Sunshine and the Stalker

  Sunshine and the Stalker

  A Live Write

  Dani René

  K Webster

  Sunshine and the Stalker

  Copyright © 2018 Dani René

  Copyright © 2018 K Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Candice Royer

  Formatting: Raven Designs

  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.

  Blurb

  Dating is difficult for someone like me.

  I’m obsessive, arrogant, and rude.

  This means I must be creative

  when bedding a woman.

  I learn what I can about her

  through whatever means necessary.

  Some call it stalking. I call it clever research.

  It gets me what I want and when I want it.

  When I get bored, I move on. My system works like a charm…

  Until a little ray of SUNSHINE shows up.

  Dating is nonexistent for me.

  I’m quirky, silly, and inexperienced.

  This means my romantic life is certainly lacking.

  I don’t date because no one’s interested.

  Some say I’m an independent woman

  who doesn’t need a man.

  But I know I’m on the fast track

  to becoming a lonely cat lady.

  How many cats are too many cats anyway?

  My boring world stays that way…

  Until my future stepmother’s STALKER shows up.

  Contents

  1. James

  2. Cerys

  3. James

  4. Cerys

  5. James

  6. Cerys

  7. James

  8. Cerys

  9. James

  10. Cerys

  11. James

  12. Cerys

  Epilogue

  If you enjoyed this book

  About Dani René

  Stalk Dani René

  Books by Dani René

  About K Webster

  Stalk K Webster

  Books by K Webster

  1

  James

  I’m a bit of a stalker, I’ll admit. I haven’t always been this way. At one time, I was a normal forty-something-year-old man who dated the regular way. Awkward Tinder meetups. Lunch dates with stuffy businesswomen. Casual drunk fucks at nightclubs or bars. But no matter how much I “dated,” I was unsatisfied. I would grow bored of the woman mid-fuck because I’m a hard man to please.

  Which is why I began something new last year . . .

  No longer do I fish for women and hope I find a great catch.

  Now, I hunt.

  Something about the hunt makes the kill so much sweeter. Not an actual kill, of course. A metaphorical kill, if you will. I prowl in the shadows after meticulous searches where I learn about my newest interest. Her schedule. Her favorite restaurant. The way she smiles bright and brilliant for some and forced for others. It’s addicting, and now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. I eventually insert myself into their lives, make a move they can’t resist, and then they’re a good run for a few months.

  I’ve perfected it.

  One hundred percent fail proof.

  The newest woman is named Olivia. Tall, blonde, bright-blue eyes. That’s my type. And, fuck, if she doesn’t have the longest legs I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to lure her into my bed and have those perfect legs wrapped around my waist as I drive into her. I love it when they scream my name.

  James. James. You’re a sex beast, James.

  Tonight is the night where I make my move.

  I’ve learned all there is to know about her.

  We’re going to fuck. And soon.

  Olivia climbs out of an expensive car and is met by the doorman to her building. He takes her things, and she lifts her chin in a confident way. Everything about her screams sex and power and perfection. Perhaps she could be the one. One day, I'll find the right "one" and settle.

  “Hey, dude,” a young voice chirps from behind me. “She’s kind of a psycho. I’ve seen you around, hiding in the shadows, which I’ll admit is kind of creepy, even for me, watching her. Liv puts on a great face for the world, but behind closed doors, she’s a total bitch.”

  Irritation rises inside me hot and fast. Getting caught isn’t something that happens. Ever. And now some teenage boy thinks he can fuck with something I’ve been working on for months?

  Fuck him.

  I swivel around, taking my eyes off the perfect Oliva and glower at him.

  Except he’s not a him.

  He’s a her.

  A very, very, very short her.

  My eyes skim over her youthful features. Too young for my tastes, but I take the moment to inspect her with a scrutinizing glare. Her eyes are big and amber, the color of honey. Thick black lashes blink at me, seemingly unafraid of my blatant staring. I skim past her admittedly cute upturned nose sprinkled with freckles.

  Her lips though . . .

  The moment she smiles, a little crooked, and reveals all her pearly whites, I blink in confusion.

  Who is this girl, and why does she have me pinned down in this moment as though she is the hunter and I the prey?

  Ridiculous.

  “My dad is dating Liv,” she explains as snow begins to fall and dusts her purple beanie she wears on top of her head. From beneath the hat, dark red hair slides past her shoulders. Thick streaks of black are mixed in. What strange-colored hair. “I’m just doing you a solid,” she says, grinning again. Then, she does a small wave before pushing past me. “Peace out, stalker man.”

  As though she holds an invisible rope, I find myself following her into the expensive building. Olivia is long gone, and I can’t find it in me to worry about that right now. Currently, I need to know who this girl is and why she has such power over me.

  This is madness.

