Chased by Heather Ashley

My fingers diginto the back cushion of the couch as I lean over it with my head hanging and my shoulders hunched forward. I want to tear it to shreds, rip apart every cushion and smash the frame. My frustration and rage are boiling over inside me, and I need an outlet, but all I've got is Indy.

He's standing back with a knowing smirk on his face, watching me try to hold myself together. "Stop staring," I snap.

"Why would I do that? It's so entertaining. In fact," he says, moving away from his spot against the wall and sauntering his ass into the kitchen. This is Montana's place, but you wouldn't know it based on how he strides directly to the cupboard with the snacks and flings the door open like he lives here. He plucks out a packet of popcorn and makes a show of peeling the plastic wrapping off and sticking it in the microwave.

My jaw's clenched, and my muscles bunch and strain while I watch him reach under the island for a bowl and dump the steaming kernels inside. "Sorry, just needed a quick snack if we're going to do this," he says, brushing by me and taking the bowl with him.

Indy plops down on the sofa like we're not here doing a job, and this is any other regular night, as he shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

I slowly follow him, but it feels more like stalking my prey. My vision is red, my pulse thumping loudly in my ears as my stomach twists painfully. "What is it that you think we're about to do?"

"You're going to spill all your secrets, confess your darkest desires," he says, lowering his voice seductively and wiggling his fingers at me like he's casting some sort of spell. "Or, you know, tell me exactly what the hell is wrong with you so I can stop making weird shit up in my head."

When I don't say anything, Indy tilts his head to the side while he studies me and chews the bite of popcorn he just threw into his mouth. "Or maybe you really did lose your testicles in a top-secret training mission and are no longer capable of pleasing a woman. You spend all your time and energy pushing them away, so you don't have to tell anyone that you actually have no balls." He kicks his foot out toward my crotch, and I smack his boot back down to the floor. Then he gasps and leans forward, getting his face entirely too close to my junk. "You've gotta tell me who your prosthetist is. It's so lifelike."

He starts to reach his hand forward like he's going to poke me in the nuts, and I grab his finger and squeeze—hard. "Touch my balls and lose your finger."

Indy pulls his hand back and sighs dramatically like he's disappointed in me. Then, he leans back against the couch and crosses his ankle over his knee, continuing to shovel popcorn into his mouth. In between handfuls, he says, "It's bad for you to hold shit in, both literally and figuratively. C'mon, dump your shit all over me."

His lips twitch, and then he fucking loses it, howling with laughter so hard tears run down his face, and he starts to choke on the popcorn that's still in his mouth. Even in my fucked up mood, I find myself chuckling at his bullshit. Indy's always been good for stirring the pot and causing trouble. It's his specialty.

Even I have to admit it works as I slump heavily into the spot on the other side of the couch while he recovers and wipes his eyes. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing," I find myself confessing quietly.

Indy scoffs. "No shit. Anyone with eyes could've told you that."

"I'm serious. I'm fucking it all up with Montana, but my head is a mess. You know my sister got kidnapped when I was seventeen, right?”

He nods but stays silent so I press on. “After Makenna didn’t come home, shit fell apart. My dad left, and my mom has never been the same. I enlisted and spent the next four years off and on the battlefield, but when I went home, my high school girlfriend—the one thing I had to cling to throughout all my family bullshit—decided she was done waiting around for me, slept with my ex-best friend, and emptied out our apartment without a word. When I came home, I had nothing—no girl, no stuff, no family. Connor was the only thing that kept me together back then.”

My stomach rolls over as nausea bubbles up and there’s a bitter taste in the back of my throat that I swallow down before I keep going. “I was a shell of my former self and the only thing that pulled me out of it was purpose. I was going to hunt down the motherfucker who put me on this path and make him suffer like he’d done to me. So, I discharged and every move I’ve made since has been to catch him. I thought I had him once, but the justice system failed me and my sister, and now I’m pretty sure he’s the same guy hunting Montana. If he takes her…”

I'm breathing hard after my confession, and now that I’ve said it out loud, it hits me what my problem is with all of this. There’s a very distinct possibility this whole thing ends badly, and when it does, Montana might be a casualty of the fallout. If I let her in any more than she already is and something happens, I won’t recover. I’ve already seen what happens when your life turns into a hopeless abyss of grief and heartbreak—my mother is the perfect example.

