Stalk Her Read online

  Stalk Her

  Jenika Snow

  STALK HER

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright © September 2019 by Jenika Snow

  First ebook publication © September 2019 Jenika Snow

  Photographer: Reggie Deanching

  Cover Model: Ryan Lee Harmon

  Cover design by: Lori Jackson

  Editor: Kasi Alexander

  Content Editor: Kayla Robichaux

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  This is for all those girls who really love a bad boy. And to Kayla for her editing and stalker detail skills! ;)

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  As president of The Devil’s Right Hand MC, I could get whatever I wanted.

  Drugs, women, money, but most of all power.

  And it’s the latter I was most interested in, most focused on acquiring. Because without that, you’re nothing. And in the town of Copperhead, Colorado, I had no problem making people bend to my will.

  I ran my club with an iron fist, and what we did wasn’t exactly legal, but then again the kind of money we wanted, you didn’t get by following the rules.

  So back-alley deals, corrupt situations, blackmail, and just being a downright bastard… that’s what the MC was known for.

  That’s what I was known for. Because fear got you what you wanted.

  But then she came into my life—this sweet, fresh, and pretty young thing working at one of the bars the MC owned. I should’ve stayed away, should’ve kept my distance, because she was a liability and a distraction I sure as hell didn’t need.

  Yet all it took was that one encounter, that one moment for her to cross my path, and I was completely obsessed with her.

  I found myself doing anything and everything to get information on her, to find out who she was, where she lived... why she was so far away from home.

  So I followed.

  But her life wasn’t as innocent and vulnerable as she wanted people to think. She had secrets. She had a past. One she was running from.

  But I wasn’t into a fairytale life or ending. That was never in the cards for me.

  Because when it came to her, I knew I’d do anything to make her mine.

  Chapter One

  Butcher

  “Either fucking fold or quit pulling our dicks,” I said as I glared at Right Hand, a fellow patch who’d gotten his nickname because he’d nearly lost his damn right hand after he’d been caught fucking his stepbrother’s ex-girlfriend. Even though she’d been an ex, apparently said stepbrother still had a hard-on for her and went after Right Hand with a butcher knife. He nearly took the fucking hand right off like he was trimming meat for Sunday dinner.

  Besides, the nickname fit with him being a member of the MC and all. Now, Right Hand had a gnarly scar around his wrist, and a sweet-ass biker name to go along with it. Guess things worked out the way they were supposed to.

  And you’d think Right Hand would have learned from that mistake, that a life lesson like that would have knocked some sense into his crazy ass. But nope. Fucker was still sleeping with said stepbrother’s ex on occasion all these years later.

  Must have been some damn good pussy to risk having a motherfucker come after you with a butcher knife again and go for another part of the body.

  “I’m not pulling anyone’s dick but my own,” Right Hand said and grinned, flashing a silver cap on one of his side teeth.

  “I know you don’t got anything, asshole. So fold already, so I can go home and crash. I’m fucking beat.”

  He exhaled and threw down his cards, face-up. The other three guys followed suit.

  “Too fucking rich for my broke-ass blood,” Boss said.

  “I think you bastards like pulling each other’s dicks with this pissing contest.” Nitro was the next one to speak.

  And then there was Scorpion, a patch who I even wondered if he spoke English, given the fact that most of his communication was in grunts and nods.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said and tossed mine down, showing a pair of twos.

  “What the hell? You don’t even have shit.” Right Hand’s face was turning a nice shade of red as his anger rose to the surface.

  “Had a shit hand… yet here I am, taking all you motherfuckers’ money.” I grinned and reached for the center of the table, pulling the cash toward me.

  “Fuck,” Right Hand muttered. “I’m getting drunk and getting laid. Fuck this shit.”

  The rest of the guys started talking shit.

  “Go lick your wounds, you fucking crybabies.” I flipped them off and reached for my beer, finishing it off before I left. I had a long-ass day tomorrow, and it wasn’t even doing fun shit, just paperwork and legal bullshit for our legit businesses.

  We might be outlaws, but hell, we weren’t stupid. Having on-the-books businesses kept us on the up-and-up. It made sure we looked like law-abiding citizens, even if we sure as hell weren’t.

  I was nearly done with my beer—just set down the bottle on the scarred table—when movement out of the corner of my eye had me turning and looking in the other direction.

  She walked out of the back room, carrying a tray. She was tiny as she leaned against the bar and waited as Richie made up her drinks. Her jeans were tight, too tight, because they showed off her slender frame and the way her ass popped out.

  It looked juicy... like a fucking peach.

  Her cropped top wasn’t obscene, didn’t show skin, but it was tight enough I could see how small she was all around.

