My heart gallops in my chest, drying my mouth out like a desert. But I’m not fleeing now. I watch everything he does, though under the hood I cannot see his face, and hidden beneath the long casted shadow of the tree he’s even darker.
He keeps glancing down at his phone, typing something and then shoving it back into his pocket. But he doesn’t glance back, doesn’t bother to check if anyone’s watching him.
His mistake.
I’m going to ruin him for this.
I have no idea what he wants with my best friend, but I’ll make him pay.
No one fucks with my girl and gets away with it.
He waits there for twenty minutes or so, just loitering with the air of someone who’s either plotting a heist or reconsidering his life choices. Then he strides off again—faster now that he’s not playing shadow puppet to her every move. I manage to keep up.
Just about.
I’m panting like a jogger who’s made terrible decisions, and sweating in places no one talks about, but I do it.
He leads me all the way to a sleek black gate guarding one of the poshest houses on the street. Not what I expected, to put it mildly. I had him pegged for a grotty flat above a takeaway—the kind with flickering lights and a permanent grease smell baked into the wallpaper. But no. This place is massive, all white-washed walls and quiet money.
There’s only one car in the driveway though, a small Mini. I’m smart enough to take down the reg, noting it for later research.
I’m buzzing—pure adrenaline flooding my system, legs moving like a live wire.
And I can’t believe it.
The guy never once looked over his shoulder. Not even a glance.
Does he not realise he’s being followed?
That somewhere along the way, the hunter became the prey?
Clutching my phone with the prized information—his address, his car reg—I power through the streets, pushing my body harder than I have in weeks, desperate to reach my laptop. There’s a deep dive waiting, and I want everything; his name, his past, what he eats for breakfast if it’s listed somewhere.
My thighs ache.
Sweat clings to every limb—I’m basically a walking male repellent at this point—but inside, there’s a fire roaring to life.
God, I’ve missed this feeling.
This clarity.
This purpose.
And it was weirdly easy, wasn’t it?
No chase. No detour. Just a straight line to the man shadowing my best friend.
Maybe he’s not as clever as she fears. Just clumsy and careless. A wannabe predator with terrible instincts.
Still, I keep the victory quiet.
No texts. No hints. Not yet.
Darcy doesn’t need more fear tonight—not when she’s finally laughing again, lost in the distraction of average company. Her friend can keep her safe while I get answers.
Because when I come to her, I want it to be with certainty.
Receipts. Screenshots. Maybe even a name circled in red. She deserves more than just suspicion. And I’m going to give it to her.
