Page 24 of Stalked

Looking up, I stare at my friend. I expect him to be laughing or smirking, but he’s not. He actually looks like he cares and wants to know about his well-being.

“He asked me to let him go,” I mutter, hating the words coming from my mouth.

“Are you going to?”

I pace around my office.“You need to let me go.”His words repeat in my head, over again. I can’t get those words out. I don’t understand why he would say that, or why he would think I would bewillingto just let him go.

I’m not. He’s mine, and he’s staying, even if that means locking him away in this house. Tying him to the fucking bed, or in the basement. He’s mine, and Gabriel isn’t going anywhere. He’s fucking mine.

“No.” I sigh, hating that I should let him go. But I can’t.

I’ll just have to work harder at getting him to understand that. I’m not going anywhere, even if he somehow manages to slip from my fingers. I’ll follow him again, track him, no matter where he goes. No one else can have him. He’s mine.

A scream stops me in my tracks. Who would be screaming like th–Gabriel.

Kyler and I look at each other before I rip the door open and run towards his room. I burst into his room, Kyler hot on my heels, expecting to find someone hurting him or nearly anything else but him thrashing around on the bed.

“Stop!” he shouts, kicking his legs out.

“I’ll let you handle this,” Kyler says, closing the door behind him.

Stepping towards him, I dodge his legs, bending to shake his shoulder. The second my hand touches his skin, I get a solid punch to the face.

“Fuck,” I grunt.

Tearsstream down Gabriel's face, sobbing, limbs thrashing around. My gut clutches at the sight of him being stuck in his nightmare. I’ve never seen them this bad, especially on him.

“Come on, Gabriel,” I coo, climbing into his bed. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I try to hold him. Gabriel continues to cry but stops trying to fight against my hold. “Gabriel,” I whisper, desperation clawing at my insides, needing him to wake up. This isn’t the sassy blond boy I know. The one who refuses to take my shit. I need my boy back. I need my Little Rabbit.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, I got you,” I whisper into his ear.

His body slowly stops struggling, his cry becoming quiet. The only sound is his breathing, a little strained but still there.

“Tobias?” he whispers, his hand reaching back, the soft touch of his fingers against my cheek.

“Yes, Little Rabbit, it’s me. I’ve got you.” I sigh into the back of his head.

Gabriel nods his head, taking his hand from my cheek. I almost beg him to put it back, the words dying in my throat when his hand latches onto my hand, the ones that are wrapped around his chest. Holding his back against my chest.

Several long minutes pass. Gabriel’s breathing returns slightly normal, and my hold on him tightens. Refusing to let go, even if he wanted me to. I don’t know who is holding onto who more. But I am clinging for dear life because he might as well have been.

14

Gabriel

“What helps you?” Tobias asks, his arm still wrapped around my chest.

I hate how small I feel, how I escaped from Dan, but I’m still stuck in my nightmares. I’m still stuck. But I can’t tell him any of that, no. I can’t tell anyone that I am still afraid I’m going to be sold, raped, and beaten again. Even though they are dead. It’s been fifteen damn years, and I’m still back in that office, waiting for them to take me.

“Gabriel, I can only help if you let me. And I can see that fight, most probably don’t see it. But I do. Now tell me. Whathelps?”

“Drawing, coloring, that sort of thing.” I shrug, his arms dropping from my body. Crawling to the edge of my bed.

I know it sounds childish. I mean, when everything went down with my sister and Zion, her husband now, I gravitated toward art. Drawing helped me most of the time. It was my outlet.

“I have an idea.” Tobias suddenly stands, ripping his shirt off.

Drool pools in my mouth the moment my eyes land on his hard muscles and they lock on his waist. Especially where a small patch of black coarse hair disappears below his pants.

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