Wild Riders

Stalker

The day's event kept doing rounds in my head.

My father must have known something. At least a tiny bit of the s**t that was going down with the WR. He had to know about their HQ burning down.

Am I just a sacrificial lamb?

The thought entered my mind like a flash of lightning, but I banished it just as quickly.

He would never.

But no matter what, the fact was, I was in big trouble.

I should just be able to lie low and, for f**k's sake, wait everything out, let the dust settle, and make anyone who knew of the little book I had stolen forget it even existed; but with this s**t storm approaching my bared ass, there was no way that would ever happen.

I had already prepared my phone, lying on the kitchen's window sill, ringer on full volume, expecting Willy's name to pop up on my screen. The only thing I could do was pace around the kitchen, hands on hips, huffing and puffing, at who knows what, because honestly, I had no one to blame for the hell I was about to descend into. I mean, maybe my father? But he would never.

Thinking about the job, my father, or just anything was better though, then letting my thoughts wander anywhere else.

My eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, drifting across the yard to my neighbor.

That bastard, I swear.

Every so often, when I let my eyes wander, I could see him standing by his window, looking at me. He's my very own stalker. Now that it was evening, I was sure it wouldn't be long before his three buddies would pull up, and then, they could throw a stalking party, me as the special guest from afar.

But now that I think about it, he did say he didn't trust me. He probably wanted to immediately report anything suspicious to Willy. Or maybe Willy doesn't trust me either, and it's both of them who agreed to spy on me.

Now, I could be delusional, I could be imagining and overthinking things, but better be careful than sorry. They can spy and stalk all they want. Axel won't see s**t I don't want them to.

But at the same time, that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with him.

I grab my phone from the window sill, and start making my way upstairs.

The two houses have the same layout, just mirrored, which means our bedrooms face each other, and I've got a great way of testing the stalker theory.

***

Axel

The way she got angry after we got home, for knowing about her little deal, got me intrigued. I mean, goddamn I didn't trust that woman from the get-go. I didn't trust her before, but that reaction? It can only mean trouble. She is hiding something and I'll be damned if I let a woman destroy my family.

I did try to talk to Willy about her, but he wouldn't hear it. Either the old man is f*****g nuts, or he knows something we don't and already has a plan. The way I know him, I'd go with the latter, but s**t, who knows.

No matter what, I am intent on keeping tabs on her. After she went off on me the way she did, I'm sure she's got to slip up someway. Call someone, text someone, do something that will tell me my instincts about her are right. Though, if I'm honest, my instincts tell me a lot of s**t whenever I'm around her or think of her.

No woman has ever made me feel crazy like this, but yet again, no woman has tried f*****g with the MC either. It's just intrigue, knowing that she's full of bullshit and maybe just a hint of respect for the things she's doing and how she does them.

The old ladies can be fuckin crazy, but at the end of the day, they let their man handle s**t. I don't think Arabelle would let anyone but herself handle her own s**t. Yeah, she was trouble, but she was dangerous as hell as well, and even though my brain was telling me to keep my distance from the enemy, my c**k was telling me something else entirely. Bury yourself in her.

After she marched into her house and slammed the door, probably loud enough to scare away the bird from three miles away, I decided the best option was to keep my eyes on her. Yeah, a little bit unorthodox of a method, but who the f**k cares? If I can, I'm taking her down before it goes the other way around.

She'd just been pacing around her kitchen, somewhat angry, sometimes kind of obviously talking to herself. She'd check her phone, but more like she was expecting a text, a call, but nothing ever came. I'd guess she was expecting Willy to call, but it could be anyone. She sometimes looked out the window to mine, flipping me off or just turning away. I wasn't gonna hide the fact I was watching her, it had no use. I've gathered, she's smart enough to know I'm watching her, whether she'd see me or not. I was hoping for a slip up, her forgetting herself, because I know a woman like that is never going to take privacy as something that is a fact.

But then, she grabbed her phone and stomped off. I could see the lights switching off, and turning back on down the hall. She was going upstairs.

I followed.

The light in her bedroom was already on when I stepped into mine, cutting through the gloom of my own space like a blade. I didn't reach for the switch. I preferred the shadows; they matched the state of my head. I stood a few feet back from the glass, my silhouette swallowed by the dark, but I knew she could probably still see the heavy shape of me against the faint twilight silvering the backyard.

She didn't seem to care, though.

In that square of warm, amber light, she looked like something out of a dream—or a warning. The glow caught the edges of her hair, turning the stray strands into a halo of copper and gold. The atmosphere was thick, charged with the kind of silence that happens right before a storm breaks.

My pulse was a heavy, rhythmic thrum in my ears, drowning out the distant sound of crickets. I told myself I was looking for a "slip up."

Told myself I was looking for a burner, a weird move, anything out of the ordinary.

But, oh f**k, when she reached for the hem of her shirt, something carnal awakened in me.

The way she moved was slow, tauntingly deliberate, as if she were counting every heartbeat it took for the fabric to inch up. The light traced the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, and the smooth, pale skin of her stomach. She was standing right at the fuckin' window, challenging the darkness—challenging me.

She wasn’t hiding. She was performing. And god help me, I was the only audience member she wanted.