Stalk-Her

Stalk-Her

Nia Kas · Ongoing · 200.7k Words

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Introduction

Domestic Violence # Sexual Assault # Trauma # Stalking # Kidnapping #Emotional Manipulation # Non-Consensual

I have two rules for surviving: stay invisible, and never look back, the past that destroyed my family, stays in the past. For months, I’ve worked three jobs, terrified that the monster who stole my life, would find me. My fear kept me focused, kept me safe, kept me alive. I thought i was safe but apparently I I never was.

The night he cornered me, he was ready to finish his cruelty,But I was saved by someone, and he was worse: a new, more dangerous kind of obsession. He wasn't a Savior; he was a stalker who knew everything about me. He claimed me as his "property," leaving his mark of ownership, then sent me back to my life under his absolute control. He’s terrifying, yes, but he also makes sure I'm safe, proving he’s the lesser of two evils. Now insted of Alex i have another Demon, and my nights are his.

I work in the city, fand everday I'm orced to face the man I despise most: Zaiel Rhyland. He’s an arrogant, asshole, and feles he is entittled to everything, he wants.

I find myself drawn to the protective intensity of the voice that speaks to me in the dark. I know this obsession will destroy me, yet he's the only one who keeps the monsters away. What I don't know is that the man who claimed me in the shadows, and the man who pisses me off daily in the elevator, are the exact same person.

And when I finally realize my stalker is the billionaire CEO o, my fear wasnt about escaping Alex anymore. It was about escaping a love that could ruin me forever.

Chapter 1

Tessa

I hit the door to the Orion room, all thick velvet and fancy brass. Twenty minutes of work. I took a quick breath, adjusted the strips of fabric I was wearing, and headed in.

The main room's bass went dead instantly. This room was a total cliché: dim yellow lights, a puffy couch, and mirrors everywhere. But the guy waiting made the room feel like a dentist's office.

He was sprawled out on a black leather sofa. Serious money was poured into his suit; it looked like it was shrink-wrapped onto his tall, seriously built body. My eyes went straight to his hair, thick and perfectly black, and then to his face.

He had these weird, clear blue eyes. Like, actually cold, not just bored. He wasn't even looking at me the way guys usually do: no drooling, no excitement, nothing. He was just sitting there, radiating rich-guy apathy. Definitely a CEO, judging by the "I'm better than this" vibe he was giving off.

The only cool part of him was the dark tattoos snaking out from his fancy cuffs. He didn't move a muscle. Didn't even try to fake being interested.

"Stop," he said, his voice flat and annoyed. "I don't know what you were told. Stay put. Don't come near me. You'll get your money anyway."

That was the best thing I have heard all night. I was so used to guys acting like slobbering idiots, and this one didn't want to be touched, and I appreciated that.

He took a slow sip of whatever liquor was in his glass, then looked right past me into the mirror, like I was totally invisible. He had no clue who I was, and I certainly didn't know his name. All I knew was that for the next eighteen minutes, I was stuck with him. I shrugged and walked over to the hidden cabinet and pulled the book out.

I flipped the switch, and the lights changed to a bright fluorescent light. I sat on the other end of the couch and began reading. I could feel his eyes boring into me, but I didn't care. Yes, I was a stripper/exotic dancer, whatever you want to call it, but I had dignity, pride, and shame. Twenty-five years old, and nothing was new to me. This was my reality: a dancer in the night, a waitress, and any other job during the day. It was either that or homeless; I swallowed my pride and did what I had to do to survive. I didn’t bother with the time or the man and continued reading. 

I heard the timer and stood up. I put the book back into the cupboard and was about to switch the lights when I heard him. “You.” I turned and looked at him. He sat forward and placed a stack of bills on the small table. 

“Your tip,” he said, before sitting back and taking a drink. I looked at him, his blue eyes void of any emotion. I looked at the money. I picked it up, and I saw the smirk on his lips. I singled out three hundred dollars and then dropped the rest of the money back onto the table; his smirk vanished.

“Thanks for the tip,” I replied before opening the door and stepping back out into the hallway. The music was hitting loud and hard. I headed back to George and let him know my dance was up. As I was passing by, Star was looking at me and whispering to one of the other girls.

In this profession names were a big no-no. We all had stage names. I went by Sapphire; the only person that knew our real name was George, and you couldn't get shit out of him. I grabbed a bottle of water from the bar. I was chatting with Jude when he came over thirty minutes later and said I had another one. I nodded, downed my water, and headed to the room number he gave.

When I walked in, two guys were there. One looked nervous as hell; the other had predator eyes, as we called them. They were the touchy ones. He was excited, already holding a crumpled fifty, and ready to enjoy the show. Easy money.

The track kicked in, something with a heavy, steady beat that felt good in my hips. I started my routine. I wasn't doing my most intense stuff, but I was focused, letting the amber lights catch the shimmer of my costume. He was leaning forward, totally absorbed in exactly what I needed. His focus was a nice change from the arctic indifference I’d just dealt with.

I pushed off the floor and went into a tight spin, my legs extending, my arms pulling in to control the blur. I found the music, letting the sound build, feeling the floor tremble gently under the bass. The energy was electric, and for a few seconds, I was just in the zone, lost in the movement.

I was finishing a slow, controlled dip, my eyes half-closed, when the floor bucked.

It wasn't the music. It felt like a physical shove, followed instantly by a sound so loud it felt like a slap, a high-pitched scream of ripping metal from somewhere deep in the club. The music didn't fade; it just died instantly, and the amber lights snapped into a sudden, blinding white flash before the entire room plunged into absolute darkness. The two guys scrambled backward on the sofa, bumping hard against the wall.

And in the silence that rushed in, smothering and deafening, I heard a terrible, violent sound: the heavy wooden door to a private room being splintered open down the hall, followed by a voice that was pure panic and threat.

"Don't move! Everyone freeze, right where you are!"

I froze, heart hammering. This was no blackout. I knew enough about the Job to know the sound, it was a raid.

Shit. I cracked the door. Fifteen feet out, I saw the flashlight beams stabbing the dark.

I hugged the wall and slid down to the locker room. I didn't try going backstage; everyone would be there. George had already warned us. Something like this could happen. I fumbled with my locker and grabbed my bag. Snatching the envelopes with the tips, I hauled ass out, peeking around to make sure the flashlight beams didn't catch me.

I hurried up the ladder. When I peeped down, Star and a few girls were in the center of the room with George. I stripped the costume off and yanked on my shorts and a T-shirt. I used the crawl space that led to the Chinese restaurant next door. I hurried out, and when I opened the latch, I was on top of the roof of the Chinese restaurant. I stayed low, hurried to put my sneakers on, and wiped off all the makeup and glitter. 

I peeked over the ledge and saw the flashing red and blue lights. Shit. I kept low and crawled to the ladder, then dropped into the dark alley. When I stepped out, I walked over and blended with the crowd that was watching the raid.

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