Chased by Heather Ashley
It’s always struckme as weird how the world just continues to march on. It doesn’t matter what’s happening—whether people are dying, being born, falling in love, or facing tragedy. The world doesn’t give a shit. Time keeps moving forward like a river, relentless in its consistency until it carves whatever path it wants.
My thoughts are obviously a shit show this morning as I stare out my office window. I’m all contemplative and sort of melancholy, which I really hate. This isn’t like me. I’m not the girl who sits morosely and stares out the window, wondering where the universe will force me next.
No, fuck that. I’m going to build the hugest dam known to man and make my own way. Sitting here, staring out the window and wondering what’s going to happen next, doesn’t work for me. I’m Montana motherfucking Blackwood, and no crazy-ass piece of shit is going to keep me from living my best life.
The question is, what’s my next move? How do I go about figuring out who he is so Ronin and the guys can deal with him? Sure, they have all the fancy equipment and systems and shit, but I have the benefit of being the one the guy actually wants to get his hands on. If I play this right, I may be able to use that to get him to come to me.
At the very least, it’s no worse than the shit we’ve been doing so far, right?
Well, I’m convinced I’m right, and that’s really all that matters.
There’s one thing I know for sure—no matter what I decide, I can’t tell Ronin until I have something useful. He’ll only tell me to let him handle it, and I can’t do that. I’m tired of sitting around waiting. It’s making me jumpy, and I’ve worked too damn hard building up my confidence to hand it over to some entitled asshole with a God complex who thinks I owe him something because he likes me.
Those kinds of men are the worst. You know what I’m talking about.
I stand from my office chair, letting it swivel behind me as I start to pace. My phone is in my hand, and I turn it over and over with every click of my heels on the floor. I’ll admit that shit at the bar last night was disturbing. Did I really think the guy would fall for my trap? No, not necessarily, but I had to see how closely he’s watching, how smart he really is.
When the text popped up on my phone last night, it felt like needles stabbing into the back of my neck and down my spine. The intense feeling of being watched made my insides curdle, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been so creeped out in my entire life.
I’ll give the guy some credit—he definitely has the whole freaky psycho thing down to a damn art form. My email inbox is overflowing, and what I should be doing is booking shows for my clients, yet all I can seem to focus on is my personal life.
I’m not even going to touch the whole Ronin situation. At least for the moment, that seems to be more settled, so I’m going to pretend everything’s fine where he’s concerned. My brain already feels like a cotton candy machine, filled with clouds of fluff and empty of anything of value. This needs to end, and what the guys have been doing so far just isn’t fucking working.
My phone finally stills in my hand, and my heart takes up a punishing beat as I realize he texted me last night. I mean, duh, but if he texted me, there’s a number I can text back, isn’t there?
It’s at least worth a try. Maybe if I can get him talking to me, he’ll slip up, reveal something he shouldn’t, and then Ronin can use it to figure out who the hell he is. Now the only question is, what do I even say to this guy? What words would entice him enough to break from what he’s been doing so far and message me back?
I lean forward, resting my forehead against the cool glass window, and stare down as the morning sun glints off the cars below. Think, Montana. If I were a sick, twisted loser, what would draw me out?
Since I’m not actually those things, it’s hard to get into his frame of mind—or what I assume his frame of mind would be. The only thing I can think of is showing interest. It’s clear he wants me, but not necessarily in a sexual way. Of course, since he hacked my bed to shit and stole my birth control, I tend to think it leans that way, but this guy, I’d bet being wanted isn’t something that happens to him all that often.
My lip rolls between my teeth as I gnaw on it, trying to consider all the angles. There’s really no way to anticipate how this is going to play out. I’m not exactly the queen of psychology over here, so I’m really flying by the seat of my pants. A grin tugs at my lips as I think about how smug I’m about to feel when this works, and I’m the one who cracks this disturbing case wide open.
My fingers fly over the screen as I type out the first thing that comes to mind. It’s a colossal fucking lie, but hopefully, it’ll do the trick. My stomach also revolts, wrenching up into a pretzel as the words drop onto the screen.
Montana: I like when you watch me.
It feels disturbingly wrong to type those words, but hey, if they work, it’ll be worth it. Ronin is going to be pissed, but like I said, this is more important than some pissing contest about ownership. The thought of him owning me is enough to chase the nerves away and heat my blood, but then it’s do or die time, so the sparks of lust I’d started to feel evaporate away like they were never there.
Hitting send, I start my pacing again. Ronin and Indy are somewhere in the building outside my office, but ever since the meeting, I banished them from my actual workspace. I’d never get anything done with the two of them in here—with Ronin’s tempting self, sucking up all the oxygen and no doubt leaving me with flooded panties and a clit that’s in need of a good tonguing, and Indy cracking his marginally funny jokes, I might as well quit my job and become a housewife.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but for now, it’s not for me. I could just picture Ronin’s smug as fuck grin if that day ever came.
I don’t know how long I walk back and forth in front of the window with my phone grasped tightly in my hand, but when someone pushes inside my office, I jump, and my heart takes off at a gallop like it’s trying to win the Kentucky Derby.
