Page 34 of Chase

“What the actual fuck,” Hunter grunts out.

“Oh…” Samantha says under her breath. “I mean, I knew…” She trails off as I focus on her.

“You knew what?” I hiss, my stare moving from her to the hundreds of photographs pinned to the walls of the room. “What the hell did you know and didn’t bother to tell me?”

“That he…” Her eyes widen as I take a step toward her but drop her hand. I lean down, unblinking, and she cowers slightly.

“What?” I repeat, demanding information as every possible perverse scenario pops into my head. “Were you fucking him? Is this some sort of sick joke the two of you are playing?”

“No!” she stammers, reaching for me. I step back out of reach.

“Samantha,” Harrison interrupts, his tone clear and firm. “Tell us what you know about all this.” He waves his hand, signalling the insanity around us.

“He was following me,” she says quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor. “He has been for a while.”

“Since when?” I growl, furious at Russell for his behavior and with her for not telling me. I’m at a complete loss from the fact that this has been going on and I didn’t know. The room is lined with images of her, candid snaps of her everyday life. My brother has seen so much more of her routine than I have.

“Last year.” The words are barely audible as the fact catches in her throat. “Since I met him, the same night I met you.”

“That’s fucking months!” I shout, throwing my hands in the air and storming up to the photos on the wall. “So these?” I start pulling images from their resting place, tearing them up, and throwing them on the perfectly made bed. “You knew he was taking every one of these, and you never thought to tell me? You didn’t think I deserved to know that my brother was obsessed with my girlfriend?”

“Of course I did,” she says, walking toward me. “I didn’t know about the photos. It all started with him following me home from the club, and he intervened once when I was attacked.”

“You were attacked?” I yell. “Was I not man enough to know this? What is this, Sam? Did you get off knowing two brothers were into you?”

“No, it’s just…”

“Did you love the attention? Was that more important than your feelings for me? More important than our relationship?” I turn to face her once again, shredded images of her scattered on the bed and around my feet. “How could you not tell me? My brother, who I trust with my life, was stalking you, and you didn’t think to say.”

“Of course I did, but he’s so important to you. I didn’t want to be the reason you fell out.” Her face twists in despair. Both of us stand gaping at the other with no idea where to go from here. “He didn’t hurt me. He was just there.”

“How often?” I continue, wanting but not wanting to know the details. My brain throws every interaction between her and my brother in my face as a memory. The small gestures, the smiles I noticed and ignored. “How often did he follow you? What did he do exactly?”

“It started at the club, I told you that,” she whispers, her voice broken and cheeks now stained with tears. She sits down on the bed and throws her head into her hands, sobbing into her fingers. “It started when he came to watch me dance, not long after I came to tell you about Violet being held prisoner by your father. The next thing I knew, every shift he was there. He would wait outside the rear entrance, then follow me home. We rarely spoke except on a few occasions.”

“What else?” The other men in the room stand silently, but I know they are taking in every last detail.

“Then after he collected me from work in January, and we were late back here.” She stops speaking and looks up, and I glare back at her.

“The night you went drinking instead of coming here from work. Are you telling me you knowingly socialized with him even when you knew he was obsessed with you?” The unbelievable scenario is mindblowing. My brother has been stalking my girlfriend, and she seems to have fucking enjoyed it.

“Yes,” she admits, her face reddened beyond anything I’ve ever seen before. “But I told him to stop after that night. I told him to stop following and contacting me.”

“How did he contact you?” I ask, clinging to the new piece of information.

“By message from an unknown phone.”

“Did you contact him?”

“No,” she replies firmly. “I never encouraged him, but I will admit to enjoying the attention. It was nice to feel wanted.”

“You don’t think I want you?” I stammer, shocked and even more furious. “These last months, have I not proven I want you?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean…”

“Well, fucking enlighten me, because if you’re wanting an unhinged, obsessive arsehole, you picked the wrong fucking brother.” She reaches for my hand, and I push it away. “Don’t touch me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she wails again. I hate the sound of her pained voice—all I want to do is make her happy. All I’ve wanted to do these past months was build an amazing life together.

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