I didn't mean to pour all of my tarnished history out into Indy's lap, but once the memories popped into my head, there was no stopping the word vomit from happening. The only relief is that there's only Indy and me here, so no one else is a witness to the scars left on my soul.

Indy's expression turns sober as he slides the half-empty bowl of popcorn onto the ottoman in front of us. "Dude, what happened to your sister was fucked up, and your ex was a beyotch of the highest order but you’re a different person now. You need to be like that ice princess chick and let it go."

I bristle at his words, and he holds up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't punch me in the face yet; hear me out."

My fists clench, but I take a deep breath and nod at him to continue.

"What your girlfriend did was fucked up, but you had just gone through these super traumatic things. Going to war? Losing your sister? That shit affects you, so your capacity to handle bullshit was already low. Then she fucks your best friend, steals your shit, and takes off without a word? Yeah, she deserves a curb stomping fo’ sho’. But you’re still letting this chick affect your life now. When are you going to stop punishing yourself for the shit everyone else does? Would your sister want you to never even try to love someone because you might lose them?"

I blink at him because that might've been the deepest thing I've ever heard come out of Indy's mouth. He's not exactly known for being the most serious guy. I've seen him crack jokes while he's pulling a guy's fingernails off, so I don't know what to do with this version of him.

"She’d want me to catch her killer." I'm defensive and hating this discussion with every fiber of my being. I don't talk about my sister with anyone.

"Maybe,” he agrees. “Or maybe she’d want you to be happy, bro.” When my scowl starts to turn into something more menacing, Indy holds up his damn hand again. "Look, I'm not trying to pretend I knew your sister. All I'm saying is look at you now. You're terrified of trying anything serious with a girl because you think you might lose her. That's not normal or healthy.”

“Everyone dies,” I point out, digging my heels in.

“True, but what happens in the sixty years between then and now? You’re going to stay alone so that, what, you don’t get hurt? Those years could be the fucking tits, Ronin. You could be in love, raise a family, whatever. The point is, what the hell is the point of life if you never let anyone in?”

He waits and watches me as I let his words sink in. Spitfire is a shark among minnows. She destroys people who stand in her way, crushing them under her heel with her sinful lips curled up in a smile. Even when she found herself alone in the dark with her stalker hunting her, she didn't flee or cower. She grabbed my gun and defended us both like a fucking warrior.

If I was going to consider getting close to anyone, it’d be her.

He grins triumphantly. "At least you’re listening. I think it's starting to sink into your disturbingly thick skull that Montana isn't your ex or your sister, and you're sure as fuck not some pencil dick weakling who can’t handle his shit. I see the way she looks at you, and I don't know if you noticed, but you're a tiny bit obsessed with her."

"I noticed," I grumbled.

"Well, she's made it clear she's done waiting around, so what are you going to do? Get your head out of your ass and fight for your happy ending?" He smirks. "Or watch her ride off into the sunset with some jackass who will never be as good for her as you?"

Shit, he's pushing my buttons, but as uncomfortable as his words make me, he’s making a point. The knot in my chest is loosening, and a weight I didn't know I was carrying around is gone from my shoulders. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I don't know if it's because I'm afraid to admit I'm willing to take a chance with Montana or that I'm actually excited at the prospect of getting to keep her. If it works out, I'll have every right to punch any asshole that gets in my way in the face.

Or the balls.

I'm not above fighting dirty to get what I want, and in this case, I've never physically wanted anyone more. I've never wanted anyone enough to make me wonder if it’s even possible for me to open up to the idea of more.

Even if I ignored my past and stepped into the wild, untamed possibilities of a future with the girl of my dreams, would she want me? After everything I've put her through—the back and forth, the denial of what she could be to me—I won't be surprised if she wants to turn her back and sashay away with her middle finger tossed up in my direction like she did when she left the apartment tonight.

My mouth opens to answer Indy's question, but a scraping noise outside the door has both our heads snapping in that direction. As if synchronized, we stand at the same time, slowly and quietly shifting and moving toward the front door. Indy pulls his gun out of the holster at the back of his waist, and I grab my machete off the table by the side of the door, slipping it out of its leather sheath.

Usually, I'd go for the gun, but with how I'm feeling about this stalker, I'd really like some up close and personal time to hack him into tiny pieces, so machete it is. If he's out in this hall, I hope he's already made peace with death.

