Page 2 of My Mountain Man Stalker
But that night, just after midnight, I wake to the sound of boots on the porch. Heavy. Deliberate. Slow.
And I swear to god I hear him breathe my name.
Wren.
2
Wren
I don't sleep. Not really.
I drift in and out, heart tapping out Morse code against my ribs, every creak of the floorboards tightening the knot in my chest. The old cabin groans with the wind, just like I remember from summers as a kid. But now it sounds less like weather and more likefootsteps.
I keep the Glock on the nightstand, the safety off.
Pathetic, considering I’ve never shot it. I watched a few YouTube videos on the train. That’s about the extent of my expertise.
The night stretches, thick and quiet, until gray morning light bleeds in through the window. I’m curled under a scratchy quilt in my grandmother’s old bed, staring at the ceiling, still wearing my jeans and boots.
My brain won’t stop replaying the last two weeks like a broken reel.
Liam’s voice in the parking garage.
His hand on my arm.
The smile that never reached his eyes.
“You made a mistake, baby. Now fix it. Give it back.”
I should’ve been smarter. Should’ve left the damn thing alone.
But when you find a tiny black SD card tucked behind a false drawer in your boyfriend’s desk, and it’s labeledDo Not Erasein shaky block letters—you look. Especially if you’re already halfway out the door because he’s controlling and weird and you don’t feel safe anymore.
I watched five minutes of the first video.
That was enough.
Girls. Young. Drugged? Crying. One of them looked like she tried to fight back.
Liam’s voice in the background.
Laughter.
I threw up. Then I ran.
And now I’m here.
Except it’s not far enough. Not even close.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands down my face. I smell like sweat and pine and fear. I need to shower. Eat. Think.Plan. But when I glance at the window again, my whole body goes cold.
He’s standing at the edge of the trees.
My heart slams into my throat.
He’s not hiding this time. Not creeping in the shadows like he always does. No—this time he’s justthere. Staring. Waiting.
Tall. Broad. Half in shadow. His face hidden by a hood, dark stubble along his jaw, arms loose at his sides like he’s not the least bit afraid I’ll run.
