Wicked Pursuit: A Black Rose Auction Book
Wicked Pursuit: Chapter 2

The next morning, I’m filled with all kinds of regret, mostly for the sheer amount of alcohol I imbibed. The memories sit in my sour stomach and my pounding head. And the texts on my phone.

I scroll through them again, alone in my bed, Luke’s side long since gone cold. I’m not even sure when he left. He said he had an early day, and now that I’m sober, I’m nearly certain he didn’t give me the details. Oh well. We’re ships passing in the night, always. The more pressing issue is the fact that I have acquired a stalker.

I read through the texts a third time. There’s no clue, no hint to his identity. And I sent him a picture of my breasts. Brilliant. I delete the text thread with a curse. I could go to my fathers with this. Or, if not them, my mother. They would fix this little problem inside of twenty-four hours.

But then I would have to admit what I’ve done. I’m not ready to do that.

If I get a little thrill from the threat this stranger poses . . . Well, I’m in a free fall. What’s another weight added to my legs?

I haul myself out of bed and get ready. A hangover has never been enough to make me late for work before, and it won’t be today either. I drive onto the Belmonte estate with minutes to spare. Mother has been petitioning for the family to move to a proper office for years, but Aunt Cordelia insists on tradition. The house is easier to defend, the large property ringed with heavy fences and armed guards. It doesn’t matter that neither have been necessary for as long as I’ve been alive. There was a time when they were necessary, and that’s enough for my aunt.

I let myself in through the front door and walk down the wide entrance hall to the east wing, where the offices are kept. Mine is right next to my aunt’s. She pokes her head into my office and waves. Aunt Cordelia is a fierce woman, and she only seems to get fiercer with age. She and my mother share the same coloring—dark hair, dark eyes, olive-toned skin that harkens back to our Italian ancestors.

She smiles. “There are some reports on your desk, Ruby. Could you have them back to me by end of day?”

“Of course.”

Her smile falls away. “Is everything okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. I was out with Michelle last night.”

Cordelia’s smile goes a little tight. “And how is she?”

“Good.” I keep my voice bright. Michelle’s parents are the same age as mine and still in good health, but my aunt never forgets that Michelle is the heir to their territory. A change of power is always rife with potential challenges. If Carver City is to fall back into war, it will happen then.

It’s not something I like thinking about. So…I don’t. Instead, I do the books and pretend the family isn’t backing me into leadership, and they allow me some element of freedom. But someday Michelle and I will be dealing with each other not as friends but as leaders of our respective territories. I shudder at the thought and cover the motion up with a cough. “Well, I’ll get to work.”

“Sounds good.”

My phone pings as Cordelia steps back into the hall. I jump. “Goddamn it.”

It’s probably Michelle. Or maybe Luke. Except, when I flip over my phone, it’s a text from an unknown number. Again.

I glare at my phone. I’m too hungover for this shit.

The response is almost instantaneous.

Here, in the fortress that is my family household, I actually laugh.

What is wrong with me? Last night I had the excuse of alcohol, but that’s not the case right now. “Enough of this.” I reach for the landline at my desk. I’ll call Da and let him handle this.

My phone buzzes.

I stare at my phone for a very long time. I know what the smart, normal response to this man would be. Allow my fathers to do what they do and take care of the threat.

But . . .

I tap my desk with a single finger. That feeling, the one that blossomed into existence over the course of the past few months and culminated in me going to that bar last night? It’s still there. Stronger, even. As if by giving in to it once, I’ve fed a beast inside me that slumbered previously.

It’s awake now. And there’s a fizzling in my veins, a thrill that makes me shift in my seat. This stalker is dangerous. Then again so am I.

The day passes uneventfully. There’s a big deal in the works, the kind that happens once a decade, so everyone is wrapped up in the details. I already ran the numbers and compiled the reports, so my part in the process is done until Cordelia has signed on the dotted line.

My stalker has been silent for most of the day. That won’t last. I walk into my apartment and look around. The lights are all off, just like I left them. Luke must not be home yet. I glance at my phone. He’s late. But then, he’s been working late more and more often in recent weeks. The business trips have increased too: long weekends and sometimes entire weeks. Maybe he’s having an affair. I examine the thought from different angles. A year ago, the very possibility would have sent me into a spiral. Now I just feel . . . tired. We’re going through the motions, and we’re not even doing a good job of it.

I toss my purse onto the counter and shrug out of my jacket. It’s time.

It takes me a few minutes to stage the photo the way I want it. I take a few extra photos for good measure. Yeah, that will work. I look sexy as fuck with my red dress hiked around my thighs and falling off one shoulder. Not enough to expose me fully, but the promise of more is there. I send it to the unknown number and type.

