Page 20 of Killer Confections (Syndicate Killers #1)

Loxley

Okay, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. After– the incident– my stalker went quiet. I assumed he had given up, but the flowers I’ve been receiving at the shop almost daily and the messages I got twenty minutes ago says otherwise.

Not to mention he bugged my apartment.

I shiver at that. There’s no telling what all he’s seen. He could have been watching me since I moved in, and I’ve had no idea.

I had made it my goal to show him I wasn’t going to stop living my life. Damn the threats and damn the invasion of my privacy. But now I feel like I’ve just made a mistake…

I hope your little boyfriend can fight.

He didn’t really mean that…

Did he?

“Are you okay?” Chance’s voice has my head turning. He looks good in casual formal, but my mind is focused on tattooed hands and blue eyes. “You’ve been quiet since we left.”

I give him a soft smile, dashing the thoughts of the very man who violated me days ago and has been peeping on me. “I’m good. Just nervous.”

Just nervous about a six-foot-five behemoth of a man who’s threatened to fight you.

He gives me a charming smile before reaching a hand across the console and gripping my knee reassuringly. “I really thought you wouldn’t have called. I’m glad you did.”

The touch feels wrong. My whole body tenses and I have to resist the urge to shove his hand away.

This is normal. Couples touch like this all the time. Relax, Loxley.

My smile grows tight and I’m sure if the interior of the car wasn’t dark, he would see the grimace forming on my features.

He’s a nice guy. Give him a shot.

I have a come to Jesus meeting with myself, and make the promise to enjoy the night. I want to get to know Chance. It’s the whole reason I called him. Our lives align perfectly. He’s a baker and I’m a baker…

Oh god. That’s all we have in common.

No, I’m sure there’s something else there. His whole life can’t just revolve around baking. He’s probably got hobbies and loves traveling like I do.

Yeah, I just need to give him some time. My smile turns genuine as we head to the restaurant and I feel the circling of excitement in my gut for the first time tonight.

Give him some time.

***

“…and the appropriate temperature for macarons is supposed to be three-hundred degrees, but Kent baked them at three-seventy-five. Can you believe that?” Chance laughs.

“No,” I deadpan, my elbow on top of the table and my chin resting in my palm as I toy with one of the napkins nearby.

‘Give him a shot,’ my ass! The guy is as boring as watching fucking paint dry.

We’ve been here for almost two hours and all he’s talked about is Miller Family Sweets.

I’ve tried to divert the conversation by asking about his childhood or his interests, and he’s given me quick brush off answers before returning to cake talk.

He hasn’t even asked me anything about myself!

“Are you ready for the bill?” Our waitress, a lovely woman who has watched me suffer through this date with reassuring glances, asks.

“Yes,” I answer quickly, making Chance’s eyes widen. His mouth is open, mid-sentence, before he closes it slowly.

Thank god.

He gives an awkward laugh before looking at our server. “Yes, we’ll take the bill.”

She nods, giving me a quick thumbs up when she’s out of Chance’s line of vision.

“I’m sorry,” my date shakes his head. “I’ve been so rude tonight. Would it be too desperate for me to ask for a redo?”

My brow furrows, “Redo?”

His lips quirk into a crooked smile that could soak any woman’s panties.

Except mine. I’ve been bone dry all night and I hate to admit it, but his easy attitude after treating our date like a therapy session is making me feel violent.

“A second date,” he suggests with a shrug. “I promise next time I won’t go off on a tangent. It just feels nice to vent to someone who understands.”

My silent rage douses slightly as I understand where he’s coming from.

I haven’t run my business long enough to share his concerns, but I know I’ll get there one day.

He doesn’t really seem to have an outlet for any of it.

I mean, when you run a business of this caliber, friends are few and far between.

You can’t go too far from your store without worrying about what’s going on behind closed doors without you.

I soften, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

A radiant smile breaks out on his face as he breathes a sigh of relief. “No work talk next time. I promise.”

I laugh as our server returns and hands the bill to Chance. He thanks her before peering down at the slip of paper. His hand stops halfway to the table, his wallet paused in mid-air as he frowns.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as he calls our waitress back to the table .

“Yes,” she says, looking between us.

Chance holds up the receipt. “You only added my meal. We’re together.” He points between us.

The waitress’s eyes grow wide, “Together?”

“Yes,” my date says slowly, shooting me a confused glance.

