Page 6 of Room Nine: Masters of Control

I change tactics, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to appear relaxed. “How’s your head? Any headaches from the blast? Do we need to worry about a concussion?”

Kyra gives me a small smile. “My head is fine, but I’m sure I’ve got bruises from being tackled to the ground not once, but twice, by a guy who has fifty pounds on me.”

I lift the hem of my T-shirt and pat my eight-pack. “Fifty pounds of sexy muscle.”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you always so obnoxious?”

“Yes,” O’Dell grumbles. “He is.”

My tactics work. She pushes back on the bed, putting her back against the corner, and sighs. “I met Bobby a few months ago at my bar. I served him a couple drinks, and at the time, he came across as a charming guy. He asked me out for dinner that weekend. Dinner was weird. He was cryptic about himself. What he did for a living, where he grew up, his background—everything. He was super curious about me, though. My family, or lack thereof, my friends, my support network. By the time dessert came around, he’d thoroughly creeped me out and knew I’d never go out with him again. But he had other ideas.”

“He stalks you.” O’Dell pulls the pages out of his side pocket and tosses them on the bed next to her.

She glances at the pages and nods, the first sign of exhaustion hitting her eyes. “It started small, at first. Texts and phone calls. Showing up at the bar on my nights off. Then he somehow figured out where I worked during the day and where I live. Flowers at the office, dinners delivered to my home, love notes left on my car windshield. I tried to explain to him I wasn’t in a good place for a relationship, but he didn’t care. He started love bombing me, getting more and more pushy about us being together, waiting for me at my car at night… stuff like that. We have security on Friday and Saturday nights at the bar, otherwise it’s not busy enough to justify the extra staff, but one bouncer, Jimmy, figured out what was going on and stepped up for me, claiming we were together. I didn’t hear from Bobby for a couple days and thought it was over. The next Friday, Jimmy didn’t show up for work. On Saturday, I found out he was in the hospital. He’d been jumped on his way to the bar and nearly beaten to death. That night, I got another bouquet at the bar with this note.” She holds it up for me to take.

I read the words, a cold chill climbing up my spine. “Love me or hate me, Kyra, either way, you’re mine. I’ve tried making you love me, but I can live with you hating me. Understand, I will never give you up, and you’ll die before I let another man have you. If you think you can run from me, I dare you to try. I know how to make people disappear. Usually I sell them off, but you I’ll keep forever. I have an underground bunker specifically designed for you to call home. See you soon.”

“When did you receive this?” I hand the note to O’Dell, anger simmering in my belly. I’m going to tear this asshole limb from limb, videotaping it so I can replay each scene over and over. Actually, I’ll kill him slowly, keeping him conscious so he can watch the videos with me.

I might even make popcorn.

“Three weeks ago.” She presses her lips together and says again, “three weeks ago.”

I exchange a glance with O’Dell. The look on his face is placid, which means he’s just as pissed as me.

Poor Bobby Lash.

Regardless of what Townsend does to us because of our failed mission, something tells me Bobby’s days are numbered.

3

KYRA

These guys—despite the fact they chased, tackled, restrained, pulled my hair, and in essence, kidnapped me—seem okay. I assumed they were Bobby’s hired guns, but judging by the looks on their faces after reading my note, I feel confident they hate him almost as much as I do.

Receiving Bobby’s note three weeks ago shook me to my very core. That, coupled with seeing Jimmy in the hospital, and I knew what I had to do. I had to get to Bobby before he got to me.

This isn’t my first time with this shit. I was stalked and raped twice by the same guy, right after I dropped out of college. I’d met him attending classes. We went out a couple times, but the chemistry wasn’t there—at least not in my mind. He wouldn’t take a polite no as an answer, so I ghosted him. I thought he’d moved on because it was months before I ran into him again, in downtown Chicago of all places. Then, his pursuit stepped up a few notches, and he became obsessive. He’s still in jail today, but eligible for parole next year.

That was seven years ago, and now I’m a black belt in karate. I met an amazing woman who trains SA survivors on how to protect themselves.

Be vigilant. Be smart. Be prepared.

Sadly, I’m not her only student or even her star pupil, because unfortunately, Chicago has plenty of predators and victims to go around.

I eye the two men before me. The guy standing up is broad, maybe six foot two, with dark, close-cropped hair and beard. His chest and biceps are a work of gladiator fantasies, and the way he stands with his legs slightly spread gives off a confident, but not arrogant vibe. Strong, dominant, imposing—all the things that make most girls’ legs go weak.

They certainly do mine.

The guy sitting next to me oozes arrogance, but he does so with a smile on his face—as if us tumbling in the field and him taking a punch to the eye was all part of the foreplay. He’s got longer sandy blonde hair on top, and his face is normally shaved clean—if the five o’clock shadow is anything to go by. I’d say he’s a few inches taller than the guy standing up, but he’s leaner and cut, as his eight-pack abs attest. He’s the kind of guy you try to ignore at the bar and end up falling into bed with anyway—questioning all your life decisions in the morning. A hell of a lot of fun, but not someone to take seriously.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” I glance from one to the other.

They exchange a look but say nothing.

“Okay, well, this has been fun, but if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m sorry, Kyra, but you aren’t going anywhere,” The big guy says.

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