That reckless feeling inside me gets stronger, strong enough to make my head spin. You’re calling his bluff. That’s it. I’m normally a better liar, even to myself. I shove up from the couch and stalk to the kitchen. There’s a safe hidden in the cabinet above the fridge. I have to drag a chair over to get to it. Da would yell at me something fierce if he knew; a weapon is only as good as your ability to use it, and if I were under attack, I’d get myself killed before I’d be able to reach the gun.

But when would I be under attack? My life is so devastatingly normal that it makes me want to scream sometimes.

I drag my finger over the pad, and the safe pops open. It’s second nature to pull the gun out, eject the magazine, and ensure the chamber is empty. Then I load it and test its weight in my hand.

It feels good.

I’m not a fool. I know the cost of war, that conflict in Carver City would mean being on opposite sides of a line from Michelle and the other families. I don’t actually want that. But I crave . . . more. I don’t even know what that more looks like.

I look at my phone again, but there’s no response. Trust a stalker to run away the moment his victim stops playing the scared little girl. If he wanted some to whimper and run to hide, he chose the wrong woman.

Even though I know better, I pull down the bottle of good whisky and pour myself a healthy glass. Then I bring both glass and gun back into the living room and drop onto the couch.

Still no response.

“Coward,” I mutter. I tell myself what I’m feeling is relief, not disappointment.

My phone rings.

I stare at it blankly for a beat too long. At the UNKNOWN flashing across the screen. He’s . . . calling me. I lift my phone to my ear cautiously, as if he might somehow physically reach through it. “Hello?”

“Are you trying to provoke me, Red?” His voice is deep and filled with gravel.

Gods help me, but it sends a shiver that isn’t entirely fear down my spine. “That’s not my name.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the one you gave last night.”

I lift my glass to my lips and pretend my hands aren’t shaking. “Is that you, baby? I didn’t catch your name last night. On purpose. Learn to take a hint.”

He laughs, low and mean. “No, Red. You didn’t have sex with me last night. But you won’t get a chance to fuck that piece of shit ever again.”

I set my glass down too hard, spilling whisky. “Wow, big talk for a coward who won’t actually face me.”

“I’ll see you when I’m good and ready, Red.”

“That’s not my name,” I repeat.

“Sure it is. You’re Little Red Riding Hood, wandering off the path and away from your protective family.”

I lick my lips. “I suppose that makes you the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Sure.” Another of those menacing chuckles. “I can’t wait to eat you right up, bite by bite.”

“Why wait?” Even as I speak, a little voice in the back of my mind is screaming at me to shut the fuck up and call my parents. But I don’t hang up. I don’t call for help.

I just stroke a finger down the barrel of my gun and relish the adrenaline surging through me. Maybe I am a fool, after all. There’s no other explanation for me leaning back against the couch and letting my voice go soft and croon. “I’m right here, all alone and helpless. Come get me.”

He snorts. “And have you shoot me the second I walk through the door? I don’t think so.”

I jerk straight. How the fuck does he know I have a gun nearby? “Are you watching me right now?”

“I wouldn’t be a very good stalker if I weren’t.”

I curse and surge to my feet. “You know what happens to the Big Bad Wolf in that fairy tale? He dies.” The curtains are mostly closed, but I snap them all the way shut.

“Am I peering through your window?” His voice lowers even more, gaining an edge. “Or am I already in your apartment?” He hangs up.

True fear overtakes me. I shove my phone in my pocket and snatch the gun. He’s not here. He can’t be. Surely he wouldn’t be that reckless . . .

I take a deep breath and down the rest of my glass of whisky. If he’s here, I’ll deal with it. Simple. End of story. I may be a sheltered mafia princess, but I am a mafia princess, and I have the training to match. I’m not helpless. Da made sure of that.

I’ve been in my living room and kitchen. This apartment is bigger than it has any right to be, courtesy of Dad refusing to allow me to pay for it. He wanted me in a good part of town, and while my pay from bookkeeping for the family business is solid, Luke’s income isn’t much, even with the recent job change. There’s no way we could afford this place on our own. I think it bothers Luke that we take a handout from my parents, but letting them pay our rent is better than the alternative—Dad and Da coming in weekly to ensure nothing horrific has happened. I know for a fact they have an in with the building’s security and keep tabs on me. It goes with the territory.

I hold the gun loosely at my side as I check the bathroom and wrench the shower curtain back. No stalker hiding there. Of course. That would be cliché. Next is the laundry room. Also empty. This is bullshit. He’s bluffing. Probably. Hopefully. As much as part of me relishes the confrontation, I’m not a total fool. Egging on a stalker is a bad idea. It only ends in one of two ways.

Either I kill him.

Or he kills me.

