Page 77 of Stalkers Anonymous

I take one more shaky breath and reach for the door handle. I have to pull myself together.

Cole will make this feel manageable, even if it isn’t.

But underneath the relief of seeing him, underneath the gratitude that someone showed up when I needed them—there’s a cold, hard truth I can’t escape.

When the sun comes up, I’ll have to go home.

And Lars Winters will still be out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And I have no idea what he’s planning next.

Chapter Seventeen: Cole

I’m going to fucking kill him.

The idea of tearing Lars Winters limb from limb loops through my mind as I drive toward Murphy’s Diner, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my fingers will ache when I eventually have to release it. He’s been following her, stalking her, and my entire being is screaming for violence.

For revenge.

I know everything about him. I know him better than he knows himself. It wouldn’t take much to find him tonight and teach him the same fucking lesson I taught Shitbag Steve.

The rational part of my brain knows a reaction like this is bad. My instinct to protect Hailey morphed into an instinct to mete out justice in practically no time at all. I went ballistic the moment I heard the fear in Hailey’s voice, and that dark part of me doesn’t give a fuck about recovery or healthy fucking boundaries.

I feel myself unraveling. And I don’t fucking care.

He threatened her, made her scared enough to call me, bawling hysterically. Of course my emotions are raging in overdrive. I want to rip the guy’s eyes out and shove them down his fucking throat.

My phone sits in the passenger seat, already connected to several databases I absolutely should not be accessing right now.

By the time I pull into Murphy’s parking lot, I’ve barely resisted the urge to call Hailey back and request permission to fucking kill him. It’d be too easy.

Her black SUV is already here, parked under a streetlight. I knew she was smart, but it’s still a comfort to know she’s thinking about how much safer it is to be beneath the light, even in her scrambled mental state. Through the diner’s windows, I can see her at a corner booth, hands wrapped around a coffee mug.

My heart sinks at the sight of her.

She looks small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the competent, confident woman who’s stolen my heart. The sight of her diminished by fear makes something feral roar to life in my chest.

I take a deep breath before entering the diner, trying to dial down the murderous thoughts radiating from every fiber of my being. Hailey needs me to be fully present and emotionally available to her right now, not a barely controlled psychopath who’s already planning to erase her stalker’s existence.

This is feeling dangerously close to how Shitbag Steve made Emma feel. I can’t fucking take it. I can’t sit by and watch a goddamn predator make the perfect woman feel anything less than the queen she is.

“Cole,” she says as I approach, relief in her voice. The tension in her shoulders eases at my arrival, which calms me, too. I want her to feel safe with me. She is safe with me. “Thank you for coming. I’m so sorry for calling this late.”

I slide into the booth beside her, wrapping her in my arms.

The contact alone makes her sob, and all I can do is hold her. I bring one hand to the back of her head, gently stroking her hair while she cries into my shoulder.

“Please don’t apologize. I know you’re not okay,” I say when the tears begin to slow, then dry up entirely. Her face is pale, and she’s gripping my shirt like her life depends on it.

“I’m fine,” she says out of habit, then shakes her head. “No, that’s not true. I’m pretty shaken up.”

A server appears with menus, but I wave her off. “Just coffee for me, thanks.”

“More coffee?” she asks Hailey, who nods politely.