Page 4 of Boss with Benefits

Rachel halted at the top of the subway stairs, her wide eyes blinking up at me. “You have six sisters?”

“Yeah.”

“Brutal.” She wrapped her hand around my forearm as she walked sideways down the steps on her skate toes, steadying herself.

At the turnstile, she pushed through but stopped just on the other side, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief, glancing at an old woman behind me.

“I’m good from here.” She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on my mouth. “Thanks, Daddy.”

My jaw tightened, irritation prickling under my skin, and the old woman gasped. I’d be shocked too if I saw a twenty-something-year-old kissing a forty-five-year-old man and calling him daddy.

Rachel giggled, skating backward with a playful wave. To her, it was all a big joke—a game she was playing to shock people, or maybe just to amuse herself.

I stayed on the other side of the turnstiles, my eyes glued on her until she was safely on the train, no weirdo in sight. But as I watched the train pull away, a cold knot of unease tightened in my gut.

Something about this whole situation didn’t sit right with me. And as much as I wanted to shake it off, my instincts told me that whatever was going on with Rachel wasn’t over.

3

RACHEL

The Roller Derby rink was a battleground, and I was in the thick of it. The roar of the crowd was deafening, the shouts blending with the rumble of wheels against the slanted track. Roller Derby wasn’t for the fainthearted; it had been called UFC on wheels for a reason. Bodies slammed into each other, blockers trying to plow through, hip check, sweep—anything to throw off the jammer. That was me, the jammer, the one who scored for my team. I was the target, and I thrived on it. The adrenaline coursed through my veins, setting me on fire. Out there with the Brooklyn Bashers, I felt invincible.

But that night, something was off. It had been a week since I reported the stalker, and while there had been no sign of him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I circled the track, I scanned the crowd, half-expecting to see that familiar figure. It was maddening, this constant edge, this sense of danger lurking in the shadows.

“Beat her to a pulp!” a fan screamed as I dodged another hit, my skates slicing through the air as I passed the blockers and scored. The jam ended, and I rolled over to the bench, my breath coming fast. The team was buzzing around me, but their voices were distant, muffled by the unease gnawing at me.

Last week’s game had been a disaster. My head had been so full of the interview with the cop, replaying it over and over, that I could barely focus. I felt like I was being paranoid, like I was overreacting. But tonight, the sensation was stronger, more real. I kept glancing at the stands, scanning for any sign of that man in the green cap. I hated that he had this power over me, that he had wormed his way into my thoughts.

“Rach, you’re up!”

I snapped back to the present, pushing myself onto the track. I tried to push the fear away, to concentrate on the game, but it clung to me like a second skin. My performance suffered, and we barely scraped by with a win. By the time the game ended, I was drained, both physically and mentally.

Afterward, I headed to the storage room, searching for a first aid kit. My thigh was throbbing where I had crashed into the side during the final jam. I found a battered red kit in the ticket office, tucked behind some old flyers. It was scuffed and worn, but it would do. I cleaned the scrape, wincing as the alcohol swab stung against the raw skin.

The locker room was empty by the time I got there. A quick text revealed that my teammates had already gone to the bar for the post-game celebration. I was about to join them when something grabbed my attention—a movement in the stands. My heart skipped a beat, tightening in my chest as I spotted a figure hidden in the darkness, wearing a green cap.

My pulse spiked. “Stay back. I…I’m armed,” I shouted, the words tumbling out in a rush. But I wasn’t armed, and he probably knew that. Panic set in, and I skated hard toward the exit, only to slam into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me, leaving me gasping. I made a break for the doors, but they were locked. I bolted back to the locker room, my heart hammering in my ears.

I am safe. I am protected. I am a badass.

The mantra barely steadied me as I barricaded myself inside one of the tall lockers, pressing my back against the cool metal. My hands trembled, debating if I should contact the police again. Instead, I texted Derrick. He was the only person I knew that would help me and not get on my ass if this turned out to be a nothing burger. I’d call Eva, but she was still gone.

The message sent, I huddled inside my steel cage, praying the stranger couldn’t get in.

Thirty minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last, before I heard the door rattle again.

“Rachel, are you in there?” Derrick’s voice was a lifeline, pulling me out of the depths of my panic.

I pushed out of the locker, flinging the door open. My eyes darted around the empty room, searching for any trace of the stalker. “Did you see him? Is he still here?”

Derrick’s expression was grim. “The place is deserted.”

I tried to make light of it, needing to break the tension. “Are you sure your ancient eyes didn’t miss anything? Night vision’s the first to go, you know.”

“There’s no one here but me and you.” His tone was serious with an undercurrent of concern that made my shoulders tense. If he thought it was strange that he was the person I called to rescue me, he didn’t show it.

“I saw him,” I insisted. “I’m not imagining this.”

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