The fear shadows my steps, still in the driver’s seat. Words are on the tip of my tongue, the temptation to call out, as if that’s ever a good idea. The bedroom suite is the last place left to check. I replace myself holding my breath as I ease open the door. At first glance, the bedroom looks exactly as I left it this morning: The bed is unmade on my side. My shoes, tossed off last night, are in proximity of the walk-in closet.

Except there’s one difference.

In the center of my pillow is a small jewelry box.

“Maybe it’s from Luke.” Even as I say it, I know I’m reaching. When we first got together, Luke did the normal boyfriend thing of buying me jewelry for holidays. He quickly realized that my taste is incredibly eclectic and, while I appreciated the thought, I never wore what he bought me more than once or twice before it ended up in a drawer. These days, he buys . . . Fuck, I don’t even know. The ridiculously expensive coffee I like. Sometimes we go out for meals to places I want to try. Thoughtful little things that prove he really knows me and understands what I like.

Gods, but we’re boring.

Either way, there’s no possibility that he suddenly started buying me jewelry again.

As tempting as it is to go straight to the box, I make myself check the closet, jerking my dresses to the side, and then the bathroom. Both are empty.

Only then do I return to the bed. I keep hold of the gun as I stare at the box; I’m not ready to let myself be even a little defenseless yet. I flip open the lid, half expecting a bomb.

It’s a ring.

“What the fuck?” I sit on the bed and stare at it. It’s beautiful. A large ruby nestled into a woven gold band. The band looks a little like . . . “Teeth.” Sharp and predatory and designed to rip into prey. I snort and take it out of the box. Teeth around a drop of blood. It’s pretty and over-the-top and exactly something I would have picked out for myself. “Who is this fucking dude?”

My phone rings and I drop the box. I know without looking that it’s him. I should let the call go to voicemail, but I replace myself picking up the phone all the same. “What a hideous little gift.”

“You love it.”

I would if it were from anyone else, and that pisses me off. “I don’t fuck with costume jewelry.”

His chuckle makes me grit my teeth. “Nothing but the best for you, baby. This ring is special. Did you know that?”

Despite myself, I can’t help perching the phone between my face and shoulder and tugging the ring out of the box. “Don’t tell me you’re proposing. The answer is no, Wolf.”

“You haven’t earned the right to be my wife, Red.”

That stings, and it has absolutely no right to sting. I glare at nothing and slip the ring onto my finger. Just to see. It fits perfectly. “Fine. I’ll bite. What’s so special about it?”

“You’ll replace out.” A pause. “I can’t wait to see it on your finger in person. Soon, baby.” He hangs up.

The front door opens.

I don’t stop to think. I jump to my feet, my fear and adrenaline surging to the fore again. I knew this motherfucker was arrogant, but to walk through my front door? Absolutely not. I charge through the bedroom door, gun raised⁠—

And nearly shoot Luke in the face.

He ducks. “Holy fuck, Ruby!”

“Sorry! Damn it, I’m sorry.” I take the time to unload the gun and set it on the kitchen counter. “You startled me. I thought you wouldn’t be home until later.” It’s not really the truth, but it’s the best I can come up with on the fly.

“I wrapped the job up early.” He approaches me cautiously and presses a kiss to my temple. “Is everything okay? You seem tense. I didn’t even know you had a gun in the apartment.”

“You know how my parents are. Overprotective and all. But it’s just work stress.” I don’t exactly mean to lie, but if I tell him someone is bothering me, then I might have to admit what started it and . . . Fuck, Michelle is right. What are we doing? I cheated on Luke, and I don’t even feel bad about it. I’m entertaining a fucking stalker because it makes me feel more alive than dating Luke does these days. “Luke . . . this isn’t working.”

To his credit, he doesn’t seem surprised by me blurting out that statement. He gives me a sad smile. “No, it’s really not, is it?”

“I’m sorry. I love you, but⁠—”

“It’s not like it was.” He drags his hand through his thick dark hair. “We aren’t like we were.”

“No.”

His expression is devastatingly sober. “I don’t want to fight, Ruby. I love you, too, but I don’t know how to fix us either. Not like we’ve been going.”

My chest feels tight, but there’s too much relief to get this train off the tracks. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. Me too.” He sighs. “I’m going to need some time to replace another place. I guess I can sleep on the couch . . .”

“No, that’s silly. This might be ending, but there’s no reason to be dramatic about it. I promise not to jump you in the middle of the night. You can stay here until you get another apartment lined up.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.” Luke takes a step toward me and then shakes his head again. “Sorry, habit. I’m going to take a shower.”

It’s only when he walks away that I realize there was a smudge on his collar. Was it lipstick? I have absolutely no urge to investigate. If he slept with someone else, well, it’s nothing more than I’ve done.

Those in glass houses, and all that.