STALK HER: A DARK DELIGHTS TITLE Read online

  STALK HER

  A DARK DELIGHTS TITLE

  KER DUKEY

  Contents

  Stalk Her

  Prologue

  1. Chapter

  2. Chapter

  3. Chapter

  4. Chapter

  5. Chapter

  6. Chapter

  7. Chapter

  8. Chapter

  9. Chapter

  10. Chapter

  11. Chapter

  12. Chapter

  13. Chapter

  14. Chapter

  15. Chapter

  16. Chapter

  17. Chapter

  18. Chapter

  19. Chapter

  20. Chapter

  21. Chapter

  22. Chapter

  23. Chapter

  24. Chapter

  25. Chapter

  26. Chapter

  27. Chapter

  28. Chapter

  29. Chapter

  30. Acknowledgements

  31. About Ker Dukey

  Books by Ker

  Copyright © 2019 Ker Dukey

  Cover Design: Amy Queau with Q Designs

  Editor: Kim: BookJunkie

  Line editor: My Edits

  Proofreader: Teresa Nicholson, PA Alison

  Beta: Rosa Saucedo & Ashley Conteras

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Stalk Her

  A Dukey’s dark delight title

  A collection of novella sized, dark reads.

  DARK SUSPENSE.

  Thank you for joining me on this journey.

  Each dark delight title has some form of dark aspects.

  Read with caution and an open mind.

  If the dark world isn’t for you then turn back now.

  This isn’t a fairytale… far fucking from it.

  For all my rebels who find delight in the dark side.

  Prologue

  ERIK

  TWELVE YEARS OLD

  Screeching rubber screams all around me as the wheels of our old rust bucket car begin skidding over asphalt before the car jerks to the side so violently, I bite my tongue.

  Blood spurts from my lips, my limbs flaying around as the tin can we’re strapped within rolls.

  It’s so loud, the crunching of metal, smashing of glass, it’s like surround sound on an action movie I didn’t want to be cast in.

  I didn’t plan on sending us rolling when I jerked the wheel from my mother’s grasp.

  I planned on us hitting one of the trees bordering this small stretch of road and her going through the windshield.

  It’s why I unclipped her seat belt before grabbing the wheel.

  Steel meets concrete before we stop with a jarring clank in a ditch at the side of the road, draining me of breath.

  My eyesight blurs as the blood from my mouth streams up my face and into my line of vision.

  There’s a humming violently in my ears and then moans of pain.

  “I’m stuck.” My mother croaks from the driver’s side. “I can’t move. Erik?”

  My thoughts are muddled as I try to breathe through the burning filling my lungs.

  “Help me.” Mother’s voice whimpers through the haze of the chaos.

  Searching with shaky hands I locate my seatbelt and hit the button.

  The weight of my body collapses into a heap with a soft thud making me cry out from the pain stabbing through my ribs.

  “Erik, I’m stuck.” My mother repeatedly cries, frantic.

  Shut up, shut up, shut up.

  I heave through ragged intakes of air before seeking out her damaged form beside me.

  She’s not stuck, her back is broken, her body lying at an odd angle.

  Blood fuses with her hair making it appear darker than usual.

  An intense scent wafts into my nose, alarming me to further danger.

  Within seconds of me smelling the gas, orange and gold flames swirl and caress the metal at the front of the car.

  Forcing myself to my knees, I swipe at my eyes and search for a way out.

  The window on my side smashed with the impact, and there’s a big enough gap for me to crawl free from the steel trap our mother drives us around in.

  My ribs ache, but I don’t stop crawling through rubble, then dirt, until I’m staring back at the car from the roadside.

  There’s pressure in my gut causing me to wheeze and gasp for air.

  It’s uncomfortable but not painful enough to buckle me.

  Mother’s screams mix with the hissing of the blaze gathering strength, devouring what was once our car.

  There’s a pounding in my chest, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.

  This wasn’t planned out, it was a reaction to a selfish choice that bitch made for all of us in a moment of anger and panic.

  We’re moving away.

  She doesn’t care about us or how her lifestyle impacts the small life we have.

  I’m not a kid anymore.

  I’m not going to be pushed around anymore.

  I’m the monster of her creation, and the beast always turns on its master in the end.

  This is the end, mother.

  I watch in wonder as the glass pops from the back window that wasn’t damaged when the car rolled. Steel creaks and moans as if it’s alive and suffering right along with my mother.

  Nighttime creeps over the horizon, stealing the sun and coating the scene in an orange glow obscured by tall, willowing trees overlooking the carnage.

