Page 18 of Dark Biker Protector

The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I made my way around the building, my hands shaking, following the acrid smell of the spray paint.

And, sure enough, there it was – another image, painted on to the side of the building, the blood-red paint still dripping down to the ground below, the sidewalk stained.

Only this time, it was a cat. A ginger cat. I stared at it for a long moment, my eyes wide, trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. But the truth was, I didn’t need an explanation. I knew what this was.

Or, rather, who this was.

I took a step towards it, heart pounding in my chest. The stripes on the cat’s fur meant there was no doubt – it was Cinnamon. And, over his throat, in the picture, a long slash of red had been painted, like his throat had been cut.

I clasped a hand over my mouth, wanting to cry out in horror. The mere thought of something happening to that innocent little creature was more than I could take. And this was a threat, there were no two ways about it.

I rushed towards my apartment building, throwing open the door and practically sprinting to my place – I needed to know that my little guy was okay. Nothing had happened to him, had it? It didn’t look as though the door had been pushed open, but what if someone had...

I unlocked the door with shaking hands and let out a gasp of relief when I saw Cinnamon rushing over to greet me. He had no idea what was going on out there or why I leaned down to scoop him up and press my face into his fur so intensely.

"You’re okay, sweetie," I murmured to him, though I was talking to myself more than him.

Outside, for a split-second, I thought I heard footsteps. I rushed to the window to check, but if someone had been there, they were gone already. I pulled the curtains shut and locked the door, reaching for my phone to call Chuck and tell him to get down here and do something.

But something stilled me before I could make the call. I knew I should just call him, it’s what he would want me to do, but there was a part of me that was fearful about what it might mean for us if I begged him to come down here in the face of trouble. I didn’t want him to see me as some perpetual victim, always in need of his help. I was stronger than that. I knew I was.

I didn’t want to wreck the beginnings of what we had by letting him see me as the kind of woman who would only ever need his help, who would be ever reliant on him for what he could give me and not what I could share with him. Besides, all it was was some graffiti – was there really anything to it? What if I was just reading too far into this, letting myself get caught up in a panic?

I took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the couch, staring at my phone. Okay, I could call someone, right? I didn’t have to just sit here being scared. I dialed up Rina and listened to the ring a couple of times, not actually expecting her to pick up, but to my surprise, she did.

"Hey, Abbey, you okay?"

She answered with a tense tone in her voice that told me she was worried I might not be.

"I’m...I’m okay, yeah," I replied, trying to keep my voice as light as possible. "I just wanted to check in with you..."

"At this time of night?"

"I’m sorry, did I wake you?"

"No, I was out," she admitted. "I just got back. But something must be on your mind to be calling me this late, right?"

She always perceptive enough to know when there was something going on with me, and I guessed getting a call at one in the morning from an old friend with a stalker ex was never a good sign.

"Yeah, I guess so," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I hated that he was still getting to me as much as he was, and I hated that it was still so easy for this fucker to get under my skin, to have me jumping at shadows when I should have known better. I was smarter than that, but he had me feeling like I didn’t stand a chance against him.

"So, what’s happening?"

"I...I don’t know if anything’s happening," I admitted. "I just...I just wanted to see if you knew anything else about what happened with Franco. Where he went, stuff like that?"

"Nothing. I’m sorry," she replied, and I could hear the grimace in her voice. "But... I know he left Atwood."

"Right," I muttered. It wasn’t enough. If I was going to kick into straight-up panic mode, then I was going to need to have more information to go on than that.

"Who did you hear it from? His old roommate, right?”

"Yeah, and this other friend of mine, Iris," she explained. "She was...she was involved with him a while ago. Had some of the same issues you did."

"Really?" I replied, my ears perking up. If there was one way to get to the bottom of someone, it was to sift through their history.

"Yeah, she’s been keeping tabs on him after all the trouble he caused her," she explained. "I don’t know if she has any more information about him, but I could talk to her, if you like."

"Could you put me in touch with her?" I suggested, voice tight. "Do you think she’d be open to that?"

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