Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 13

I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Isaac’s gunmetal gray Mercedes before I collect myself to the point of formulating coherent thoughts.

I chose him? Can never be undone?

What did he mean by that? If Hazel had spoken those same words, I would have laughed and agreed that we were friends forever. I’m certain Isaac’s intent wasn’t remotely as lighthearted … or platonic.

A cascade of tingles like twinkling starlight trickles from the top of my spine down my extremities. I wish I could say it’s fear, but I know the thrill of excitement when I feel it. Isaac is trying to stake some sort of claim on me, and I’m not repulsed like I should be.

We hardly know one another.

He chased down a man on the sidewalk and probably broke the guy’s face. He’s covered in tattoos and gives new meaning to the word domineering. I should be petrified, but there was no mistaking the cloying need I felt when his lips left a trail of scalding kisses along my wrist. The heat from his touch was so intense, I’m surprised the skin didn’t blister. My body’s response to him isn’t normal. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I don’t know how to stop it.

My fingers trace the impeccable stitching of the leather seat in an attempt to ground myself. It’s a gorgeous car. Expensive. So’s the apartment he lives in. His finances are the last thing I should focus on, yet that’s what I do because everything else is so damn overwhelming.

“The car’s brand new, isn’t it?” I ask, taking in the exquisite high-end features. This thing cost a small fortune. Maybe even a large fortune.

“Got it last week.”

My eyes finally cut over to him. He’s devastatingly handsome behind the wheel—commanding in a casual way that oozes confidence.

“What do you do?” How does he make this sort of money? I’m pretty sure investment bankers don’t show up to shareholder meetings with bloody knuckles and ink rising up past their collars and into their hairlines.

“I’m sort of between jobs right now. Trying to decide what path I want to take.”

“You’re lucky to have that sort of freedom.” So maybe family money. I come from a similar situation, so I can’t fault him for that.

We arrive at our apartment building quickly since it’s not far from the theater. He stops out front and gives the keys to the valet service, who seem to know him well. I don’t wait for him to open my door. This isn’t a date. I don’t know what it is, but I intend to replace out soon enough.

Tension builds on our way through the lobby, thickening exponentially in the bright lights of the elevator. Once the escape route of my apartment door is within view, I force myself to say what needs to be said.

“Isaac, I know I reached out to you for a ride, but you can’t read more into it than that.”

His eyes light with what looks to be amusement. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t assume what I’m thinking when you don’t even know me.” You’ll be in for a world of disappointment if you do.

“I know you feel safe with me. You wouldn’t have asked for a ride if you didn’t.” His tattooed fingers reach out to guide a strand of wayward hair back behind my ear. “And every time I touch you, your eyes dilate, and your entire body quivers with desire. That tells me plenty.”

I want to stomp my foot because he sort of has a point. “But I’m more complicated than that. And maybe you feel like you know me, but you don’t know everything, and I know nothing about you.”

The glint in his eyes sharpens with ardent intensity. “Then give me a chance to show you.”

“You haven’t even told me your last name.”

“That’s meaningless. I said give me a chance to show you who I am. I’m not like any other man you’ve met before. I’m not easy to label or categorize. The only way to know me is to set aside your fears and expectations and see me as I am.”

I’m at a total loss.

How do I argue with that? I feel crammed tightly between a rock and a hard place because I desperately want to tell him yes, but I don’t see how I possibly can. He’s the sort who will ferret out every last one of my secrets. He’ll leave no stone unturned.

I can’t allow that to happen, which means I have to replace a way to keep him at bay.

“I have to think about it,” I force past the rapidly swelling ball of emotions clogging my throat. “I need to go now.” If I don’t hurry, he’ll see me cry, and I absolutely cannot let this man see me cry. “Thank you for the ride. I really do appreciate it.” I punch in the code to my door and give him a quick smile over my shoulder before escaping inside, taking with me the snapshot memory of his face carved in determination.

I come fully awake in the night, eyes open and senses alert, though I have no idea why until I detect that familiar sensation of being watched. At first, I wonder if I’ve had a hyper-realistic dream about my stalker. I’d been dwelling on my situation for hours when I finally gave in to sleep, so the feeling of fear could have stuck with me when I woke.

I lie perfectly motionless, straining to keep my breathing slow and steady while I get my bearings, but it doesn’t take long to rule out the dream theory. I can feel his presence in my bedroom like the touch of a heavy fog coming off the bay. I have no idea how I know, but I’m certain I’m not alone.

Oh God. What do I do? Would it be best to pretend to sleep?

That might make me look like an easier target. Maybe showing him I’m awake will scare him away.

Or trigger an unwanted confrontation. Maybe he prefers a challenge.

Adrenaline spikes my heart rate and coats my skin in a sheen of sweat. I’m not sure what the right choice is, but I don’t think I can lie here a second longer, regardless. I have to see. I have to face what’s coming.

Heart pounding against the inside of my chest, I swiftly sit up with the covers pulled tightly against me. My gaze instantly locks on the dense shadow that doesn’t belong. He’s leaning against the wall by my bedroom door, unmoving.

He watches me, and I watch him.

I don’t scream or panic like I know I should. I should be scavenging for a weapon or doing something. Anything besides serving myself up on a platter. But my body and mind are locked down in shock. The feeling is familiar, and I hate it.

