Page 16 of Gunner

He blinks and the next instant, he drops his shields, but there’s nothing vulnerable about the wicked desire on his face.

He sees me. He wants me. That look screams,mine.

It should make me want to kick him in the nuts to assert my independence, but all I can think about is how beneath this prim and proper dress, I’m shamefully wet.

Even worse than knowing that this man has stalked me for an unknown length of time is the weird claim I feel standing right here. It’s nonsensical. Then again, isn’t that the very definition of what’s happening?

“We’re leaving,” he states flatly. “Now.”

Excuse me, WHAT? I don’t think so, sir. I’m not going to be the first one to die in this horror movie.

“Nope. Not going anywhere with you.” I shove the cookies into his chest. He can take them or let them fall to the ground. His arms react on instinct, hands closing around the container woodenly. “I thought you were leaving, but I didn’t believe you’d actually do it.”

“I did.”

“You came back.”

“Yes.”

Single words. Honest. I didn’t expect that. That’s probably his game. Trying to catch me off-guard. I have no illusions as to how many mental illnesses could be behind someone stalking. Manipulation and personality disorders could be the words of the day. Stalking might be seen as cutesy in old rom coms, with the heroine finally realizing that she loves the hero after assorted displays of questionable behavior, but we aren’t in a movie. This is real life.

My eyes linger on his black leather vest with the patches. It matches all the ones the other bikers wear. I keep them there instead of letting them flicker longingly over his muscular body.

“For your club.”

“Yes and no.” He doesn’t flinch while I study him, and neither do I.

I want him to know that I’m his match in every way and that I’m not afraid of him. “I could have shot you.”

“Yup.”

I breathe out a long, frustrated sigh. If all I’m going to get out of him is one-word answers, then what’s the point? “I want you to stop.”

There. Say yes again, asshole.

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. His bright blue glare just keeps on looking right through me like he knows everything. I know that’s not true, but it’s still unnerving. He might know the details of my life as I present them, but he doesn’t know the real me.

Time to assert some of that real me right the fuck now. “I want you to stop. If I see you outside my house again, I will shoot you. I might not kill you, but I can promise it’ll hurt.” I drop my voice to a near whisper. “Not because I don’t want to go to jail, although I don’t, but because if I maim you, you won’t report it. You’ll go see some private surgeon and get patched up. No police. No hospital. No paperwork, no records, no ramifications for me. It’ll be like it never happened, but you’ll get the message that I amnotfucking around.”

The cold, frighteningly hard planes of his face crease and then one side of his mouth tilts up for a fraction of a second. A smile? Is he fucking enjoying being threatened?

I should have realized that terror is his kink. He’s a damn stalker.

He knows I’m capable of it. He saw what I did the other night. He has to have realized that this meek kindergarten teacher had some skills. He probably thought I learned them in self-defense class and that’s fine. Let him think that. I just want him to know that I could have followed through if I’d wanted to.

“I don’t know when this started, or why, but it’s over. You’ll leave me alone, or you won’t like the alternative.”

His eyes flick to my forehead and do a slow assessment down. It’s the most unnerving thing anyone has ever done, scanning me that way. He takes his time so open about it. It makes me tremble, and not in a way that I’m proud of. I’m not afraid. I’m turned on. What’s more I feel strangely… calm. And alive.

More home than I’ve been for the past five years.

Now would be a good time to consider that the loneliness has made me a little bit insane. This man is a stalker and a biker. Is he also a killer? How many hearts has he stopped? How many bodies in his past?

He exudes danger like he bathed in it. His façade is stony and cold. Cold enough that I can already feel the attention of the crowd drawn our way, but then quickly and forcefully removed, like they’re afraid to get caught staring at him. He reminds me so much of my father, and maybe that’s why I’m not properly afraid.

I’m going about this all wrong. If you want to come out on top, you find your opponent’s weakness and you press on it until they cave. That’s one of the lessons I learned watching my father. “If you don’t stop and a bullet won’t deter you, then I’ll have no choice but to resort to niceness.” Something flickers deep in his eyes, and I want to fist bump the air. “MaybeI’llstalkyou. I’llbake you cookies and cakes and pies and deliver them here. You know how much I love to cook and that I always have extras that I have to freeze. I’ll come around here so often and be so charming that the thought of not letting me in won’t even be a thing.”

He laughs at that. Sharply and rudely.

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