The server’s face pales, “ Oh .” Her eyes bounce between Chance, and I and I feel my unease growing by the seconds. The woman swallows. “Her husband paid for her meal an hour ago. I’m sorry. I assumed…” she trails, her lips pulling back in an uncomfortable wince.

“ You’re married ?” Chance hisses, giving me a shocked and deeply pained look.

“What?” I glance between the waitress and my date, shaking my head. “I’m not married.” I hold up my left hand, showing my bare ring finger as if to say, ‘Here’s your proof.’

The server blinks, her brows pinching. “He said he was your husband. I assumed you two were colleagues or friends.” She points between Chance and me with a finger.

My neck prickles as my blood runs cold. “Who said he was my husband? What did he look like?”

“Black hair and lots of tattoos,” the woman points to her neck and hands.

I’ve never seen my stalker’s neck. He’s only worn the balaclava the one time I’ve seen him, but he was here without it?

“He was seated at that table.” the waitress points to an empty table across the room that’s being cleaned by another waiter. “But he left ten minutes ago.”

The world around me tunnels. My blood rushes in my ears, bringing a frantic whooshing sound. I can feel as the color drains from my face.

He was here.

He could have been here all night and I had no idea.

“What the fuck is going on?” Chance asks as he leans toward me. He looks concerned as he reaches a hand across the table and covers my shaky one with his. “Are you being followed, Loxley?”

The waitress gasps lightly, and I remember where I am. I don’t want to air this out for a whole restaurant to know. Worst of all, Chance is in danger the longer we stick around.

I’ve definitely fucked myself.

Why did I do this?

What possessed me to go against him?

Now that everything is getting real, I curse myself for trying to be headstrong. I should have listened to his warnings. Instead, I decided going to war with my stalker would be a better decision.

“Everything is fine,” I say quickly, plastering on the fakest smile I can. “Let’s get going.”

“Loxley—” Chance says softly, but I wave a hand, cutting him off.

“Just a prank,” I lie. “A friend of mine thinks it’s funny to do things like this. He’s being protective, but he means no harm. Let’s pay and get out of here.”

My date is reluctant as he slips his card to the waitress. He keeps giving me prying glances, but I don’t let my smile fall, even though I’m screaming inside my head.

I grab my purse once the server returns, standing before Chance can even pull out his wallet to secure his card back in the leather pouch. He must get the memo that this date is over, because he sighs before grabbing his coat and following me to the door.

Chance places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward his car parked along the empty sidewalk outside the restaurant.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He says distractedly, as his eyes search the alleyways. “Your friend does this regularly? It seems a little extreme and far too… friendly .”

He’s paranoid and I don’t blame him. My steps are quick, heels scuffing on the pavement as my mind races. If my stalker is still around, it’s better if Chance gets me home. The last thing I want to do is drag this unsuspecting man into the whirlwind my life has become since moving back.

I give an awkward, panicked laugh as I drag him between two cars.

“Yeah, we’re going to have a serious discussion about personal—” My eyes shift to Chance’s car parked across the street, and my whole body goes rigid.

The man beside me stops and there’s a thick pause between us as my adrenaline flares to life.

Leaned against the white Honda, a long metal bat in his thick tattooed hand, stands my stalker.

He isn’t wearing his leather jacket. His black long-sleeve compression shirt clings to solid looking pectorals and massive arms. The sleeves are slightly rolled, showing even more black ink snaking up his forearms. His balaclava is back, shielding his identity as his head tilts to the side slightly, narrowed blue eyes scrutinizing my date.

Chance seems to gather his courage, because he steps forward, anger clear on his features. “So, you’re the asshole tormenting her? What the fuck makes you think you can interrupt our night?”

Have you ever had that overwhelming feeling of being utterly fucked? As the words leave my date’s mouth, and my stalker’s eyes crease with amusement, I realize just how stupid the man beside me is.

“Stop,” the words are weak as they leave me, and I sound so defeated. “Just stop.”

Chance’s head whips around, giving me an incredulous look. “Seriously? This guy is fucking with you, and you want me to stop? What the hell is wrong with you? For fuck’s sake, he looks like a criminal, Loxley.”

What the hell is wrong with me ?

He spends our whole two-hour date, treating me like his therapist and he has the audacity to insinuate something is wrong with me because I’m feeling out the situation and know if he keeps going, there’s going to be consequences?