Fight or flight—at least those show a person is trying to avoid harm.

Then there’s the freeze instinct.

It’s a totally normal reaction, though rarely talked about. And I think I know why. Because it feels pathetic. My body may think it’s protecting me, but it’s not. Freezing feels like the most worthless response possible. I’m not a deer hiding in a grassy fucking meadow, and I wish to God my brain would get that memo.

I can’t force myself to move, so I scour the shadows for his face as though identifying my tormentor will somehow make him disappear.

It’s no use, of course. He’s as much a mystery now as before.

My lips part as though I might actually gain the wherewithal to do something. The man doesn’t give me the chance. He peels himself away from the wall and slips soundlessly from the room. Proving myself as worthless as ever, I sit like a fucking bump on a log and listen to the quiet click of the front door closing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

A man was here in my bedroom while I was sleeping, and I did nothing.

My hands curl into furious fists. What little nails I have dig into my palms before I repeatedly pummel the mattress beneath me, tears blurring my vision.

What’s it going to take for you to learn to defend yourself?

If I’m going to be so goddamn worthless, maybe I deserve what happens to me.

I have to clamp my hand over my mouth when a wave of nausea sends my stomach heaving.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

My entire body begins to shake as I reach for my phone.

I have to report this. I have to. I can’t continue to do nothing, especially now that I’m doubting The Society’s involvement. My stalker is growing more and more brazen, and involving the police could make things worse, but at least I’ll know I tried. I’ll know that I did what I could to fight back.

I take a deep breath and dial 911.

Twenty minutes later, a fist pounds on my apartment door, followed by a deep voice announcing the arrival of the police. I grab a fleece blanket off the floor to wrap around myself and cover my thin tank top and panties before flipping on the lights and hurrying to open the door. I was confident the man was gone but couldn’t force myself to leave my bed until reinforcements arrived.

“Ma’am, we got a report of an intruder.” Two uniformed officers stand in the hallway. The one in the lead is young and decently attractive, while his partner looks close to retirement and likely coasting until his pension kicks in. He rocks back on his heels while his eyes drift down the hall.

“Yes, that’s right. Please, come in.”

“Are you alone here?” The officer’s warm brown eyes scour the inside of my apartment.

I step aside to allow them in. “Yeah, it’s just me.”

He dips his chin. “How about we have a seat at the table, and you tell us what happened?”

I do as he suggests, a dizzying cocktail of relief and worry filling my veins. These guys seem genuine. I desperately want to believe they wear badges for the right reasons and that my decision to call them won’t backfire in my face.

I give a basic rundown of what happened—waking up and seeing the man in my room. How we stared at one another, and then he left. Retelling the events makes me realize it sounds a little absurd.

The anxious pit in my stomach grows thorny barbs.

“So he didn’t run when you woke up? He just stood there, then walked out, locking the door behind him somehow?”

I stare at the young officer blankly, realizing I did have to unlock the deadbolt to let them in. If the stalker could unlock the door, he could lock it when he left, but why would he? Once he was seen, wouldn’t he make a getaway as quickly as he could?

“I dance on Broadway,” I try to explain. “Lately, I’ve felt like someone’s been watching me.”

What if the stalker really was sent by The Society? What if they think you’re calling attention to them?

A new wave of nausea roils through my stomach.

Unaware of my panic, the officer continues. “Can you tell me what they look like?”

“No, it’s more of a feeling than anything.” A lie because I’m not sure I should have said anything. I don’t want this guy to think I’m crazy, but I don’t want to stir up trouble either.

“And you think the person watching you was here in your apartment?”

“I think so. I don’t know who else it’d be.” I sound like a paranoid lunatic, and I know they must be thinking the same when the two cops exchange a glance.

The older man, who has yet to say anything, finally speaks up. “Is there any chance the worry about this person watching you from the theater gave you a bad dream that felt real?”

I open my mouth to refute him, but nothing comes out.

It was real, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t I know the difference between reality and a dream?

I think about the conditioner and my crackers—the odd slips in my memory. Then I think back to the agonizing months when I had amnesia nearly five years ago. My brain had hidden my entire identity away from me, and I was helpless to access my own memories—emotions and thoughts and everything that makes me who I am—they were all gone. That experience taught me to never underestimate the power of the brain.

“I don’t think so, but I understand what you’re saying,” I finally concede.

Hell, maybe it’s best to lean into that theory, no matter what I think. Aside from questioning myself, I can’t help but wonder if the older cop’s suggestion that I was mistaken is actually a message. Could he be involved? Is he warning me to keep my mouth shut?

It’s official. I’m completely losing my mind.

The handsome cop places a kind hand on mine, sensing my uncertainty. “Hey, it’s much better to be safe than sorry. Don’t worry about any of that, and just tell me a little more about this feeling of being watched.”

I nod and then jump when three sharp knocks sound on my front door.

“Amelie?” Isaac’s voice reverberates through the door.

I want to drop my head on the table and wish it all away. It’s too much.

Isaac will insist on knowing what happened. I can’t lie to him with the cops in the room. Once he learns the stalker was here, he’ll be that much more persistent. I’ll never be able to put distance between us.

But there’s little to be done about it now.

I’ve tipped over that first domino. All I can do is wait and see how they fall.