Page 119 of From Hell

“You alright, kid?”

I’m not, but I force a smile out. “Happy as Larry.”

“Is he still stalking you?”

I roll my eyes. My stalker is back, almost like he hasn’t gone away. He’s followed me for the last two weeks wherever I go, in his Aston Martin. That’s how I know it’s him. “If you see him outside again, you have my permission to shoot him.”

“Oh, I will.” Cash laughs just as the bell rings. He glances out the window. “Your friends are here.”

When Nola and Sage found out what happened, they wanted to see me immediately, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Cash convinced me to get back to normal as soon as possible. Whatever normal is? Shooting things is my only outlet, and even that reminds me ofhim.

Why did he have to teach me how to shoot? Why wouldn’t it have been something useless, like cooking, and then I would have an excuse to stay away from the kitchen? Cash cooks for me every night anyway.

Outside the house, my two-parters in crime are stretching by the low wall surrounding the garage. Our weekly cookie afternoons have morphed into weekly runs—Nola’s idea—healthy body, healthy mind, apparently.

I feel neither of those things. Just lost.

“You can’t run in jeans,” Nola huffs in her sleek black Lycra, hair snatched back in a ponytail.

“I’m not coming.”

Sage pouts, wearing the brightest colors imaginable with her hair in a top knot bun. “Come on, it’ll be fun. After, we can binge on ice cream.” She ignores the look of horror Nola gives and tosses me a canvas bag filled with clothes.

“What’s this?”

“Spare running gear. I thought after the fire you might not have any.” Warmth snags in my chest, and tears threaten to spill at any moment. I shake my head, too choked up to speak, and shove the bag at her.

Nola sighs, taking it from Sage and handing it back. “You have two minutes to get changed and get your ass out here, or we’ll make you run in your underwear. Running will do you good. Get the blood flowing.”

Five minutes later, I emerge dressed in Sage’s neon running clothes. They’re a bit snug, given she’s smaller than me, and I look like I’m going to an 80s rave, but I don’t care. Nothing seems to matter anymore.

But Nola is right. She always is. I feel better once we get going. The fresh air feels good on my skin, and the smell of wet leaves has me breathing deeper, expelling the pain I don’t want to acknowledge. Saying I miss Jaxon is like admitting what he did to me was fine. It wasn’t. There are red flags, and then there are big red signs that all point to needing therapy.

Maybe normal isn’t what I need, and I should start doing new things and opening myself up to different experiences.

“Pole dancing,” I huff at Sage.

“What?”

“Let’s go to lessons.” What am I saying? Where did that come from?

Nola smirks. “I used to be a stripper, so why not? Be good to get back on the pole.”

As we run, the hill getting steeper, Sage’s face is a picture, and I shake my head.

“I’m not sure my fiancé will let me,” Sage pants.

“Then sneak out. Fuck him,” I huff, trying not to die on the hill.

“Don’t look now, but there’s a car that’s been following us since the house,” Nola adds, sounding like she has all the lung capacity in the world.

I do look, I can’t help it. About a mile behind, at the start of the hill, is polished Aston Marten. Abruptly, I change direction, running back down the hill. I don’t look back to see if Sage or Nola are following. I’m focused on only one thing, confronting the fucker behind the wheel.

Downhill is easier. Soon, I’m flying, my feet hardly touching the ground. The wind snatches their shouts, but I can half hear the girls calling me. I ignore them, the anger blasting through my body like a wrecking ball.

I’m sick of men thinking they can do what they like, intruding on my private time. He left me, he walked away.

Jaxon doesn’t get to stalk me.