Pretty Monster: A Dark Stalker Romance, page 1
PRETTY MONSTER
A DARK STALKER ROMANCE
SHERIDAN ANNE
Sheridan Anne
PRETTY MONSTER
Copyright © 2023 Sheridan Anne
All rights reserved
First Published in 2023
Anne, Sheridan
MONSTER, PRETTY
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of the binding or cover other than in which it is published, and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover Design: Artscandare
Editing: Fox Proof Editing
Formatting: Sheridan Anne
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For those whose hubbies aren’t willing to pull a mask over their face and chase them through the woods. Dreams don’t always come true, but hopefully this will scratch that itch!
Keep trying, girl. Persistence is key. He’ll cave eventually!!!
INTRODUCTION
I’m addicted to my stalker.
He watches me at night, sneaking in through my living room window and making my blood turn to ice. I feel him all around me as chills snake down my spine. Each night he becomes bolder, getting closer and welcoming himself into my bedroom, feeding his addiction.
When I feel the warmth of his skin brushing over mine, I pretend to sleep, terrified of what he plans to do with me. But when he touches me . . . my whole body comes alive.
I’ve never seen his face, and don’t even know his name, but I want to. Every part of me knows this is wrong, but I can’t bring myself to lock the window, to tell him no.
He thrills me, but living life on the edge doesn’t come without consequences.
He’s sick in the head, addicted to this infatuation, and obsessed with his messed-up mind games. But maybe I’m just as sick as he is because, whether I like it or not . . . I’m addicted to my stalker.
CONTENT WARNING
Pretty Monster is a Dark Contemporary Stalker Romance.
It contains explicit sexual content, graphic violence, kidnapping, on-page murder, mind-games, heavy stalking, deception, blood play, dubious consent and non consenting sexual content.
Please be aware the main love interest in this story is far from a hero.
This book was created to push boundaries and is recommended for mature readers. This is not a typical HEA and readers will need to keep an open mind.
Contents
PROLOGUE
1. KYAH
2. REID
3. KYAH
4. REID
5. KYAH
6. REID
7. CREW
8. KYAH
9. KYAH
10. KYAH
11. REID
12. KYAH
13. KYAH
14. REID
15. KYAH
16. VIPER
17. KYAH
18. KYAH
19. REID
20. KYAH
21. KYAH
22. ALEX
23. KYAH
24. KYAH
25. KYAH
26. REID
27. KYAH
28. ALEX
29. KYAH
30. VIPER
31. KYAH
32. KYAH
33. KYAH
34. KYAH
35. REID
36. KYAH
37. ALEX
38. KYAH
39. KYAH
40. KYAH
41. KYAH
EPILOGUE
THANKS FOR READING!
STALK ME!
OTHER BOOKS BY SHERIDAN ANNE
PROLOGUE
REID
Raquel Stacy screams as my blade plunges through her chest, and I let out a heavy sigh, watching as her blood quickly pours from the wound, her body quivering as she chokes to death.
That was ridiculously unsatisfying.
She barely put up a fight or pushed me away. Hell, she tripped and fell three feet into the woods. I had to drag her ass deeper into the thick brush just to make it interesting. She tried to scream, hoping someone would come for her, but I chose this location wisely. I always do. Even if I killed her out in the middle of the road, I still wouldn’t be caught. I’m just that good.
As for Malibu Barbie here, what gives? Not even the blood dribbling from her mouth does it for me tonight. Though I have to admit, her sputtering is earning her a few points.
I’ve watched Raquel for the past few weeks, waiting for the moment she realized the person behind her had followed her around every corner, waiting for the surge of panic on her face when she noticed her bedroom window was open. I’m addicted to the rush, but the best feeling comes from watching a woman bolt upright in her bed as she feels that tingle down her spine that tells her she’s not alone. But I got nothing from Raquel. She’s either extremely unaware of her surroundings, or she simply doesn’t give a shit whether she lives or dies.
Fucking boring. This one had to go. She wasn’t even worth the chase. Not that she really gave one.
What does it matter anyway? She was considered dead the second I set my sights on her. The only problem is that this kill hasn’t satisfied me. So now, I’m going to need to find someone else, but this time, I won’t be so careless in my selection. This time, I’ll make it count, and when I take her life, I’ll feel the power pulsing through my veins, finally satisfying the ugly, cruel need within me.
God, it’s so good.
I need someone who’s going to put up a fight, someone who will run when they sense me coming, someone whose eyes will widen with fear at just the mere thought of what I could do to her. Yeah . . . that’s exactly what I need.
Shit. I start getting hard just thinking about it.
“Sorry, Raquel,” I mutter, adjusting my cock. Getting a hard-on while this woman’s life is fading from her eyes hardly seems professional, though, it wouldn’t be the first time. Now, sweet Jessica from Boston, she was a real go-getter. She was on her knees, and my cock was buried deep in her throat when my blade swiped across the base of her neck, but to be fair, that was an accident. I only meant to nick her enough to make her thighs shake, and I got a little carried away.
Sue me. Accidents happen, right?
Jessica was fun though. She really surprised me, and if I wasn’t so eager for that rush of death, I would have dragged it out another week or so. She would have liked that. She had a dark and depraved little soul. I opened her eyes to a new world of excitement, and if it weren’t for my fucked-up need to slaughter the women who walk into my life, she probably would have asked me to teach her the tricks of the trade. On second thought, perhaps getting rid of her before she could cause me any trouble was probably a smart move.