  Fuck, I bet my hands would wrap fully around her waist.

  She was young, too fucking young to be working in a place like this.

  She was too fucking young for me to be looking at her the way I was, thinking about the things I was.

  Her long blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and the first thing that came to mind was how I wanted those strands wrapped around my hand as I took her from behind while I yanked her head back and bared her throat.

  I tracked her movements through the bar as she set down the orders at different tables. Her cheeks were pink as if she were blushing. Fuck, she was innocent-looking. I didn’t stop myself from lowering my gaze to her chest. Her tits were small, maybe not even a handful. But they looked perfect. The little nipples were poking through the material, making my dick instantly hard and press against the zipper of my jeans.

  The men who frequented this bar were lowdown criminals, outlaws like myself. They took what they wanted and asked questions after the fact. And a girl like her sure as fuck shouldn’t be in a place like this.

  I didn’t like it.
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  I called Richie over, the manager of our establishment. He came over with a towel slung over his shoulder, a worried expression on his face. He wasn’t like us, like the MC. In fact, he’d been the original owner of the bar before we took over, before we gave him an ultimatum, no choice but to go into business with us.

  That’s what kind of bastards we were.

  “What’s up, Butcher?” Richie asked. The older man might not be a criminal like myself, but he sure as fuck wasn’t some law-abiding citizen. That’s why it made it easy to give him the ultimatum to sell us his bar while we still allowed him to run it.

  What could he do? Refuse us and end up in the back-alley dumpster?

  Besides, he was good at selling underage customers, also good at selling pussy in the back of the shop during and after business hours.

  “Who’s the new girl? She barely looks old enough to buy a pack of cigarettes, let alone be serving alcohol.”

  Richie looked over to where the young blonde was and then glanced back at me. “That’s Poppy. New girl. She’s been here about a week. Just turned nineteen, I think.” The look he gave me was a little bit hesitant. It was the look of a man who thought I said something shady. He knew me well, but fuck, I wasn’t some kind of a fucking maniac. “Should I have asked before hiring her?” he asked genuinely.

  I shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck who you hire, Richie.” I looked back at Poppy. “You selling her ass in the back like the others?” He better fucking say he wasn’t or I’d break his kneecaps. That thought and certainty filled me so strongly it shocked the hell out of me.

  “No.” He shook his head adamantly. “She’s not a whore. She just slings drinks and collects a paycheck every other week.”

  I grunted in response. “Poppy,” I said under my breath, instantly liking how it rolled off my tongue.

  I could still feel Richie looking at me, but I didn’t give a fuck. He wasn’t my concern. Now, Poppy… Poppy was definitely my concern.

  Chapter Two

  Poppy

  “Damn, girl. You got a tight little ass on you.”

  I ignored the drunken asshole who tried to grab me. I stepped back and gave him a fake, tight-lipped smile. The three men sitting around the table were all eyeing me as if I was a piece of meat. I was used to it, unfortunately, not because I thought I was pretty or anything special, but because I had a pussy and that’s all they cared about.

  I knew these types of men. They were the ones I’d been around my entire life.

  They were the type of asshole I’d run from.

  Here I was, finding myself in the same situation as I’d escaped… being surrounded by a bunch of pricks who only saw me as a hole to fill.

  I set the beer down in front of the asshole and turned to make my rounds and check on the other customers. The classic rock played overhead from the jukebox in the corner, an old-ass thing that looked like it was on its last legs. The interior lights of the thing flickered, and the makeshift dance floor was scuffed up and scarred. The few people who were in the center dancing looked more like they were trying to dry hump each other than anything else.

  I made it one step before the guy reached out and smacked my ass hard enough that I felt the sting through my jeans. I turned around and narrowed my eyes. I might’ve been young, but I was tough, had lived my life around men who thought taking advantage of women was the norm. I didn’t come from a rich family. I wasn’t privileged. I had to fight for everything I got in life, and there was no fucking way I was going to let some drunk prick put his hands on me, thinking I was another girl who would just roll over and spread her legs.

  “Keep your hands to yourself.” What I wanted to say to him was that if he touched me again, I’d cut off his fucking fingers and shove them down his throat.

  He looked at me and then at his friends, who were laughing at his clear misfortune. I’d embarrassed him. I could tell by how red his face became, how he narrowed his eyes at me and clenched his jaw. But fuck him. I didn’t care.

  I walked back to the bar, but still I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I’d felt it as soon as I stepped out of the backroom, as if someone watched me intently. This wasn’t the same attention as a drunkard staring at me. No, this felt different. This felt more intense, more consuming.

