Chapter 1
Summer
I’mnot a stalker!
I’m just tailing his car after waiting hours for him to finish screwing some random blonde with lips that screamed EpiPen and boobs so high up they could pass for earrings.
That last left turn of the black Lamborghini SUV means he’s heading for the house he shares with his friends. Easing off the gas, I switch lanes and fall behind to avoid suspicion.
I need to know he’s getting home alone, to confirm his pattern never changes—screw, leave, never let them stay the night. And I would’ve done that already if I hadn’t been wasting non-refundable time checking the definition of a stalker while waiting for him and barely catching sight of his car as it left.
He’s already parked when I round the corner of the street.
Far enough to go unnoticed. Close enough to get the intel.
My dad’s rule rings in my head, sounding a lot like my brother whispering it in my ear, and a crushing pressure seizes my throat with the same force I’m using to strangle the dirty, cracked leather of the steering wheel.
Pull yourself together, you little shit! Focus.
Finding a spot on the opposite side of the road, half a restraining order away, I watch the object of my pursuit step out of his car while parking my beat-up rental.
At six foot four, Atlas Holt is the lone figure splitting the darkness. How is it that I can quote his exact height? I was battling ennui and losing spectacularly one night when I happened to have a measuring tape on hand, so... I measured him in his sleep. Good thing I’m not a perv.
His eyes stay glued to his phone as he drifts toward the front door, boredom rolling off him like smoke from a dying fire. Seems like he needs a challenge. I plan on giving him one.
Even from here, his tattoos are still clear, daring me not to stare.
Damn, I’m too close.
During one of my recon break-ins into his place, I caught a good look at the ink on his skin, painting his chest, arms, all the way down to his—
A bump and a long metal screech jolt me back to reality. I’m decorating my car, front to back, on a fire hydrant.
“Fuck.I’ll have to pay for that.”
Stealing a glance at my target from under the visor of my cap, I notice he’s stopped his insouciant stroll toward the house and is now looking in my direction.
“Double fuck.Great job! Three months of meticulous surveillance, ruined by a stupid distraction.”
Atlas slips his phone into the back of his jeans before striding across the lawn and onto the road, stripping me of my “stealth expert” title.
I can’t allow him to see my face. We can’t meet like this. It’s not my design.
The tang of panic creeps in, but I stifle it fast.
Keep my head down and run him over? He won’t see me. But considering his line of work is not the legal kind, that would send the wrong message. I don’t want him and his friends on high alert. Plus,I’d never hurt an innocent on purpose.
Reverse and speed away? Atlas could clock that he’s being followed. I would.
A quick peek shows he’s closing in, making my loose hoodie feel too tight for me to breathe. Maybe the lack of air sparks a rabid idea. Thankfully, I know Atlas way beyond his browser history, preferred toothpaste brand, and the prevailing color in his boxers collection. The idea should work.
Oh, God! I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I yank off my scrunchie and bolt out of the car, hair falling loose. With my back turned, I shove two fingers down my throat, forcing myself to throw up.
Heavy footsteps approach. So close.Too close.Panic punches my ribs, driving my fingers deeper until I’m gagging.
Come on! That’s not a dick. Throw up already!
