Page 5 of My Masked Stalker
I blink away the shock and try to make sense of what happened. There’s a large brick embedded in the cracked windshield, right above the steering wheel. Did it… fall off a building?
“I can’t fucking believe this!” my date fumes. “Do you know how much this is going to cost me?”
“Huh?”
Evan ignores my confusion, his eyes blazing. He runs his hands through his blonde hair, gripping it tightly.
“This is all your fault, you frigid bitch. Get out!”
Not needing to be told twice and feeling like I landed in the middle of a Twilight Zone episode, I clumsily stumble out of the car, slamming the door behind me. The thud causes the glass to crack further around the protruding brick, and I can’t stop the hysterical giggle climbing up my throat.
My heart is pounding against my ribcage, thewhoosh-whooshreverberating in my ears. Was I an inch away fromgetting killed for the second time in under twenty-four hours? And was this a freak accident, or something far more sinister?
Not sure I want to know the answers, I take one last look at Evan’s car before punching in the door code and running to the elevator. Mr. Petrov proved you’re not safe in your own apartment, but I’d rather take my chances with an assassin than Evan. I don’tthinkI’ve done anything that would warrant a murder for hire.
Wearily, I unlock my door and kick off my heels, before I drop down onto my couch and lean my head back against the backrest. I can’t wait for this weekend to be over. Spotting my remote, I turn the TV on for some background noise while I check my messages. I shoot a quick one to Barb, letting her know my date was anything but successful. I’ll tell her about the brick tomorrow at work.
Something makes me look up at the TV, and when I register the headline and whose picture is being shown, my jaw drops for the second time tonight.
The headline says:Second Saturday Night Sniper Victim Found.
And the picture? Not a stranger. No. That’s Chris.
3
KILLIAN
I’ve been watching my little teacher for a month now. The weather’s turning, and I can see my breath misting the air from my perch on the rooftop. I considered installing cameras in her apartment, but there’s something so intimate about seeing her without a screen between us. So I come here when I’m not on a job or following her through the city, watching her move around her home. Her curtains are open throughout, and she’s giving me a clear view.
Because sheknowsI’m here.
After I took care of Chris and then Evan—though I don’t think she knows about that one—I couldn’t resist letting her know why they died. I sent her a simple message:You’re mine. No one touches you.
I watched her read it, saw the color drain from her face, saw her eyes widen with fear. She was sitting on a park bench during her lunch break, and I was close enough to see her hands shake. During the weeks that followed, I got even closer, enough to take in her scent of vanilla and strawberries, a scent as innocent as she is. Well, as shelooks. Because she never reported my messages to the police, and I did send her more. After that first one, it was like a dam breaking.
I sent her praises.Thank you for the show. I came so fucking hard watching you finger your pussy on the kitchen counter.
I sent her orders.Wear that red dress today. I fucking love how your tits look in it.
I sent her warnings.Delete the dating apps. I’ll know if you don’t.
She obeyed. So, tonight, I want to send her something else. Me.
My skull mask covers the bottom half of my face, and I have a hoodie pulled over my head, so I’m not afraid of her recognizing me, even if she did whip out binoculars. As she twirls her fork in her spaghetti dish, I put down my own binos and pull up the one-sided text thread. She hasn’t replied yet, but she also hasn’t blocked me. Not that I’d allow that.
I’m jealous of the fork, sweetheart. Want that mouth on me.
I watch as the message gets delivered… and then read. I step onto the ledge facing her kitchen window, the moon bright behind me. Her figure becomes clearer as she approaches the glass separating us, and I know the moment she spots me. Her hand comes up to her mouth, and though I can’t see her expression without the magnification, I can only imagine her round eyes.
Gray. They’re a pale, ashen gray, and something I think about often when I jerk off in the shower.
The longer she looks at me, the harder my cock gets. The anticipation is electric. What will she do? Will she finally reply? Will she close the curtains and hide? Every moment she stays feels like a victory. She can’t deny my existence when I’m right in front of her—in a way. The street is between us, but I’m running out of patience for it to stay that way much longer.
Emily stays by her window for long minutes, as if she’s taking in the sight of me. I wonder if she sees the predator who has herin his sights. The ex-Scout Sniper. The mercenary. The animal salivating to sink his teeth into her.
Subconsciously, I grab my crotch through my cargo pants and squeeze my dick. My thoughts and her eyes on me have me frothing at the mouth. When her hand follows my lead, moving down to her breast, I grin into my mask.
That’s my good girl.
