Stalk Her Page 6

  This sick part of me wanted those words to move between us, for me to really let them be absorbed. For them to be reality.

  “What do you want it to mean?”

  I didn’t know if it was a challenge from him or he was genuinely curious, but my first instinct was to say I wanted Henry in the ground. I curled my hands into tight fists underneath the blanket, kept my emotions in check, and stared at Butcher right in the eyes.

  “He hurt me.” I let those three words hang between us, watched the rage cover his face before he masked it quickly.

  Whatever was going on with Butcher, what was painfully clear was that he was protective of me. He’d saved me twice now, but I didn’t know if that protection also had something to do with him wanting me, wanting me more than either of us probably needed to delve into.

  “He watched my mother die. He let her die. He did nothing to help her.” I pictured Henry standing above her, just staring down at her as she slipped away into oblivion, as she disappeared forever.

  Butcher didn’t say anything, but I could tell his attention was trained right on me, every single word I said being absorbed, catalogued away. I swallowed, my throat tight and dry, emotion threatening to spill forth.

  Although my mother hadn’t been good, hadn’t been decent, she had still been my mom. And a part of me did feel that missing piece now that she was gone. But I wouldn’t mourn her, wouldn’t cry over the life she’d led, which ultimately took her away. It was what it was.

  “What do you want it to mean?” Butcher asked again and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, staring at me intensely.

  I leaned forward as well so my back was no longer up against the headboard, showing him that I was strong no matter what. I didn’t know why I needed him to know that, but I did. I needed him to see I could hold my own, that I wouldn’t shy away, wouldn’t cringe in the face of reality, of death and violence and everything he stood for.

  And although I didn’t know Butcher very well, although I didn’t know the type of man he truly was, my guess was pretty spot on, I assumed. He wasn’t one of the good guys. And although he protected me and kept me safe, had saved my life twice now, he did so with violence and intent. And I knew as I looked into his dark eyes, he would do anything to get the job done.

  He would do anything to right a wrong in his eyes.

  So I licked my lips, took a deep breath, and said exactly what needed to be said, exactly what he wanted me to say.

  “I want Henry dead.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Butcher

  I could feel her gaze on me, hell, could feel the worry pouring off her. I wasn’t used to people giving a shit about me, well, people who weren’t part of my club.

  But with Poppy, I was finding a lot of new things out about myself.

  Possession.

  Obsession.

  This proprietary need and feeling I had over her. It bordered on insane. But fuck, I welcomed it.

  I watched her as Doc worked on stitching up the gunshot wound to my arm. Thankfully, it was a clean shot, went right through, and there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. Hell, this wasn’t the worst injury I ever had.

  Poppy was worrying her bottom lip with her little straight white teeth.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.” I wasn’t used to having to explain myself, to reassure someone I was okay. But I liked telling Poppy. I liked having someone who was concerned about me as much as I was about them.

  “Okay, you’re good to go,” Doc said and started cleaning up his medical supplies. He looked over at Poppy and I could see him give her a small smile. And although I knew Doc wouldn’t fuck around with her, because he was smarter than that, I felt this low growl leave me at the thought he even looked at her.

  She’s mine, motherfucker.

  Doc glanced over at me, his eyes widening a little in surprise. He cleared his throat and said, “He’ll be fine. He’s stronger than he looks.” He muttered those words to Poppy but didn’t look at her again.

  Smart fucker, he was.

  I grunted and shifted on the chair, holding in my wince. Truth was I hurt like a sonofabitch, but I’d been a helluva lot worse than this many times in my life. But knowing Poppy had gotten injured, that if I hadn’t shown up when I did the outcome would have been a lot different, was a pain I’d never felt before.

  “Thanks, Doc. Can you leave us alone now?”

  Doc nodded and picked up his bag before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

  I sat in the same chair I’d been in when she woke up, but I wanted to go to her. I wanted to hold her, to make sure she really was okay. I wanted to feel her again, relishing in the fact that no one and nothing was going to hurt her.

  “Damn,” I said under my breath and watched as her eyes widened just slightly.

  “What?” Her voice was soft, feminine.

  I thought about not telling her the truth. But what was the point of pretending I didn’t want her, that she was the only thing I’d ever really wanted for myself?

  “Do you really want to know?” It took her a second to answer, and I wondered if she was going to shake her head. Finally, she nodded, and that made me smile. My girl was strong. “I’m just stunned over the fact that you’re here with me, that you care about me, about my well-being. I’m not a man who’s used to showing or having emotion, if I’m being honest. But with you? With you, things are different.”

  She stayed silent, the surprise on her face evident.

  “When I realized what was happening, that you were going to get hurt, everything in me froze. I’d never felt that kind of fear before, that kind of rage,” I added.

  She was still silent, and I internally cursed. Yeah, I needed to shut the fuck up already.

  I watched as her throat worked, but she didn’t say anything right away. Hell, I didn’t blame her.

  “You just met me.” Her voice was so soft—whisper-soft.