  I set my tray down and looked over my shoulder, scanning the interior of the bar. As bars went, it was pretty standard, with sticky, scuffed-up floors, a weird, stale smell in the air, and just an overall rundown appearance. The decor went as far as having old-ass license plates nailed up on the walls.

  As I continued to scan the room, nothing stood out to me right away, and I couldn’t see anyone staring at me. But still, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was being watched. I always went with my instincts. They’d saved me more times than I could count. They’d been the reason I left the shitty riser I’d called home in the middle of the night, because my worthless and neglectful drug addict of a mom’s boyfriend—Henry—had been throwing up red flags in my direction.

  The way he looked at me, brushed up against me, had my stomach clenching in disgust, had bile rising in my throat.

  It would have only been a matter of time before he came into my room and took what he wanted.

  At nineteen, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of money, not with working part-time as a waitress at the diner in town—the one that made this bar look like the damn Ritz. And so that’s why I did what I had to do. That’s why I’d stolen from Henry to make sure I had the funds to escape.

  I knew he kept a stack of cash in a coffee can in the freezer. He either thought we were too stupid to know or he watched too many action movies. Either way, I knew. So I’d left when they’d been passed out, needle in my mom’s arm, a mirror on the coffee table with coke residue smeared across it.

  I’d wanted to have that relationship with my mother in which I could confide in her, but to be honest, I was surprised I’d survived as long as I had under her care.

  I’d been nothing more than a means to an end, a broken condom, as she so eloquently put it. I’d been stuck in a shit life, and I’d been tired of it. Just a shame the circumstances had been the way they’d been.

  So here I was, finding myself in some little rundown town hundreds of miles away from the only place I’d ever called home. I’d thought twice about staying. It was clearly run by criminals, an MC that had an iron fist where everything was concerned. But then I realized this was the best place for me to be, to hide… to be out in the open but camouflaged by the filthy scum of the world.

  I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly. Maybe I wasn’t being watched. Maybe it was all in my head, a paranoid feeling, because I was on the run, expecting to be found at any moment.

  And this job? This barmaid who got paid under the table despite having filled out an application for “paper trail” reasons, per the owner, was just trying to stay out of trouble and save some money to move to the next place.

  But no matter how hard I tried, the feeling of being watched was heavy and thick, like honey over my skin, but not sweet. It was a bitter feeling, this cold sensation that wrapped its icy hands around my heart and squeezed that organ tight until I felt all the blood leave me.

  My heart started racing, beads of sweat coating my palms and the length of my spine.

  I knew Henry would eventually find me. Although he was a scumbag, I knew he had connections. I’d overheard him talking plenty of times. I was, after all, just the daughter of the junkie he was fucking. I didn’t know if he had ties with the mob, gangs, or maybe another MC. But whatever it was, he’d find me.

  So this was a temporary home, a temporary solution. Maybe if I hadn’t stolen the money he would’ve left me alone. Maybe not. It didn’t matter now.

  But that money was only going to last for so long, so that’s why I was working for minimum wage and tips. The two grand I took wasn’t going to last me forever, but I had to keep moving. Keep running.

  Staying in one
place too long would end up killing me.

  I was about to make my rounds again when my gaze landed on one table off to the side. He sat there by himself, staring at me, his focus so intense that it was as if he reached out and ran his fingers over my skin. That’s how strongly I felt it, how powerful his look was.

  I should have looked away, should have broken the eye contact. I didn’t like the way it made me feel, didn’t like the way he looked at me.

  It was the look a man gave a woman he wanted to own.

  I didn’t know how I knew that’s what his stare meant, but the longer he watched me, the more I knew that was the truth.

  “Poppy, do you want to take these over to table four? They’re mean-mugging the hell out of me right now, and I’m not in the mood to deal with a drunkard’s fight.”

  I finally tore my gaze away and glanced at Richie. I nodded, took the beers, set them on my tray, and told myself to just ignore the man who refused to stop watching me.

  But as I made my way around the bar to deliver the drinks, I was still very aware that he watched me, tracked me around the room. I felt it. It was then that I knew he was the one who’d had my instincts on high alert. He was the reason I felt like I was under a microscope.

  And I didn’t know why I was nervous, didn’t know why I felt as though I was being stripped bare, put on display. Was he with Henry? Was he sent out to find me? Did he track me down?

  I started to feel fear take hold. I didn’t know what Henry would do to me if he found me.

  I went back to the bar, refusing to look at the man at the table, to show him that I noticed his attention was right on me or that it affected me so much. When I got back to the counter, I leaned against it, my back to the man, and stared at Richie.