The scratching shifts to shuffling, and I sidle up beside the door with my back to the wall, and my knife gripped tightly in my fist. Indy holds his gun up as his fingers curl around the handle of the door. His gaze is hard and laser-focused as he stares at me. The guy who doesn't take life very seriously is long gone, and the one who looks back at me is as dangerous as I am. I suck in a breath and jerk my chin in a nod.

Indy flings the door open and storms into the hall, gun pointed in front of him. There's a figure already halfway to the stairs who takes off at a full sprint the second the door opens. "You go left," Indy says before taking off after the guy, so I turn the other way and bolt down the second set of stairs at the other end of the hall.

I'm running as fast as I can, and by the time I reach the bottom, my legs burn, and my lungs are screaming for air, but I don't stop. I can't. This guy has eluded me too many times already, and he's getting too close. He's dared to come to Montana's apartment while Indy and I are inside, but why?

If he's watching her so closely, he knows where she is. Why would he come here when she's out?

Now isn't the time to figure this shit out, so I shut my brain down from all thoughts except tracking the deranged madman with his sights set on the girl I’m tasked with protecting. My feet hit the bottom floor, and I take off for the lobby, every step a loud thud that echoes around the open space.

Indy follows the figure dressed in black out through the lobby door, but the guy's fast, and while Indy is, too, they're both faster than me. I go until I physically can't anymore, blocks away from her building. Indy's panting when he catches back up to me, and we walk back side by side, not speaking. There's nothing to say. The bastard got away from us again, and we're both catching our breath.

"So, extra cardio sessions starting tomorrow?" Indy jokes, and I don't know whether to laugh or elbow him in the throat. Today has already been a lot between everything with Montana and the unloading of my emotional baggage. I know I should be furious at myself for letting the stalker get away again, but right now, I'm too fucking tired. Tomorrow, I'll have the mental energy to berate myself like I deserve.

"Probably smart," I finally agree with a chuckle.

It's not until we're back upstairs and standing outside of the front door that we notice the box with a bow sitting ominously off to the side of the door. Neither of us saw it on our way out, but that's understandable considering we were chasing someone down.

"Shit," Indy says, swooping down and lifting the box into his arms. "If this is body parts, I'm gonna be pissed."

"Wouldn't be the first time," I say, holding the door open for him and then following him inside before shutting and locking it behind us. Since we took off without keeping the apartment secure, he leaves the box on the coffee table, and we split up to make sure no one was in here while we were out.

The place isn't that big, so it only takes a minute to meet back up. We're standing on either side of the table, staring down at the box tied with an obnoxious bow. "Open it."

"You owe me a steak dinner if I'm scrubbing blood off my hands in the next two minutes," he says, tugging at the ribbon to untie it.

"I'll do you one better and order takeout right now regardless of severed limbs or pieces."

"Well, it's the least you can do since I'm apparently your therapist and doing all your dirty work for you tonight," Indy says, but he doesn't look upset as I pull out my phone and start placing an order.

"Oh, what the fuck," he mutters when he slides the top of the box off.

I finish the order and look inside, but all I can see is tissue paper. "Body parts wrapped in tissue paper? That's a new one. The blood will just make a mess of it."

"It's not body parts, but it might be even worse for you than that," Indy says, and I rip the paper out of the way.

The first thing I see is black lace. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Lingerie? Yep."

I grab a black strap and lift it up, careful to hold it between two fingers. It's strappy, and there isn't much to it. "What kind of game is he playing?"

Letting the fabric drop back into the box, I dig around but don't find a note or anything. Indy drops onto the couch, and I sit beside him. We're both looking at the box like it's about to burst into flame.

"Let's talk it through," Indy suggests, "while we wait for dinner. Now that I don't have to scrub blood out from underneath my fingernails, I'm starving."

He has a point, and my stomach rumbles as if on cue. I hold up a finger. "First, he tries to grab her at the restaurant but fails, so he breaks into her apartment and steals her birth control."

"Yeah, and don't forget the creepy as fuck note about how this is now his favorite game."

"Right. Oh, and he slashed up the bed. So, the birth control, the bed, and the lingerie have a theme. He wants her."

Indy shakes his head. "I think it's more than that. With the bed being slashed up and the birth control, it seems like it's about control. He wants to control who she's sleeping with and how. He doesn't just want to be with her; I think he sees it as some messed up kind of ownership."

