Page 91 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

Dodgy phone calls and some random guy offering to buy my dog don’t constitute that I have a stalker. The spray-painted symbol that matches the one on my body has been long eliminated.

And now, there’s no way I’m telling the guys. They already suspect something and got me a bodyguard. I hate being trailed. I know the man is only doing his job, but it feels like an invasion of privacy.

Sure, some intelligent dumbass might say, this shit comes with the territory of the life I chose to live in. But I’m not famous. Not anymore. I’m just a girl with a dog who prefers solitude to city life but loves music and performing to an audience who would appreciate the love I have for my work.

No one deserves to be terrorized, not even celebrities.

I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy the horrific shit I was forced to do.

Since the guys are with me tonight, they gave Rick the night off, they don’t see the reason for additional muscle when the four of them surround me. None of us are used to the level of security we’re forcing on ourselves now, and we aren’t even close to the notoriety of what we once were.

The guys probably think I’ve just stepped out into the alley, so none have raised any voice of concern upon seeing me lead Storm outside. Truth is, I’d like to get a breather away from them. Not because I’m fed up with them. On the contrary, I love spending time with them. But if it’s not Jagger in my bed every night, then it’s Haze. Sometimes, even the three of us. So I haven’t yet stopped to think what this is.

Now, Asher has made it apparent he wants a piece of the pie.

Fuck.

I’m the pie.

I breathe heavily out into the night air. It’s dry but a little cooler than usual. Typical for desert weather but not so much for this city.

“Eden Rivers, well, I’ll be damned,” I’m abruptly thrown out of my thoughts as two men approach me.

Storm’s ears perk up. I don’t pay them any attention and continue to walk briskly, an air of unease lingering as my footsteps echo against the cold concrete walls.

As I advanced further away from the alley, the distant footsteps of two ominous figures become audible, shattering the silence like approaching storm clouds. My heart quickens, and I instinctively pull my dog closer. Storm mirrors my apprehension with a low growl.

“So what? Too good for your old fans?” One of them says, grabbing my arm and yanking me backward.

Before I can say anything, I pull back away from him as Storm is one second from going nuclear on them. I’m more worried about his safety than my own.

"Fancy meeting you here, all alone in the dark, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be in this part of the neighborhood."

One of the sinister figures, his face partially obscured by a greasy leather collar, speaks with a voice that oozes malevolence.

With a cruel glint in his eyes, the other man advances, blocking my path back to the bar with an unsettling grin. "You're a long way from safety, darling. You still fucking your bandmates? Care for having two groupies join in this love fest?"

A chilling silence envelops the alley. My eyes are drawn to the white T-shirt he’s wearing. It’s not the garment but the print that’s on it. It’s exactly the same symbol that was on that white fence. The same one inked on my skin.

What the fuck is going on?

My shock sends them the wrong message, and they step forward, causing me to step back.

"I suggest you step back. My dog and I don't want any trouble." I warn, fueled by a mix of fear and determination, there’s a tinge of steely resolve in my tone.

The men chuckle darkly, seemingly unfazed by my defiance.

“You think you’re some big shit, don’t you? You’re nothing but the band’s slut.”

“Yeah, and you look more like the part now. Gone is that innocent, sweet, fake look.”

Storm growls a warning, and I can feel his agitation.

“Good for you. You got me. I’m the band’s slut,” I grin sarcastically at them. “Now get the fuck out of my way because my dog is one second away from tearing your balls out.”

As much as I need to know who they are and how they came to wearing a T-shirt with a print of a tattoo that only a handful of people have seen, it’s best I get myself out of this particular situation and worry about the garment later.

The uglier one licks his lips, but they remain where they are.

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