Page 9 of Gunner

I nearly laugh at how token and out of place it is, but then my eyes land on his right arm, where a nasty row of jaggedstitches stands out red against his inked skin. I was right about the scars, but that’s not what makes my throat close up with fear.

I’m good at hiding in plain sight. I’ve had a lifetime of practice long before I arrived here. I force a smile and thrust the box up to my chest, hugging it tight. “Thanks. I’m fine though.”

I expect an answer. Some small amount of resistance. Something. But the guy turns and walks off. He’s light on his feet, probably deceptively fast, for a man so big and jacked. He could likely bench press ten of me and not break a sweat. Lift a car. Snap a tree in half. As he walks to the front and joins Penny and her mom, then sees them out of the store, I don’t ogle his ass. I already know it must be rock hard.

I study the box of shoes like my life depends on it.

Maybe it does.

I hope that there was nothing on my face.

None of my suspicions or paranoia.

I searched my yard with a flashlight last night and I double checked it all this morning. Went over the cameras again and again, but all I found were a few dark drops of blood where a nail in the fence caught whoever had been in my yard. I assumed it had torn clothing, but what if it tore flesh?

That jagged line of stitches, the wound so fresh, floods my mind until I shiver.

I’m being ridiculous. That guy is a biker. He might be scary as fuck, but clearly, he has a sense of honor. He’s guarding a little girl, and he came over to check and see if I was in trouble when he noticed Chris trying to wrestle shoes out of my hands. Even if he’s not chivalrous, he’s part of a motorcycle club. He’snot a stalker. He could have acquired that injury in a thousand different ways. Probably some fight with a smashed beer bottle or a knife in a parking lot.

Whoever was in my yard last night probably wasn’t a creep. It was probably just some asshole thinking my house might be an easy target to steal from. If someone was watching me, I would have noticed by now. I’m hypervigilant myself.

I have to stop.

Just go pay for the damn shoes and get out of here.

All this hiding in plain sight is starting to make me lose my mind. If there’s one thing I have to do, it’s just keep it together and hope that this won’t be my life forever.

Maybe one day something will change, and I can go back home.

Chapter 4

Gunner

Monday night. Diletta is baking cookies. I’ve been watching her from the shadows on the other side of her backyard fence. The neighbors aren’t home. They’re a young, married couple. They got into their car an hour ago and haven’t returned. It’s not late yet, but late enough that they might be back any minute. I’m hyper-aware of my surroundings, watching the street for any sweep of lights that suggest they’re coming home.

I shouldn’t be here.

Not just in the neighbor’s yard, but at all.

I seem to have a problem with self-control as of late. Shocking, but I guess there’s a first fucking time for everything. My string of bad decisions can be traced, and they go back years where this woman is concerned, but it’s the growing number of slip-ups that’s concerning.

I don’t do fuckups.

So what was yesterday in the shoe store?

I froze on the inside the second Diletta walked in. I’d planned to stay well out of sight, but then Penny ran for the door like she was gonna go sprinting down the street and I had to make myself known. She’d looked directly at me, but there was no sign of recognition in her eyes. There was a strange brightness, a flicker of interest, like she enjoyedwhat she saw.

You’d think that most women would look at me like I’m a monster, but that’s the very thing that gets most of them excited. If not for my size and obvious comfort with brutality, there’s always the leather vest and the bike. Attention. All of it, unwanted.

The only woman I have ever desired is the one I’m watching stick a sheet of cookies into the oven right now. Seeing that prick get close to her in the shoe store painted a haze of red so bright over my vision, that I couldn’t help myself. I reacted. I got up in his face, which meant that I got too close to her. I felt the exact second her eyes lingered on my stitches.

Stupid. Just plain fucking stupid.

Stupid to get close, stupid not to race out the door the second I saw her enter, stupid to have rolled my sleeves up for once because the Henley was irritating the hell out of my wound.

Amateur hour has apparently been extended because I can’t resist the draw to get closer. I know I shouldn’t go back to my old spot, but there are several others, near other windows, that I could crouch down or under. If I went right back to the old spot, it would probably be safe. No one would ever be dumb enough to repeat their actions, so thinks most of the world.

Diletta saw my face yesterday. She was so close that I could feel the heat of her body and smell her sweet scent.

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