  “I don’t have to know you to know you’re what I want.” Yeah, I’d just gone there. I was the president of a fucking motorcycle club, a criminal, murderer, degenerate, and dangerous. But here I was, getting all soft for the only woman who’d ever made me... feel.

  Again, she swallowed, and I swore I heard her heart racing. Was she nervous, afraid of what I just said? Or maybe, just maybe, she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

  I did stand up then, walking over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. Her body was tense, her uncertainty about what was going on clear. I searched her face with my gaze, smelled the sweet, floral fragrance that came from her. I tried not to look at the bandage on her head, because all that did was piss me the fuck off, nearly sending me into another blind rage.

  I lifted my hand then, slowly moved it toward the bandage, pleased she didn’t jerk away from me, that she didn’t seem afraid. Then I touched the tendrils by that white square of gauze, letting my fingers play along the silky strands, slipping my fingers down the slope of her cheek. Her hair was so damn soft, her skin softer.

  She was breathing harder, little pants of warm breath moving across my fingers. And she stared at me with wide eyes, probably wondering what was going on, probably confused about what she felt.

  I was pretty fucking good at being able to know what a person was thinking or feeling just by looking at them, without them telling me. And the way she stared at me as she bit her lip, the way she glanced away real quick when she noticed I saw her—yeah. That spoke volumes. Not to mention all the other signs she gave off, like the way her body reacted when I was close. She probably didn’t even realize what was happening, realize the change she felt was desire and need and want.

  And I’d give all of that to her.

  I’d be everything and anything she needed.

  I saw all those little signs. I cataloged that shit deep inside me, knowing without a doubt Poppy would be mine. That she was mine.

  And now that she knew what I was going to do to Henry,
now that I knew what she wanted me to do, I was going to give her his head on a silver fucking platter.

  I was going to make that asshole bleed and scream and plead. I was going to do it, because where Poppy was concerned, I’d become the very devil himself to make sure she was safe.

  Chapter Twelve

  Poppy

  Several days later

  Here I was, still at the MC, still wondering what would happen, what my next step would be.

  I felt this lightness consume me, the alcohol making everything feel… euphoric.

  The MC was unlike anything I’d ever seen, anything I’d ever envisioned. These men were like the ones I’d been around my whole life, but then again, they weren’t. They were hardened, more dangerous. They were criminals, hardcore, and evil, far worse than the men I’d been around while growing up. They frightened me down to my marrow... yet I couldn’t help but feel they were the first real friends I ever had.

  I’d been here for the last few days, and although I’d been in my own room, I felt like I was living in a dream, like I was moving through life at a slower pace than everyone else.

  I focused on the club, on what was going on around me.

  The men in this MC were the kind who could bury a body and it would never be found. But here I was, drinking with them, letting myself be one of them.

  Asking for their help, because I was worried and didn’t know what else to do.

  And for what? Because Henry had found me? Because I wasn’t safe? Or was it also because I had feelings for Butcher? Was it also because I wanted Butcher? Because I’d fallen for him and there was no stopping my emotions? Was it smart to put myself in this situation?

  I lifted up the square-cut glass and stared at the contents. Whiskey and ice. The bartender, who everyone was calling a prospect, whatever that meant, had asked if I wanted Scotch or Irish whiskey. I didn’t know the difference so let him pick for me.

  I held my glass and sat at one of the tattered leather seats in the corner, away from everyone, because this situation, this scene, wasn’t something I was used to, wasn’t something I felt normal around.

  Of course I’d seen plenty of degenerate shit where I lived, who and what I was around, but this? The MC? Yeah, it was something far different.

  The lighting was dim back here. The only thing illuminating this part of the room was the spillage from the overhead Edison-style bulbs hanging from the rafters. This place looked like it had probably been a garage at one point, with exposed wooden beams above, a cement floor, and pegs sporadically placed on the walls, as if they’d been used to hold various tools. But it had since been converted into the bar I saw now.

  Pool tables, a jukebox in the corner, even a stripper pole in the center. The bar was full length, the top smooth and polished, but having chips and scratches on it from wear and age.

  I didn’t know what my next step was. I knew Henry was still out there, but I was safe here. He didn’t have those kinds of connections, the ones where he could take down an MC like this.

  I didn’t think at least.

  I could feel the music from the club thumping through my veins. I finished off my drink and pushed the glass aside then stood. I had to get out of this atmosphere. I headed toward the front doors and pushed them open. The cool, fresh air moved over me instantly.

  The doors slammed shut behind me, and I leaned against the side of the building. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I stared up at the sky. The moon was full and seemed so bright and large above me, and as I felt the drink move through me, saturate my veins, my bloodstream, a part of me said this was stupid. I should keep a clear head. But with Butcher, here at the club, I was safe. For the first time in my life, I felt like the ugliness of the world, of my life, couldn’t touch me.

  And it was freeing.

  “Life could always be worse,” I whispered to myself.

  I didn’t know how long I stood out there, but it felt like an eternity. I drifted through my thoughts, just let my guard down. The alcohol had taken up steady residence in my body, this light, floating sensation filling me.

