Page 9 of Fractured

“Shhh, it’s okay. We will get through this, sweetheart. With time, we will both get through this. We can grow around the empty space she’s left in our lives.” My father tries to soothe me.

I lean into his touch. “I know. It’s just… too much all at once. I need a break from all of this. Would you mind if I stepped out?” I ply him with guilt of me being unable to handle the death of my mother. It works like a charm. As I pull back from his hold, his eyes swim with so many emotions churning inside. His love for me the most prominent one.

“Of course, Remington. This is almost too much even for me. Get out of here and take your mind off of things. I can handle hosting the guests myself tonight. I’m sure Jen has everything planned out by the minute.” His smile is weak. I’ll be glad when he’s back to his sharp, take-no-holds businessman persona. Grieving isn’t a good look on him. Although, it’s not a good look on anyone.

I head up the staircase, making my way toward my bedroom to change before leaving. The black mourning clothes are stifling and hardly appropriate for going out in. I plan on having Vander bring me to a coffee shop where I can have relative peace and be left alone. Knowing my father is watching me leave, I wipe away the tears I used to sell my despair. Forever and always Daddy’s little girl.

When I’m out of sight, I pull my phone from my clutch and notify Vander of our impending departure. It won’t take long for him to show up. Most of our staff live on the grounds. We have more than enough room to house them, and it’s such a convenience to have them on hand for whenever we need them.

I shut my bedroom door behind me and begin stripping as I enter my closet. It’s the size of a small bedroom and I have it stuffed full. Nice things attempt to bring me pleasure in life. A soft pair of designer jeans and a flowy blouse has me ready to jet out the door.

Reaching for the knob, something on my bed catches my eye. I keep my room immaculate. Order keeps things running smooth. Which means when something is out of place, I notice it right away.

When I reach the bed, I find several polaroids lined up. They are carefully placed so they can’t be missed. On closer inspection, it seems they were only fabricated to appear as polaroids for effect, because there’s no way they could have been taken without me knowing about it. Each one has a different scene. Me in the alley, throwing up. Another of Scott carrying me from his car. The precise moment I pushed the button on the taser. Both of us passed out in the room. My expression of wonder when I was standing over Scott after killing him. An erotic picture of my head thrown back with my hand between my legs. And finally, a view of me applying my lipstick, with Scott dead in the foreground.

There’s something beautifully artistic about all of the shots. I’m drawn to each one like a moth to flame. A grin slowly stretches my lips. I was so wrong. The man who texted me didn’t just stumble across Scott and his phone. He was following me long before I killed Scott. His text wasn’t meant to be a threat; he was trying to teach me something.

I need to know who he is.

Each snap had been taken from the window, unlike the earlier picture that came from Scott’s phone. My stalker is careful, calculated. He’s a hunter and I’m the object of his attention. Could it be his obsession? Who knows how long he’s been watching me or why. What about me caught his eye? Was it his gaze I felt watching me last night? I bet I saw him at some point and didn’t realize who I was looking at.

Muscles twitch in my stomach, a completely foreign sensation. I’ve read enough about human emotions to know this is what they call butterflies. I’ve never been flattered by the attention of someone else. Every suitor I’ve had has bored me. I felt nothing but indifference for them. This is different. He’s caught my attention now.

I pick up each of the pictures one by one and inspect them closer. Flipping them over, I’m disappointed to find there isn’t any kind of note. Instinctively I know it’s a calculated power play, keeping all communication on his terms. He’ll contact me when he’s ready. For now, I hide the pictures underneath my favorite dildos in the drawer next to my bed.

As I head for the garage to meet Vander, I pull the watch from the oversized handbag I switched to. It holds my laptop so I can do some proper research. My thumb rubs circles over the watch face, bringing me a calmness in the repetitive motion. My bodyguard eyes my hand as I walk up, but he just opens my door before getting in the car himself.

In all the time Vander has driven me, he has always kept things smooth. Never going too fast to make me feel unsafe, and at the same time never too slow to piss me off. His acceleration and breaking has always been smooth, so smooth my drink never threatens to spill. So, the moment he slams on the brakes and takes a sharp turn, I know something is off.

In the middle of the intersection we were fixing to be in, a truck runs a red light, barreling through without even attempting to stop. I can tell right away he would have crashed into us if Vander wasn’t hyperaware as he drives. He swears and hits the gas, sending our car shooting down the street as we barely escape another collision. What the fuck? Is it the full moon tonight or something? Too many crazy drivers out there these days.

“Vander?” I question when I notice how tight his shoulders are drawn. That wasn’t a normal moment of avoiding an accident. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Remi. Just some shit drivers,” he brushes me off. I can count on one hand the times he’s shortened my name. Things seem too coincidental that on the day we put my mother in the ground, I’m almost hit too. Unfortunately, I know Vander won’t answer when he doesn’t want to, so I spend the rest of the drive watching our surroundings to make sure I see anything coming.

By the time we reach my favorite coffee shop, I’m thoroughly pissed off at Vander. He took back roads the rest of the drive, constantly looking back to make sure we weren’t followed. It just solidified my suspicions. He won’t say a word of what’s going on. I’m sure he thinks I’m oblivious too, because if I wasn’t so familiar with him, I could have been convinced. But I’ve spent the past five years silently taking in everything about the man. I can’t help it; it’s who I am.

He curses for the second time today when I burst from my door as soon as the car stops, not waiting for him to get it for me. “Remington, wait. I can’t do my job if I’m not there.”

“And what job is that?” I quip back, fury whipping out with each word.

Vander rears back as if I hit him. This kind of interaction is foreign between us. “To keep you safe,” he says with a barely detectable amount of hurt. Again, something I only pick up on because of my constant study of both him and human behavior.

“Where was your devotion to my safety yesterday? On the one occasion I actually needed you? Or did you forget the bruise on my face already? Out of sight, out of mind,” I throw in his face.

“I told you I had something personal I had to take care of. It couldn’t be helped. You never would have been touched if I was there,” he says with self-depreciation, taking a step closer.

I notice a few glances thrown our way from inside the coffee shop as we bicker like an old married couple. “A lot of good that does me. But it turns out I’m just fine without you. I managed to protect myself.” With that, I turn on my heel.

His strong grip grabs hold of my arm in a vise, turning me around and pulling me closer until our bodies are pressed together. Dark eyes trap mine in his gaze. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe nothing’s ever happened because I’ve always been there protecting you? Every one-night stand and random fuck in a club bathroom? I care about keeping you safe. Don’t throw last night in my face. I’ll kill the motherfucker for laying a finger on you.” Fire dances in his eyes. He means every word. Some hidden meaning tugs at me, but as much as I know him, I can’t figure out what it is.

There’s a spark of possessiveness from him that tugs at me. “What happened today, Vander?” I test him. If he means what he says, he’ll tell me.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says with firmness.

Fine, he doesn’t want to tell me, then he can keep his fucking secrets. He doesn’t let me go when I pull my arm away, though. So I try one more time, against my own better judgment. “Tell me, Vander. You work for me, and my own protection is my responsibility.”

“No, Remington. I work for your father,” he spits before taking a step back, leaving me with a sudden chill. It’s like the reminder cuts the growing tension between us, leaving me to wonder when it even started growing. He yanks the door to the coffee shop open for me and stands with his blank stare back in place.

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