  She wears an ugly yellow pea coat that hangs well past her waist, hiding her ass from me. Beneath the coat is a black-and-white polka-dot dress. The tights she wears with it are pink, and she finishes off the look with black combat boots.

  What kind of weird-ass fucking outfit is she wearing?

  And yet I continue to follow her.

  She pushes a button on the elevator, and when it opens, we step inside. Her head bobs to a beat that doesn’t match the elevator music as she pushes 14 on the panel.

  “I told Dad I wanted to live on the fourteenth floor because it’s technically the thirteenth floor if you actually count them.” She lets out a cute laugh. “And how cool is that? I live on the real thirteenth floor. I’m not superstitious, so it's awesome.”

  Her babbling should be annoying, but her throaty voice, which I originally assumed belong to a boy, has me hanging on her every word. Sultry and seductive. Rich and decadent. Not high-pitched at all, but a little on the deeper, sexier, real woman kind of way.

  “How old are you?” I demand, my voice cold and harsh, just like me. When I’m not participating in my hunting games and playing a part to get what I want, I’m kind of an as
shole. So I’ve been told.

  She arches a brow and smirks. “Eighteen going on old cat lady. Black cats are my thing. Told you I wasn’t superstitious. What is the magical number before you’re officially a cat lady anyway? I have four. Four is still normal, right? Like I’m not going to turn off potential love interests when Beavis, Butt-Head, Snoopy, and Hank come circling his ankles the moment he steps into my apartment, right? Right?”

  I stare at her. Her mouth keeps moving, but I don’t hear any of the words. Just the sultry, seductive way she says them. My cock has taken an interest in this bizarre woman much sooner than my brain has. My brain thinks she’s a ridiculous, talkative, horribly dressed child.

  So why am I following her?

  The elevator doors open, and she walks through them, not at all frightened that some six-foot-three angry asshole in a power suit is prowling behind her, desperate for some unknown fucking reason to yank her hat off and touch her silky red-and-black hair.

  “You’re officially the creepiest man I have ever met,” she chirps as though she meets creepy people all the time and befriends them. She digs into her deep coat pockets and pulls out an obnoxious mess of key chains. All for two keys. Insanity. Utter insanity.

  “James,” I grunt. “James Darden.”

  “As in the Darden Hotel across the street?” She turns and regards me. Her head cocks to the side as she inspects me.

  “I know where you live now,” I blurt out. This is another reason why I don’t date the normal way. Normal isn’t even in my vocabulary. Structured and planned and rehearsed is because I say inappropriate shit sometimes.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “And the cat lady is officially not the weirdest person on this block anymore. Congratulations, Darden, you’re the winner.”

  Her wink is the last thing I’m gifted of her before she pushes into her apartment and shuts the door behind her.

  What the fuck have I just gotten myself into?

  2

  Cerys

  The apartment is empty when I step inside, my body still affected by the stalker who followed me to the door. There was something about him. A hint of need. Hunger that he didn't hide very well. Even though he regarded me with an inkling of desire in his eyes, I wasn’t scared. In fact, I wanted to see what he would do.

  Most men are controlled, and I thought he was, but as soon as he laid those dark eyes on me, all I could see was how badly he wanted to touch me. Perhaps even lean in and sniff me.

  Chuckling, I head into my bedroom and pull off my combat boots. The pink tights I'm wearing find a place on the floor quickly along with my dress. Sitting on my double bed with purple polka-dot bedding, I glance at my pale skin and wonder if I’ll ever get a tan. Living in this city, I think not. Winters here are long and icy, which only makes me want to hide away.

  I wonder if the stranger would’ve noticed me if I didn’t speak to him first. Would he approach me? I glance at my full-length mirror and shake my head. No. Why would he look at me when Olivia is beautiful and perfect?

  My phone rings then, and I find Daddy's name on the screen flashing at me with a warning. I know why he’s calling. It’s the same thing every time.

  "Hey, Dad," I answer with a smile, holding out hope he's going to tell me he's coming home for dinner.

  "Hey, pumpkin, listen. I'm stuck at the office tonight. I'm so sorry," he apologizes, the same way he does every night. At least, since Mom died, he's been staying at the office more often than not. When he met Olivia, I thought things would change, but no. There's nothing that would make my father be the man he used to be.

  He's long gone, and I know I have to get over it. I have to grow up, but I miss him.

  "That's fine, Dad. I'm heading out with Kia, is that okay?" I don't know why I ask him. He doesn't care. He wouldn't even notice if I spent the night out. I go to sleep, and he's not home; I wake up, and he's never here.

  "Yes, honey. I'm sorry," he repeats. I know he is. He's always sorry, but that doesn't help. I nod, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. I don't cry. I never even cried when Mom died. I stood by and watched her coffin lower, and I walked away.

  Perhaps I'm broken. Maybe there's something wrong with me.

