Page 6 of Wicked Pursuit

Unknown

Fitting.

I glare at my phone. I’m too hungover for this shit.

Fuck off.

The response is almost instantaneous.

Unknown

What did I tell you about using language like that?

Here, in the fortress that is my family household, I actually laugh.

Come and get me, then.

What iswrongwith me? Last night I had the excuse of alcohol, but that’s not the case right now. “Enough of this.” I reach for the landline at my desk. I’ll call Da and let him handle this.

My phone buzzes.

Unknown

Can’t stay hidden and safe there forever. You’ll wander eventually.

I stare at my phone for a very long time. I know what the smart, normal response to this man would be. Allow my fathers to do what they do and take care of the threat.

But . . .

I tap my desk with a single finger. That feeling, the one that blossomed into existence over the course of the past few months and culminated in me going to that bar last night? It’s still there. Stronger, even. As if by giving in to it once, I’ve fed a beast inside me that slumbered previously.

It’s awake now. And there’s a fizzling in my veins, a thrill that makes me shift in my seat. This stalker isdangerous. Then again so am I.

If you come for me, you’re dead.

The day passes uneventfully.There’s a big deal in the works, the kind that happens once a decade, so everyone is wrapped up in the details. I already ran the numbers and compiled the reports, so my part in the process is done until Cordelia has signed on the dotted line.

My stalker has been silent for most of the day. That won’t last. I walk into my apartment and look around. The lights are all off, just like I left them. Luke must not be home yet. I glance at my phone. He’s late. But then, he’s been working late more and more often in recent weeks. The business trips have increased too: long weekends and sometimes entire weeks. Maybe he’s having an affair. I examine the thought from different angles. A year ago, the very possibility would have sent me into a spiral. Now I just feel... tired. We’re going through the motions, and we’re not even doing a good job of it.

I toss my purse onto the counter and shrug out of my jacket. It’s time.

It takes me a few minutes to stage the photo the way I want it. I take a few extra photos for good measure. Yeah, that will work. I look sexy as fuck with my red dress hiked around my thighs and falling off one shoulder. Not enough to expose me fully, but the promise of more is there. I send it to the unknown number and type.

You want to wash my mouth out with soap, fucker? Come get me.

That reckless feeling inside me gets stronger, strong enough to make my head spin.You’re calling his bluff. That’s it. I’m normally a better liar, even to myself. I shove up from the couch and stalk to the kitchen. There’s a safe hidden in the cabinet above the fridge. I have to drag a chair over to get to it. Da would yell at me something fierce if he knew; a weapon is only as good as your ability to use it, and if I were under attack, I’d get myself killed before I’d be able to reach the gun.

But when would I be under attack? My life is so devastatinglynormalthat it makes me want to scream sometimes.

I drag my finger over the pad, and the safe pops open. It’s second nature to pull the gun out, eject the magazine, and ensure the chamber is empty. Then I load it and test its weight in my hand.

It feels good.

I’m not a fool. I know the cost of war, that conflict in Carver City would mean being on opposite sides of a line from Michelle and the other families. I don’t actuallywantthat. But I crave... more. I don’t even know what thatmorelooks like.

I look at my phone again, but there’s no response. Trust a stalker to run away the moment his victim stops playing the scared little girl. If he wanted some to whimper and run to hide, he chose the wrong woman.

Even though I know better, I pull down the bottle of good whisky and pour myself a healthy glass. Then I bring both glass and gun back into the living room and drop onto the couch.

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