Page 15 of He Followed Me First

Two cups of coffee in and my fingers are tingling. Classic mistake—there’s a reason I usually steer clear of caffeine, but desperate times and all that.

Still, I’ve had a wildly productive morning while stalker boy snoozed like some shackled prince. I’ve packed everything I might need, convinced the cat to surrender to the carrier with minimal bloodshed, and even managed to take the rubbish out.

I glance around the flat, but there’s nothing here to feel nostalgic about. No goodbyes, no soft edges. Ever since I moved in, it’s been one mess after another—the breakup, the dead-end job, and now Darcy.

Or rather, the gaping absence where Darcy used to be.

I’m ready to get her back. Ready to burn down anything in my path if that’s what it takes.

And I won’t lie—I’m more than a little curious to take a deeper dive inside stalker boy’s house. I don’t think I’ve ever stepped foot in a place that expensive without someone checking my badge first.

The bed creaks, and I whip around instinctively. He’s stirring, blinking blearily up at me, confusion etched into every line of his face. His bruises are starting to yellow at the edges—healing, slowly. About time.

By the time he sits up, he’s already clocked the suitcase, the cat carrier, and the change in my energy.

“What… is all this?”

he asks, voice rough, wary.

“Good news,”

I announce, far too brightly.

“I’m letting you go. Thought about what you said last night and—shockingly—I’ve decided you had a point.”

His eyes narrow, tracking from me to Boomerang’s smug little face.

“Right. Sure. But that doesn’t explain… this.”

He gestures to the packed bags with more concern that necessary.

“Simple,”

I say, lifting my chin.

“If what you told me is true—if Manticore really hunts in pairs—then I’m not exactly safe here, am I? So, I figured… safety in numbers.”

I smile sweetly.

“Hope you don’t mind guests, stalker boy. I’ll try not to redecorate.”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That’s not what I meant,”

he says, already unravelling.

“Yes, I said I’d protect you, but I don’t run a damn hotel. You can’t just… decide to live with me!”

He throws a nod at Boomerang, now purring smugly from his crate.

“Especially with that thing.”

“Don’t be mean,”

I say, holding his stare.

“Besides, if you want out, you’ll agree to my terms.”

My heart stumbles in my chest, tripping over the silence as he weighs his options. If he refuses… what then? Keep him tied up indefinitely, hoping Manticore loses interest before they track me down?

The thought makes bile rise. I’ve always handled being alone—worn it like armour—but now, with Adam still out there and Manticore supposedly closing in, solitude feels like a death sentence.

His house feels like the safer bet.

“Fine,”

he mutters at last, the word reluctant and gravel-edged.

“But you stay where I tell you, and out of my way. Got it?”

I nod like it’s no big deal, like we do this every day. Look at us—teamwork. We’ve come such a long way since the rolling pin.

“Deal,”

I add, beaming—way too obviously, way too brightly.

I crouch beside him and slice through the rope around his legs, my movements careful but quick. But when I get to his wrists, I freeze, blade hovering.

This could all be a trick.

“You promise you’re not going to kill me the second you’re free?”

He turns his head just enough to meet my eye, the corner of his mouth unmoving.

“If I wanted you dead,”

he says, calm as ice.

“you’d already be there.”

A chill curls up my spine, latches onto my ribs and tugs. But I nod, swallowing hard. I have to trust him. I don’t get the luxury of fear—not until Darcy’s safe.

The second I ease the rope free, he stretches—arms wide, spine cracking, every muscle along his torso flexing like coiled steel unspooling. I catch myself staring and quickly turn away, suddenly fascinated by the urgent need to gather my things.

Behind me, I hear a sharp inhale—nostrils flaring, limbs unfolding—and when I risk a glance, he’s rising to his full height.

And my god, he’s tall.

I hadn’t realised it before, not properly. Hard to judge when he was hunched and tied like a trussed-up roast. But standing?

He’s at least six-four. Maybe taller.

I’ve officially kidnapped a giant.

Now that he’s free, there’s something different—something heavier in the way he moves. Every stride feels like a warning, coiled power barely restrained.

But he made a promise.

And for my own sake, I have to believe he’ll keep it.

“You promised,”

I breathe, voice catching as I tighten my grip on the knife—my last shred of control, trembling and useless in my hand.

I flinch without meaning to. My body remembers yesterday. Remembers Adam.

But when I glance up, there’s no blow coming. No sneer. No venom.

He’s just… there.

Leaning over me, close enough to steal my breath, all heat and quiet menace. He doesn’t touch me—doesn’t have to. His presence wraps around mine like a dark cloud. But his hand is outstretched, palm open, waiting.

“Bag,”

he says in that damn husky voice as he nods to the suitcase I’m clutching like a lifeline.

“You carry the cat. I draw the line there.”

He doesn’t say a word while we pack the last of it up—just watches, silent, while I shut the door on the wreckage of my old life. I’ll deal with the fallout later. Right now, every ounce of focus is fixed on one thing: bringing Darcy home.

His car’s parked a few streets over, and I fall into step beside him, filling the silence with rambling optimism. I tell him how flawlessly this is going to go, how gifted I am at stalking people—he being Exhibit A.

I even reenact the swing that knocked him out cold, miming the arc with theatrical flair. The rolling pin, of course, is conveniently tucked near the top of my bag—still very much part of the plan, should the need arise.

“Phone.”

He cuts me off mid-ramble, halting in his tracks with a hand held out like a royal decree.

“Excuse me?”

I blink, thrown off my momentum.

“My phone. I want it back.”

Oh. That.

I dig through my backpack, cheeks warming as I fish out the car keys and the phone—both returned with exaggerated innocence. He snatches them without a word and keeps walking, thumb already coaxing his phone back to life like it’s been through some terrible trauma.

Undeterred, I pick up right where I left off—listing, with renewed enthusiasm, all the reasons I’d make an excellent sidekick. Possibly even the best he’s ever had.

“Let’s get one thing straight,”

he says, crossing the street toward his Mini—still the most out-of-place car on the road.

“We’re not a team. You’re not my sidekick. I’ll protect you from Manticore as best I can, but there are no guarantees. This isn’t some ride-or-die story. The second you’re out of danger, we’re done. No dramatic sunset. No God’s good work. Just… done. Got it?”

“Relax,”

I shoot back.

“You’re not my type anyway.”

Lie.

He gives a curt nod.

“As long as we’re clear.”

I mimic his expression with theatrical precision—childish, sure, but I need something to cover the bruise his words leave behind. There’s nothing quite like a hot guy spelling it out; you’re not the one.

Honestly, if Manticore ever did take me, they’d probably regret it. I’d tank their value system. Sell me under ‘damaged goods’—clearance aisle, no refunds.