  "It's fine, Daddy. I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him, knowing I won't. I don't see him much, except for weekends when he's not working and has no excuse to be at the office. But even then, he spends his time with Liv.

  "I promise, pumpkin. You're not angry, are you?"

  "No, Dad. I'm eighteen, old enough to look after myself," I inform him confidently. Because I am. I don't need him watching my every move, but I would like it if he just offered me support, love. Something.

  Perhaps I need a man. A sugar daddy to look after me. I giggle at the thought. "Love you, Dad," I say before hanging up. I don't need him to tell me he loves me, but I know he needs to hear it from me. I've known it since I was a kid.

  The thought returns. A sugar daddy. But the thing is, I don't need money, I just need love. Someone to show me I matter to them. I crave love, affection, and perhaps my sexual drive is through the roof, but I'd love to have a man show me real pleasure.

  I head to the patio and stare out the window, noticing more of the white shit falling.

  I hate snow.

  I hate winter.

  It's shitty.

  But since Olivia already lived here, of course Daddy wanted to be near her. He'd do anything for her. But his own daughter is a pain in his ass. Sighing, I make my way to my bathroom and brush my teeth. I glance in the mirror. The pink hue on my cheeks makes me smile. At least there’s some color to my rather pale skin. Once I’ve freshened up, I head back to my bedroom and flop on the bed. I stare at the ceiling, thinking about the weird stranger who followed me all the way to the thirteenth floor.

  Fucking weirdo. Hot. But still a weirdo.

  I glance at the time on my alarm clock on my nightstand. It's only ten, and I know Saskia will be here soon. My best friend is a crazy bitch who loves to drag me to clubs with her. She has a thing for college boys, but me, I prefer more distinguished men.

  Like James Darden.

  Not that I've ever had a man. Or boy for that matter.

  Yeah, eighteen-year-old virgin over here. But don't shout it out to everyone. Being a hipster with tomboy tendencies hasn't allowed me the attention of any boys at school. My focus has always been my studies and my art.

  Most kids my age have no idea what they want to do. I knew the moment I hit thirteen. The paints and canvases Daddy bought me sit in a studio he specially gifted me when I turned sixteen. It's my space. A place where I can be who I really am.

  Someone like James Darden would never be interested in a tomboy hippie with a love for art and crazy artists like Dali and Picasso. No, he's after someone like my soon-to-be step-mother. Even though they haven't sealed the deal, because that's what it would be, I know she'll take Dad for everything he has.

  Don't get me wrong. He seems happy, but the bitch is like Cruella de Ville. She's successful in her own right, but there's something cagey about her. She’d be one of those evil stepmoms who want nothing more than your father's affection but feels threatened by you. I've seen enough fucking Disney movies to know they're never good. I wish things were simpler. I wish my dad didn't need a woman in his life, but then again, I can't wish that on him, because I want someone in my life.

  I have my best friend, but she's a girl. I need a man. A real man.

  My phone vibrates wildly on the nightstand, snagging my attention. When I pick it up, there's a message from an unknown number. Swiping the screen, I open the message app to find the stalker's initials as a sign off on the two-sentence warning.

  When I find something I want, I don't stop until I get it. You, my dear, are something I want. - JD

  It should scare me, but fuck, I'm so far from afraid. In fact, I want him to come here right now and show me exactly what he's capable of.

  I tap out a reply and hit send.

>   Empty threats don’t scare me, Stalker.

  I drop the phone on the bed beside me and get up. Finding a black, figure-hugging dress, I slide it on and glance in the mirror.

  I’m just zipping up the side of my dress when the doorbell dings loudly. I know it's probably my best friend, so I race to get it. I pull open the door, but the face on the other side is not Saskia at all. No. It's someone who shouldn't be here.

  James Darden.

  3

  James

  Money buys anything these days. Sold-out tickets to concerts. Homes that aren’t for sale. Positions and power and a whole slew of other things. But what it buys me, that I find ridiculously important, is information.

  Olivia Castle is a thing of the past. A forgotten craving. An inkling of a desired moment that doesn't matter anymore.

  In her place is Cerys Youngblood.

  Those amber eyes haunted me from the moment she closed her door until now. Like a maddening disease, everything I’d learned about her in a few short moments festered and grew and spread inside me. The desperation to learn more was real. A voracious need to cut her life open with a scalpel and take my time removing every vital piece of her world, inspecting each part with careful scrutiny.

  This obsession is alarming.

  I tend to stalk and follow and cross lines, but this is utterly unidentifiable in my mind.

  Something that makes zero sense in my head.

  All it took was a walk back to the hotel, emptying my safe, and taking every goddamned hundred-dollar bill I had on me at the moment for the doorman to sing like a motherfucking canary. Turns out, he was a wealth of information. Less than an hour, and I had all I needed to know that I was going to make her mine.