When my hand flies to my chest and my eyes snap to the door, I deflate just as fast. “Damon.”
What fresh hell is this?
My brother strolls through the door like he does this all the time. Spoiler alert—he doesn’t. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but somewhere along the line, our parents drove a wedge between us that’s always felt too big to bring together. To me, it’s always felt like everything he did was to undermine me. He always had to be better, to one-up me and steal the spotlight.
“Hey, Sis.” He strides across the room and pulls me into a hug that’s more awkward than anything. It mercifully ends when he pulls away and pats me on the back a couple of times before sinking into one of the chairs in front of my desk.
“Please, sit down. It’s not like I have a job to do or anything,” I mutter as I walk around behind the desk, feeling like it’s a shield between the two of us.
“I had no idea you were important enough to warrant your own security detail,” Damon notes, his eyes light with amusement as I scowl at him. “They’re awfully thorough.”
All his words do is set my temper alight. To be fair, when it comes to my brother, I’m already a forest full of dry kindling, just waiting for a lightning strike to ignite the wildfire.
“You wouldn’t know, would you? Considering none of you give a flying fuck what I do or what I’ve accomplished,” I snap, clenching my teeth to keep from escalating this into a full-blown fight.
He sighs, leaning back against the chair. “I’m well aware of what you do, Mon. How could I possibly forget? All Mom ever does is tell me how I should be doing more with my life so I can live up to the same potential that you do. Rubbing elbows with the rich and famous isn’t exactly something a guy who owns a mechanic shop will ever do.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise. I can’t remember the last time I had an actual conversation with my brother before one of our tempers sent us into an argument. Damon sounds so defeated. So tired. Ugh, I can fully relate.
“She talks about me?” The words slip out before I can think them through, and the hopeful tone makes me want to punch myself right in the boob. I’m a thirty-two-year-old woman, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need my mommy’s approval.
Except that I so do.
He scoffs. “You’re all she talks about. Well, you and the baby.” At that, some of the irritation leaks out of him, and he sits up straighter.
“Yeah, Mom told me you and Skye were expecting. Congrats.” I feel like a bitch when the words sound bitter as fuck, but it is what it is.
“Thanks. Honestly, Mom has taken the whole thing and run with it. She’s overbearing, and Skye is pushing for us to move the hell away, but I can’t leave my business behind. To be honest, I’m jealous that you live in the city, and they don’t bother you.”
Okay, but what the fuck is happening here? This is the realest my brother and I have been in forever. “Why are you here, Damon?”
He gives me a hesitant smile. “Well, it turns out my wife is a huge fan of Shadow Phoenix. With Mom practically moving in with us and hovering over her like one of those helicopter parents, I think there’s a serious possibility she leaves my ass and goes on the run to escape. I was hoping you might be able to help me do something to cheer her up.”
Despite my reservations, I find myself grinning back at him. Shit, maybe this whole time I’ve looked at the situation with our parents wrong if that’s what Mom’s like. I sure as hell don’t want her butting her judgmental nose into my life like that.
As I watch my brother sitting across from me, his body pulled tight with tension and tiny lines showing how tired he really is around his eyes, I find myself softening. If I believe everything he’s unloaded here in my office, our parents are still pitting us against each other, and it’s bullshit. If anything, he and I should gang up against them.
“Yeah,” I find myself saying, and when the tension leaves his body, and a grin lights up his face, he looks younger. Some of the chip on my shoulder fills up and smooths out, so it’s not such a jagged-edged bitch anymore. “I think I can do that. What’d you have in mind?”
* * *
Half an hour later,I’ve loaded Damon up with everything I’ve been able to find that one of the Shadow Phoenix guys has signed. He’s got backstage passes to their show next week, and I don’t think we’ve ever spent this much time in the same room without being at each other’s throats.
And, hell, I haven’t even thought about the text I sent since he walked through the door, though now that I do, I check my phone and find the messages infuriatingly silent.
“You know, when I left the house, I wasn’t even sure where I was going. I just knew I had to get out for a little while, escape Mom’s suffocating presence. I’m really glad I ended up here, Mon. I know this isn’t exactly what we do, but you’re the only other one who gets it.”
I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist, giving him a real hug. “This whole time, we should’ve been teaming up against our asshole parents, not letting them rip us apart. I promise I’ll be better, Damon. I’m sorry for being a bitch for so many years. I’ve been jealous and a petty Betty. From now on, if I want to be petty, I’ll just aim it in Mom and Dad’s direction, k?”
My words are muffled against his chest, but his laugh rumbles through his body. “Deal.” He pulls back and ruffles my hair like we’re still kids. “I’m going to hold you to that. You realize this means we’re going to have to actually start speaking and hanging out, right?”
A shudder works through me, but it’s fully intentional and mocking. “I take it all back. I can’t do this.”
He laughs louder and squeezes me again. “Too late. It’s happening. You can’t stop it. Besides, the security guy outside has been glaring at me for the last half hour. I think he might have a thing for you,” He loudly whispers that last part, and my eyes dart to Ronin, where he’s obviously trying not to watch us through the window in my office door. A small thrill goes through my body, knowing he’s watching.