  It was the sound of footsteps coming closer that had me looking to the side. The shadows partially obscured the clear male form, but I knew who it was. I knew who that dark, shadow-covered figure was.

  Butcher.

  I could smell his cologne, a scent that had parts of my body tingling I didn’t even know existed. Arousal licked through my veins, mixing with the alcohol, making me feel even lighter.

  I didn’t move from where I leaned against the clubhouse, and the longer I stared at him, the more Butcher’s form came into view, the more the shadows dissipated and I felt myself falling for him.

  He was dark and so was I, both of us wrapped in this corruption that was like a second skin. I’d run from it, but it never left me. He lived it. Maybe it was a recipe for disaster, but then again, maybe we were two of the same and meant to be one.

  I watched as he reached into one of the pockets of his jeans. He produced a lighter. In his other hand, he held a joint. He placed that thin, rolled-up joint to his lips and brought the lighter up, flicking it on and bringing the flame to the end.

  And then he inhaled. It was several seconds before he exhaled, that cloud of sweet-smelling smoke moving through the air, wrapping around me. I wasn’t a stranger to drugs, not when they’d been my mother’s spouse, child, addiction for my entire life. But pot… marijuana was the only thing I allowed myself to partake in. It was the only thing I’d ever experimented with. And that feeling of floating away, that inhale and relaxation that followed, was the only peace I ever got.

  The scent of weed permeated the space around us, around me.

  “You’re drunk?” Butcher said between taking another hit.

  With the joint between his lips, the end lighting up orange as he inhaled from it, I felt my heart race a little. He pulled it away from his lips, and after holding in the smoke for a few seconds, he exhaled, blowing that sweet-smelling cloud toward me.

  “You gonna answer me?”

  It was then I realized I hadn’t said anything.

  “Maybe,” I finally said, the weed making its way through me. I licked my lips, not about to show him that he’d gotten under my skin, that all I’d been able to think about since first seeing him was how my desire was a living entity in me.

  He had his eyes trained right on me, the joint between his lips again. He inhaled, pulled it away, and held it out to me to take. I looked at it, wanting it, but also knowing it might make this so much worse. But at the end of the day, I said fuck it and took that joint, placing it between my lips.

  I took a nice, long pull from it, holding in the smoke, letting it fill my lungs, coat them, staring right into Butcher’s eyes.

  Everything inside me seemed so heightened, so ultra-sensitive. I was aware of the beads of perspiration dotting my forehead, of the warm, fuzzy feeling that consumed me. I was aware of how my nipples were hard, how my pussy was becoming wet the longer I stared at him. Even his body heat seemed more pronounced, slamming into me until sweat lined between my breasts and down the length of my spine.

  We stood there, neither of us speaking as we passed the joint back and forth, and I didn’t even try to stop how I felt in this moment.

  My life thus far had been fucking insane, horrific at times, depressing and all consuming. And Butcher, a man I didn’t even really know, a man who admitted to stalking me… who saved my life for no other reason than he wanted to protect me, had emotions opening up in me, had me wanting to forget about this moment and just give in.

  Just give in.

  As we finished off the joint, and I was trying not to focus too hard on Butcher, all I could think about was how it would feel to just let go. For once in my life. To just say fuck everything and everyone and give myself something that would most definitely feel good.

  But no. I couldn’t, could I? I had to be strong, stronger than letting my emotions dictate how I felt. I cleared my throat, my m
outh dry, my tongue feeling thick. I was high, felt like I was floating.

  “You’re strong, a fighter,” Butcher finally said, and I felt surprise fill me, but I didn’t say anything in response. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a runner, but I guess snatching money from a motherfucker like Henry will make anyone do anything.”

  I felt my anger grow. “You don’t know the first thing about any of this.” I hissed those words out, my emotions running rampant, my desire to hit him, lash out, to use him, riding me hard. “I didn’t run.” Those words were spit out of me like acid. “I survived.”

  The light behind him cast the front of him in deep shadows, making him seem bigger and stronger. “Fair enough.” He took one more step toward me.

  My heart was beating so fast and hard. I wondered if he could hear it. Could he see it?

  I felt the truth bubble up, not knowing why I was about to tell him about me, about what I wanted to do with my life.

  “I know about you, Poppy.” His voice stopped me from saying anything. “I know about you, and not because I looked up information on you, not because I had my guy search you and find everything out.” He took another step closer. “And not because I followed you… stalked you, Poppy.” He was just a foot from where I stood, the highness from the pot making things seem almost dreamlike.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I whispered.

  “Poppy… God, Poppy, how innocent you really are.” All he did was cock a dark eyebrow at me, as if challenging me to deny it, lie about it.

  I dropped my focus to the ground, trying to breathe nice and easy, trying to make it look like he wasn’t affecting me, like I wasn’t about to lose it and say fuck it all.

  But the feel of his finger on my chin, the feeling of him adding pressure and bringing my head up, and looking into his eyes once more, had everything else fading away. Had my resistance crumbling.

  He said nothing for long seconds, just stared at me, as if able to read me so clearly.