  Mom always insisted on using this back road.

  It was secluded and more rubble than road.

  She hates having to wait in traffic.

  Now she’s burning up with no hope of being seen by other cars passing.

  “Erik, help me!” She bellows on choked sobs between screams of pain.

  My eyes drop to her mangled body, entangled with the scrap heap.

  She’s such a selfish bitch.

  Not once has she called out to my unconscious sister trapped by her seatbelt in the back seat.

  The flames haven’t reached her yet, and my gut tugs at the thought of my sister’s skin blistering and burning away.

  Her dark hair hangs limply around her innocent face, her body suspended upside down in her seat, the seatbelt keeping her trapped inside the oven.

  Her face is so still, oblivious to the pain she will suffer in minutes.

  She was sleeping in the back of the car when our mother decided to tell me she was moving us away because she met some new fucking boyfriend.

  My sister’s silence beckons me to her.

  I can’t let her die alongside our mother, she deserves more than that.

  She deserves more from me.

  Slipping back down the small verge, heat blasts my flesh, making me wince and attempt to cover my face with the shirt I have on.

  Dropping to my knees, I smile at the tormented cries of our mother giving me a swirling of satisfaction.

  If Ebony were awake, would she want me to save our mother?

  Glass scrapes and burrows deep into my flesh, but I’m used
to pain, so it doesn’t prevent me from reaching through the window and yanking at the seat belt keeping my unconscious sister trapped.

  The flames heat my skin and cause sweat to bubble on my flesh as they creep towards us.

  “Erik, baby, come and help momma. My legs are stuck. I can’t move. I’m burning.”

  Scream for me, mother.

  I find the release button and jab my finger into it until it clicks and the weight of my sister collapses onto me.

  Dragging her limp body clear from the wreckage, I fall to the floor in exhaustion and watch as the inferno consumes the old Pinto completely.

  The agonizing screams from our mother pierce the air one last time, causing a flock of birds to take flight from the trees cloaking the small road from view of the highway.

  And then silence, all but the dull, popping of the flames dying.

  One

  Chapter

  ERIK

  FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

  It never gets old, the distress a woman has when she thinks she is alone but can sense a shift in the atmosphere around her.

  The shadows fluctuating, creeping along with her movements.

  Echoes, ever so slight in the wake of her footsteps.

  You can’t fake something as pure as fear - it’s what makes it so beautiful to watch.

  Can you feel me?

  The distress is tangible in the air around them; if you’re close enough, you can taste it in the height of their terror.

  The roaring of their own heartbeat thundering loud enough to disable their own hearing.

  Da dum…da dum…da dum…

  Pores oozing with trepidation, saturating their skin in sweat.

  The tiny hairs on the back of their neck lift, and pebbles rise on the flesh.

  It’s mesmerizing.

  Bringing them close to the edge of madness.

  It’s like chasing a high, It’s so fucking delectable and my drug of choice.

  Can you feel me?

  I move with purpose, sticking to the darkness, allowing my shoes to alert Helen, my mouse, of my presence but not see me if she looks over her shoulder.

  Hunter and prey. Cat and …

  Da dum…da dum…da dum…

  Her heels click clack faster, gaining speed as she walks towards the elevator from the car she parked sixty feet away in the dimly lit parking lot.

  Tut tut.

  I know what time she arrives at work, you could set your watch by her, and I do.

  She makes it so easy.

  Her routine is her enemy.

  Without even knowing, she gives me all the power. Everything I need to follow, watch, take if the need demands.

  I can hear it now, her heavy pants as the terror takes route, stiffening her joints, the anxiety stirring inside her like a storm brewing, threatening to devour her in its chaos.

  Da dum…da dum…da dum…

  You can’t calm fear once it has planted itself inside, like roots twisting around the bones, embedding its poison into the bloodstream, it consumes.

  That’s what makes it so damn special.

  So damn alluring.

  If you’re pursuing someone else’s fear, you don’t have to face your own…

  There’s a tremble in her hands now as she waits for the elevator, anxiously.

  Finally the doors ding and open.

  She hurries inside, almost tripping on the skirt that’s one size too small for her larger size.

  Her finger bashes at the number panel, trying to input the floor number repeatedly, her eyes scanning the empty space expanding out before her.

  Ding.

  Metal doors begin to close, and that’s when I strike. Coming from behind the pillar, I shove my hand in at the last minute, forcing the doors to slide back open.

  Da dum…da dum…da dum…

  Her gasp is audible, followed by a rewarding little squeal. Startled eyes, wide and frantic, search my face.

