Page 12 of Stalked By Raiden

I shouldn’t be here.

Every instinct I’ve spent years honing tells me to turn around, head back to the shop, and let the police handle whatever comes next. Except I know better. She’s inside of me now. I hunger for her taste, and I crave her presence.

If it makes me a stalker, then so be it. She shouldn’t have drawn my attention, but she did, and now I’m on the loose, prowling the dark like the hunter that I am. This time, I’m protecting what’s mine, and God help whoever stands in my way.

Drake has set his sights on her. I know the kind of women he chooses. Elodie fits the description. Women who don’t have anyone standing beside them. And according to the file Royal put in my hands this morning, Elodie Doyle has no one. Except me.

I keep enough distance that she never notices me, matching my pace to hers without looking like I’m doing it. She walks with her canvas tote tucked against her side, her strawberry-blond braid swaying gently across the back of her cream dress. Every few seconds she glances into storefront windows or toward passing traffic, the way people do when they feel eyes on them but can’t explain why. She senses something.

Good.

Maybe that instinct will keep her alive. It isn’t me she should be afraid of. It’s the bastard who picked her out like she was something he wanted to own. The thought makes my jaw tighten.

A day. That’s all it took. One day since she walked out of my tattoo room, and I haven’t stopped thinking about her. When I saw her while surveilling Drake, I forced myself to dismiss my attraction. I told myself I could watch her from a distance and leave it there.

Then she walked into the tattoo shop. Now, all bets are off. I didn’t sleep much last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her smile, the dusting of freckles on her face. Felt the warmth of her skin beneath my gloved hands as I placed the stencil against her shoulder.

My cock has a mind of its own when it comes to her. No woman has ever elicited such strong desire from me or made me ache in ways I’ve never experienced. All day, I’ve been replaying those ninety minutes in my room like a man with nothing better to do.

It was charged, the tension thick with our shared need and connection. So this morning, Royal handed me everything he’d pulled since the night I told him to find out who she was. I’ve never once asked him to run a civilian.

Elodie Grace Doyle. Irish. Twenty-two years old. Born in Galway. Moved to the States with her parents when she was sixteen. Lost them both three years ago to a drunk driver who walked away with probation. Fucker. Then, she went to college, graduated with honors on what little they left behind, and now teaches five-year-olds in the worst neighborhood in this city.

The only things I’d guessed right were her age and where she came from. I heard that in my room yesterday, a lilt six years in Georgia hasn’t managed to sand off her, and it does something to me I’d rather not examine.

I’m fourteen years older than her, and I thought I’d seen every kind of fucked-up thing this city can do to a person. Knowing she went through that at nineteen, with nobody left to carry any of it, makes me want to find the man who did it and take my time with him.

I’m still in awe that she picked herself up after all that tragedy and stayed as open as she is. When I kissed her, I knew that she was mine. I was ready to wait for her to come to me. I wanted to seduce her and claim her at her pace, but now that I know she’s all alone with no one, I can’t wait anymore.

After Royal gave me her information, I announced to everyone that I would start walking her home, starting today. I didn’t care when they teased me, and I still don’t care if I’m different from the Raiden they all know. All I know is, no one, not even Drake, will ever touch her.

I’m jaded. I’ve seen too much, done too much, built walls so high I forgot there was anything worth looking at on the other side. She’s too young for me. Too innocent. I have no right to touch her. Yet, I don’t care.

She senses me again. I can tell by the way her shoulders tighten, the way her pace quickens. Poor sweet thing, thinking danger lurks in the shadows when the real threat is right behind her, wearing her down with nothing but want.

She ducks into a small grocery store on the corner, the fluorescent lights spilling onto the sidewalk. I give her thirty seconds, then follow.

The store is narrow and cramped, with shelves packed with overpriced essentials. I spot her in the produce section, examining apples with the intensity of someone desperate for distraction. I move through the aisles, timing my approach, and when I round the corner, I let my shoulder brush hers.

She gasps, spinning, and those wide blue eyes find mine. Recognition floods her face, followed by something darker. Heat. Confusion. The same helpless attraction I saw yesterday.

“Raiden.” My name on her lips is barely a whisper.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” The lie slides out smooth as silk. “You heading home?”

She nods, clutching her small basket of groceries to her chest like a shield. “I just…needed a few things.”

“I’ll walk you.” It’s not a question. “These streets aren’t safe after dark.”

She doesn’t argue. She knows. Everyone in this neighborhood knows.

Outside, I take her bags without asking, my fingers brushing hers, watching her breath hitch at the contact. The electricity between us hums, constant and alive, crackling in the small space between our bodies as we walk. She keeps darting glances at me, trying to figure out if this is coincidence or something else. Luckily, she’s too innocent to see the calculation in my eyes.

Her apartment building is a tired brick structure with a security door that doesn’t quite latch. She hesitates at the entrance, and I can see the war inside her—the good girl who knows better battling the woman who wants anyway.

“Let me bring these up for you,” I say, and my voice has dropped, gone rough with all the things I’m not saying.

She swallows, her throat working. “Okay.”