Page 14 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

My fingers combed through my messy hair as I rose to my feet and began taking off my clothes. Stark naked, I heaved a sigh and headed into the bathroom, hoping the running water would calm my reeling mind.

It did. A little.

Not long after I stepped out of the shower, the sound of my phone buzzing cut through the silence. It was an incoming call from my friend, Iris Hart.

My lips curled into a smile, the first one in days. “Hey,” I answered, the phone clasped to my ear.

“What’s going on with you?” she asked on the other line, her voice gentle but stern.

“What?” My brows arched.

“You haven’t been on social media for two days…” she began, the words tumbling out in a rush, “…haven’t called me to rant about your research assignment—and according to my sources, you’ve skipped classes. Twice.” A pause. “You and I know that’s unlike you.”

“Your sources? What, are you stalking me now?”

“I’m looking out for my delinquent bestie,” she replied. “There’s a difference.”

Yep. That’s Iris Hart—my analytical friend and the most perceptive individual I’d ever met. Nothing ever went undetected under her radar. It was like noticing patterns, and reading people was her superpower or something.

“Did you get yourself in trouble again?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? When have I ever gotten myself into trouble?” I teased, even though deep down I knew she’d just read my situation like an open book.

“Oh, let’s see…” she began, “that one time when you were chasing down a lead for a story and got trapped in a storage room for hours.”

“Technically, that doesn’t count as getting into trouble.” I laughed.

“I’m not finished yet. There’s more. A lot more.” A pause. “Like when you hit that guy, only to find out later that he was a member of a street gang.”

“That was two years,” I said amidst chuckles. “And I struck the son of a bitch to defend you—or did you forget that part?”

“No. The omission was deliberate. Sue me.”

I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand, my smile broadening.

She chuckled quietly on the other end. “Feeling better now?”

I nodded, as though she could see me. “Yeah, actually.”

“Good. Now, pay up.”

“What?”

“I didn’t pull you out of your depression for free—pay up!”

I laughed so hard that tears formed in my eyes.

She did the same on the other line until her laughter gradually faded into something more solemn. “But seriously, Aria, are you all right?”

I hesitated, contemplating whether or not to tell her the truth. Doing that would automatically put a bullseye on her back as well, and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to drag her into this mess.

“I’m fine.”

“Say that with a little bit more conviction, and I just might believe you.”

“Really, I’m fine, Iris. I promise.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”