Something on my face gives me away because Damon chuckles. “Holy shit, are you dating your bodyguard?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I do not have time to explain all the complicated ins and outs of whatever it is Ronin and I have going on.
“Sure.”
“Ugh, fine. Go before I really do change my mind about this whole thing. I’ll see you guys next week, right?”
“We’ll be there.” He eyes Ronin again. “And I think I’ll stop and have a chat with your security guy on my way out.”
As I watch my brother walk out of my office, I shake my head. I don’t try to stop whatever he’s going to do. Damon is at least as stubborn as I am. It’s why we’ve always butted heads. Well, that and the fact our parents are conniving, manipulative, narcissistic assholes.
Despite that dark train of thought, I don’t think I’ve ever been as light as I am now. It’s like a lifetime of weight, and unmet expectations have turned to dust and blown away, and I don’t really know what to do with myself. I almost feel giddy, and even the failed plan to contact my stalker can’t touch my good mood.
I don’t see Ronin anymore, and I assume he went off with Damon for whatever discussion my brother wanted to have, but I know Indy wouldn’t venture off while Ronin’s gone. My stomach growls, and I realize how hungry I am. I’m not about to go anywhere considering what a production it is with security, so after the morning I’ve had, I think I’ve earned a sandwich from my favorite local deli.
Their number is saved in my phone, so it doesn’t take me long to order, and when I do, finally I’m calm and focused enough to sit at my desk and face the mountain of emails in my inbox. I get so lost in the task that when my assistant comes in and drops off the delivery, I’m shocked that half an hour has already passed.
Yeah, this is going to be one of those times where I barely even taste my food because I’m so caught up in what I’m doing, but I don’t mind. As long as the sandwich fills me up, it’s not the end of the world. In fact, maybe I’ll order this for dinner, too, so I can really enjoy it tonight.
Cheered up by the thought, I unwrap the steak and white cheddar panini and dig in. A satisfied groan leaves my lips, and my eyes cut from my monitor to my office door, but Ronin still isn’t anywhere to be found. That doesn’t stop the smile that forms on my lips when I think about what he would’ve done if he heard me make that sound.
Yeah, I’m definitely grabbing another one of these for dinner when I know he’ll be within watching—and listening—distance. One email blurs into the next, and as I’m finishing my sandwich, I realize the screen in front of me is literally blurring. It’s not just a metaphorical blur of too much work all at once. I blink my eyes to try and clear my vision, but instead, the room starts to spin.
A throbbing starts in my head at the same time, and my stomach lurches. I lean my head down between my knees, taking deep breaths as my heart rate skyrockets, and I try not to throw up everything I just ate. Bile splashes against the back of my throat, and it’s fucking gross. I hate throwing up, and I hate throwing up one of my favorite foods even more.
Could my sandwich have been bad? I don’t think food poisoning is supposed to hit you this fast, but I don’t know what else it could be. Suddenly I’m burning up, like my soul is on fire, and sweat rolls down my back and front in equal measure. With shaking hands, I reach up to unbutton the top button of my shirt, but it’s not enough. Sweaty strands of hair stick to my face as I lean over the trash can under my desk, sure I’m about to heave up the contents of my stomach, but the world tilts to the side, and I slip off the chair and crumple to the floor.
My equilibrium is all sorts of fucked up, and as the room spins, I fall onto my back and stare up at the underside of my desk. My brain is sluggish, and nothing seems to make sense. I open my mouth to call out for help, but no words will form. I’m fucking helpless and feeling like I’m about to die or pass out here on the ground. My stomach clenches again, and I lock my jaw together to keep from tossing my cookies.
Fuck, if I pass out, I really hope I don’t do something embarrassing like puke on myself or shit my pants. It’d be just my luck that I’d get the worst case of food poisoning ever, right now, when my kinda-maybe boyfriend will likely be the one to find me, looking like I’ve gone through the flu version of how the sausage gets made.
No one needs to see that.
I need to get myself up and grab my phone so I can call for help. I roll onto my stomach, and when I do, it feels like my brain is slamming against my skull. Groaning, I try and push up, but my limbs won’t cooperate with my brain.
Get the fuck up, I think, trying to force my muscles to cooperate, but nope, they’re not having it. It’s like my brain and body are two separate entities with minds of their own, and an epic battle of tug-o-war happening between the two. It’s fucked up, and I’ve never felt anything like this.
Okay, so I’m probably not ever eating at this deli again.
When the world goes fuzzy, and I swear a dick with stick legs and a top hat starts dancing over by the window, I start trying to work out the way I’m about to word the most epic Yelp review I’ve ever written in my life. I’m about to make it my personal mission to shut this deli down.
Before I even get past the opening line—which reads something like If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to hallucinate dancing dicks and worry you might shit your business-casual couture, this is the place for you!—my eyes start swiveling around in their sockets. I can’t focus on anything anymore.
I’ve completely sweat through my outfit, and every piece of fabric is clinging to my skin in a way that makes me want to tear it off to get some relief, except nothing’s working like it should. As my pulse pounds in my ears, my eyes close without my permission, and I start to drift off. The last thing I remember is hoping someone finds me before it’s too late.