"Since when did you get into profiling?"

"Hey, I'm allowed to have hobbies."

"Studying the motivations behind why deranged people do what they do is a hobby for you?" I raise my eyebrow and lean against the back of the couch. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion, and I fight the urge to lay back and let my eyes fall closed.

"I had you pegged earlier, didn't I?" His smug grin was back, but he wasn't wrong, so I didn't bother giving him shit about it.

"So, if that's all true, why attack me at the restaurant? Why come here and drop this off, knowing she wouldn't be here?"

"Well, there are a couple of potential reasons. You’ve been chasing him for a long time and maybe he knows it, so he’s fucking with you. I think he also wants her to know he doesn't give a shit that we're here. He can still get to her, still get what he wants whenever he decides to make that move. He's not done playing with her yet, so for now, he's letting her live her life, but he wants her to know that it's on his terms. He's letting her. Fucked up shit, right?"

I mumble an agreement and sit back, letting my mind wander. Montana's apartment has a camera outside the front door and in the hall, but I doubt it caught anything. When I came nearly face-to-face with the guy, the shadows in his hood were so dark, I wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing some kind of mask under the hood, too. I couldn't make out any features of his face, and his clothes were baggy and black. The only new information I got was his height. He was roughly six feet tall. That's it.

"Maybe we should call in Sebastian, have him put more cameras up inside," I muse, giving in to the impulse to let my eyelids drop shut.

"You saw him tonight. I mean, we can because once we figure out who the guy is, having the evidence will be a good thing, but the dude came prepared. He was suited up and ready to go with an escape plan and everything. The bastard is clever, and right now, we're playing on defense, waiting for him to slip up. For right now, since we don't have much to go on, it's the only play, but the second he slips up, we need to switch it up and see if we can catch him off guard."

"I don't think he's coming back tonight, so that can be tomorrow's problem. Do me a favor and call Sebastian." I'm so tired my words are starting to blur together like I'm drunk. I can feel myself fading fast.

"I'll call him now," Indy says, and I hear clothes shifting like he's digging his phone out of his pocket. "And I'll even take first watch so you can get some rest because I'm awesome like that."

Fading in and out, I hear him talking on the phone, and it's only when there's a loud knock at the door that I sit fully upright, and my eyes fly open.

"Chill, it's just the food delivery," Indy says, jumping up to get our dinner. When he walks back in, he's laughing at me. "Did you think the bad guy was going to announce his presence by knocking on the door?"

"I was asleep, dipshit. I just reacted."

"Sebastian said he'd hack into the building's security and monitor the feeds on the ground level, and he'll be by tomorrow or," he looks down at his phone, "later today, I guess, to put up some cameras inside. I’ll leave explaining that to Montana to you. She's not going to be happy to have a live video feed in her bedroom."

My hackles rise. Shit, I'm not happy about it either. I don't want any of these guys being able to peek in on my girl anytime they want. Or, you know, my client. "He's not putting cameras in her bedroom or her bathroom," I growl, my temper rising like a tsunami about to unleash itself on my co-worker.

"Whatever, man. You work it out between the three of you. But hey, you can tap into the feed now with your phone. Sebastian sent us both a link, so even when we're not here, you can check-in."

My heart speeds up at the idea of having access to Montana all the time. I think she's about to have a new stalker, only I'll do everything in my power not to hurt her but to protect her from a deranged madman. I can only hope I'm up to the task.

While Indy chatters and we eat, my mind drifts to what I'm going to say to Montana when she comes home. Panic grips me when I think about her meeting someone while she's out tonight. Sure, it's a work function, but she's still at a club where there's alcohol and mood lighting and inhibitions are down.

I never should've let Asher take her, and now my only hope is that Connor's there, and he’s on my side. He'll have my back and at the very least give me a heads-up text if I'm in danger of losing my chance. Whether I’m going to take the chance at all, or if any of that is true, I have no idea, but right now, it's the only thing keeping me here on her couch waiting for her to come home and not flying out the door and down to that club and doing something really fucking stupid.

Something like telling her how tempted I am by her, how her laugh makes my whole day better, and the way she challenges me makes me crazy. How her body turns me on so much, I can barely stand it, and her warmth feels like home.

So, right now, I'm pretending like she'll walk through that door like any other night, and I’m not the world’s biggest wimp. Maybe if I pretend hard enough, it’ll make it true.