  Then she sighs, an awkward laugh trickling out from within her, washing away her fear.

  “Oh God, Mr Ross,” she says, placing a hand over her chest. “You scared me to death.”

  Hmmm, not quite death, Helen, you still have a heartbeat.

  The pulse in her neck jumps rapidly, wild and frenzied it makes my groin ache.

  “I didn’t see you,” she says, looking down at her toes, embarrassed for her abashed state.

  I don’t say anything, just enjoy the embarrassment flushing up her neck and coloring her cheeks.

  My eyes dart to a drip of sweat beading on the nape of her neck.

  I want to reach out and dab there with the pad of my thumb, making her body solidify then dilute under my touch.

  I could have her if I wanted, but she just doesn’t do anything for me once her fright ebbs.

  She squirms when I don’t speak, and I take comfort in her discomfort.

  Small pleasures.

  Helen works on the sixth floor in health and safety, she’s married to a Michael or a Tim.

  They have sex every other Tuesday on, “date night.” They own half a two-story house, and the bank owns the other half.

  I’d hate to live their life.

  The doors ping open once more, and Helen empties out on hurried heels.

  “Have a great morning, Helen.” I say in a soft, seductive tone to make her think about me for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  Working in an office was the last place I thought I’d find myself.

  It bores me, but there’s simplicity about the role that is too good to give up.

  Telling others what to do and being paid for the privilege keeps me supplied with luxuries in life.

  The cage of the office feels more like a coffin than a glass box with the world displayed from its high tower.

  I don’t like being confined within walls, unless I have something to play with, inside them with me.

  When the elevator reaches my floor I waltz past my secretary Janet’s desk and into my office, closing the door as she gets up and walks towards it.

  Taking my door to the face as a sign that I don’t want to speak, she huddles back to her desk.

  I wish I’d also closed the damn blinds so I don’t have to see her through the glass walls.

  Her face irritates me.

  Dropping into my chair, I grab the round stress ball with our logo emblazoned on it in a fancy font.

  LeeRoss Industries.

  Squeezing it makes me more tense than relaxed.

  LeeRoss Industries.

  The name came from a combination of my surname and my college roommate’s surname.

  We are a development company that he and I started after leaving college.

  I just wanted something to put my energy into, to stop my mind from drifting to the other urges inside me.

  But the company took off so fast I was left rich and with people to do everything for me, so the boredom sets in every time I come here.

  My role is to scribble my name on contracts and enjoy the rewards of my hard work.

  Only I haven’t done any hard work.

  Lee had managed to obtain a multimillion-dollar hotel chain for us to develop via his father’s contacts almost as soon as we started out.

  The rest is history.

  Time drags as I read through proposals and add my signature to documents.

  Janet’s beady eyes keep finding me through the glass.

  She must be so hard up and in need of attention… she makes up reasons to have to call my extension at least three times a day.

  There’s no way she gets any attention outside this office or even in it for that matter.

  I haven’t fired her for a better canvas to look at because I don’t trust myself to have someone appealing inside with me all day.

  The phone lights up from her phone making me snort. Predictable.

  She doesn’t even help herself in the looks department. Her outfit consists of a pantsuit that looks like it was purchased at a store for small
men.

  “Ross,” I answer the call, not looking over at her but sensing her gaze on me.

  “Sir, your fiancée is on her way up.”

  Oh, fucking perfect.

  Click clacking of heels alerts me to the arrival of my, “fiancée” Maggie, before the door opens and she waltzes in like she doesn’t have to give the courtesy of a fucking knock.

  “Erik, good, you’re here. I’ve been calling your cell phone,” she attempts to frown, but she fills her face with so much Botox her expression doesn’t change.

  I only know she’s pissed because her eye is twitching.

  “It needs to be charged,” I lie.

  “You never charge that thing, what’s the point of even having one? You’re as bad as Summer, my yoga instructor. How is she supposed to get new clients if she doesn’t answer her phone to speak to them?” she shakes her head like we’re stupid compared to her greatness.

  “Oh, speaking of Summer,” she announces, her eyes igniting with glee at having gossip to share.

  “Did you know she has another new boyfriend?”

  Why the fuck would I know that? And like I give a shit who Summer’s fucking.

  I can’t even remember which one of her friends Summer is.

  “She’s already introducing him to her kids. He could be anyone, I’ve heard that perverts often get to kids by seducing single mothers.” She scoffs, and her words stab into me.

  My stomach twists and makes me feel sick as memories from my childhood assault my senses.