Page 13 of Bred By the Mercenary

His eyes wide, he throws his arms in the air. “What, hit you? You hit me, too!”

“Leave me alone, Ryker. This isn’t happening.” I recoil quicker, but he’s still coming.

“I get it now. You’re fucking someone else, aren’t you, whore? Who’s the fucker?”

Adrenaline surges through me, and I don’t wait another second. I turn and make a run for my car, parked at the back of the area. My heart’s hammering in my chest, echoing the thud of footsteps chasing after me.

Terror pushes me forward while I fumble with the keys in my grip, my hands trembling. The beep of the car unlocking sounds like a savior. I lunge for the driver’s door, yanking it open,a scream caught in my throat. In a frantic, desperate move, I throw myself into the driver’s seat.

Slamming the door shut, I hit the auto door locks just as Ryker reaches the car. He crashes into the driver’s side with a thud and slams his fist into the window. I flinch, fear twisting inside me, and I can barely think beyond getting the key into the ignition and getting the hell out of there.

“Amelia, we need to talk. Don’t do this,” he shouts, his face contorted into one of pure rage, his cheeks blazing red.

With the key finally in, the engine roars to life, and I pull away from Ryker, who’s punching the car, still shouting at me. My foot hits the gas, and I zip away from him, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. In the rearview mirror, Ryker gets smaller and smaller, eventually vanishing as I turn out of the parking lot.

The streets are a blur, hot tears burning in my eyes while I’m shaking from fear, from anger.

Gripping the steering wheel, I try to focus on the road, not ready to go home… not when Ryker might be going there, too. So, I keep driving, crying, shaking, and hating that I feel so vulnerable and weak to even return to my own home.

Daxton

Parked outside Amelia’s apartment complex, it’s two a.m., and the city is shrouded in darkness. Here I am, still. My knees bounce restlessly as I sit in my car, staring at my phone. The messenger app is open with Amelia’s number typed in. Texting her now would only reinforce the stalker side of me, but damn it, where is she?

I went up to her apartment and knocked on the door, but no one answered. Then I moved my car to where I could watch herplace up on the third floor for when she returned and the lights switched on.

Except she hasn’t shown up.

People have been coming and going to the building, but not Amelia. And the longer I wait, the more my mind spirals out of control with borderline paranoia.

I admit I’ve become obsessed with her, and it’s not just an infatuation. The first time I met her, when I tasted her, I had her purring in my hands, and I lost my head and heart. I knew then that I wanted her in my life. So, here I am, trying to cool my jets in the dead of the night, stalking her apartment like some lovesick fool.

Another half hour ticks by, and she’s still a no-show. Maybe she’s found someone new? If that’s the case, well, then I’ve got a new challenge on my hands. One I’ll easily eliminate to make her mine.

Just as I decide I can’t wait a second longer, I pull out of my parking spot just as a jerk races in front of me, nearly crashing into my car. My foot hits the brake hard.

“You motherfucker!” I bellow, my hand already on the door handle, ready to get out and rip his head off. But he’s already swerving like a lunatic and speeding off, narrowly avoiding a collision with another parked car.

Taking a deep breath, I shake off the rush of adrenaline and anger.

I roll forward and head home to chill the fuck out. The night’s been a bust, but I’m nothing if not a tenacious bastard who never gives up.

The next day at the bar, there’s still no word from Amelia. She’s not at work, and the nagging hole in my chest is spreading through me.

Grinding my jaw, I try to take slow breaths, but I’m pacing and find myself out of my office and standing in the staff kitchen doorway. Jessi’s in there, grabbing a cup of coffee. She’s got her hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing black leggings and a tight, cropped top, with a bar-branded small apron around her waist.

“Hey,” she says, glancing up at me. “Did the delicious waft of coffee draw you here?” She’s smirking.

“I think I’ve hit my quota at six coffees already.”

“Fuck, you must be buzzing off the walls.”

I chuckle because she has no idea how tight-strung and hyper I feel on the inside.

“Anyway, have you heard anything from Amelia?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, she didn’t call you? I spoke to her earlier. She said she’s not feeling well and is taking the day off.”

Hearing that Amelia’s fine is a relief, but there’s a twinge of disappointment that she didn’t reach out to me.

---