CHAPTER 5

LIA

I’m sitting in Mom’s living room a few days later, tired and sweaty from an afternoon of cleaning. She sat on the couch during this, her knees pulled to her chest, big over-ear headphones on as she watched and rewatched videos of Evan. I try not to resent her. She’s lost her son. But what about me? She’s like a ghost, staring. If it wasn’t for me supporting her, working double and even triple shifts…

I push that thought away before it can fully form. The last thing I want to do is resent the only family I have left.

I stand, putting my magazine down. I was hoping she might take off the headphones and ask me how work has been. Or if I’m seeing someone. Or… something, anything.

Maybe she could ask me how work’s going and I could explain about the strange series of events. I could tell her there’s a young man who looks like Evan, who was hit by a car just like Evan, except this young man has survived. He’s not conscious—probably for the best if people are out to get him—but he’s here.

I could tell her about the even stranger man who won’t leave my mind. Maksim with his cool eyes and his dangerous demeanor. Part of me wishes that I’d given him my phone number. And it’s not a small part either. But I can’t let myself be swept along by a dark, mysterious stranger.

Soon, it’s time to leave. I lean down and kiss Mom on the forehead. She barely stirs, reaching up and stroking her hand down my forearm and over my hand for a moment. Then she turns her full attention back to her phone.

As I walk to my car, I think about my little brother, his smiling face and his enthusiasm when talking about animals. He was flitting between college courses when he finally decided on veterinary science. And he was sticking to it. He was trying.

I sit behind the wheel, tears sliding down my cheeks. A sob doesn’t escape me. These are silent tears, the sort I’m used to crying. I just wish I had someone to cling to. I find myself thinking of him again. Imagining him pulling me against his firm body, wrapping his arms around me, stroking his hand through my hair.

It’s like I can feel him against me. I try to reason with myself. I don’t know anything about him. We’ve had a few conversations, that’s it. It says a lot about me that the closest person I can think of is a mysterious, angry stranger.