Fuck, no one ever said being a killer was easy, but as long as the feds struggle to identify me, then I’ll continue to play. Hell, they’ve never even gotten close, but that’s because they’ve never been able to link the deaths. They’re always different . . . random. Raquel was a simple stab wound through the chest, Jessica a slit throat, while Bonny out in Vegas was a bullet straight between the eyes. And never a shred of my DNA to go with it. After all, my freedom is important to me, and I’m not careless enough to get caught.
Raquel finally takes her last gasping breath, and I let out a heavy sigh, shaking my head.
What a waste of time that was. I took a chance on Raquel. I really thought she was going to go out swinging, but that’s my fault. I didn’t do enough homework—a mistake I won’t make again.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I love the fact that I’m a stone-cold killer, it’s just a necessary part of what I do. After all, once I’m through with a woman, I can’t just walk away. It’s too risky, and like I said, I’m not planning on getting caught. Ending their lives is just a necessary step I need to take in order to protect my freedom. The fact that taking their lives just happens to make me feel like a fucking God is beside the point.
Okay, so maybe I lied a little. Perhaps I do love being a stone-cold killer, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I think it’s important for everyone to love what they do. After all, you wouldn’t want your surgeon falling asleep in the middle of your heart transplant because he was bored out of his mind. Enthusiasm in the workplace is important. Now, if Raquel had just a little bit of enthusiasm, perhaps we wouldn’t have been here quite this early.
God. I really hate it when someone fucks with my schedule.
Grabbing my backpack, I open it up and pull out my gloves before finding the pack of alcohol wipes. I get busy stripping Raquel out of her clothes and cleaning her body, making sure there isn’t an ounce of my DNA to be found. Not that Raquel’s body will even be found out in these woods, but I’m nothing if not thor
ough. Hell, I never even fucked her, but I’m not taking any chances.
I hum the tune of “Killing Strangers” by Marilyn Manson like it’s part of my own little personalized playlist as I scrub Raquel’s nails, cleaning out beneath them. She didn’t scratch me, but she did spend twenty minutes in the trunk of my car, and I’ve seen bastards get locked up for a lot less than a simple carpet fiber.
Like I said, I don’t take any chances.
I spend an hour cleaning her off before getting started on a grave. I move the thick bushes out of the way, holding the branches back with my backpack as I dig a hole beneath them. After tossing her body in and filling it halfway back up, I throw in the remains of an animal before finally filling in the hole. After patting it down, I take my backpack, letting the thick bush fall back into place.
Then after double and triple checking that I haven’t left a damn thing that could be tied back to me, I grab my shit and head out of the woods. My car is pulled off the highway, hidden behind the uneven terrain, and as I climb back in and jam the key into the ignition, I set my sights on somebody new, my gut telling me that this time, I’m going to find exactly what I’m looking for.
1
KYAH
The bell chimes above the door of High Voltage Ink, and I lift my head up from my latest sketch, one hand freezing over the tablet. A big, burly guy strides through the door, turning to the right to fit his muscled arms past the frame. A wide grin stretches across my face as his gaze lifts to mine.
“Careful, Viper,” I tease, having to raise my voice over the music playing through the small shop. “Any bigger and you’re not going to fit in my station.”
Viper grins right back at me, stopping by the reception desk. “That’d be a tragedy, baby,” he coos, ever the flirt. “Perhaps Big Jim needs to pull his head out of his ass long enough to see your potential and finally give you a bigger space.”
I laugh, not even bothering to respond, knowing Big Jim isn’t going to let that slide, and sure enough, his head lifts from the calf he’s been working on for a good portion of the day. “Perhaps you need to quit the roids, and then you won’t have issues fitting your double-wide at Kyah’s station,” Big Jim throws back at him, a wicked grin lingering on his lips. “Besides, if you think I haven’t noticed her potential, you’re dead wrong. I don’t keep people on if they can’t keep it real, and Kyah . . . You know she’s one of my best.”
“Know it?” Viper scoffs. “Why do you think I have her doing my ink and not you? Watch your back, old man. If you’re not careful, Kyah’s gonna take this place off your hands.”
Big Jim rolls his eyes, that cocky, too-sure grin settling on his lips. “I fucking hope so,” he says. “This’ll all be hers one day.”
My brows arch, and as I meet Jim’s gaze across the shop, he gives me a subtle nod, letting me know just how serious he is. My heart races, my mind momentarily falling out through my ass and splattering across the polished concrete floor. Getting to own High Voltage Ink one day is a dream of mine, but I’ve never allowed myself to have hope because, let’s face it, Big Jim is the kind of man to hold on to something until he’s lying on his deathbed, and even after he’s gone, he’ll continue to haunt the halls of this shop just to make sure I don’t screw it up.
Big Jim built High Voltage Ink from the ground up. It’s been his baby since before I was even a sparkle in my dead-beat father’s eyes, and he’s not about to let it slip through his hands. He’s like a father to me, and when I was a struggling kid, heading down a bad road at seventeen, he took me on, taught me everything I know, and from there, it’s only gotten better. Now at twenty-three, I’m one of the best tattoo artists Brooklyn has to offer, and I owe it all to Jim.
On the other hand, Viper is the Vice President of the Grim Reapers’ motorcycle club and has been asking me to marry him since the moment I turned eighteen. Despite my constant rejections, he continues to visit me every month to get inked and always makes sure to tip well. Hell, he’s the reason I’m able to pay my rent on time each month. That, and the fact he recommends me to all of his men, keeping my chair constantly booked out. Though, it leaves me wondering if I am booked out because Viper demands it from his club, or if I am just so good they don’t want to go anywhere else.
Checking the time, I realize Viper is twenty minutes early for his appointment, but he’s not exactly the type of guy to care about someone’s schedule. When he wants something, he generally makes it happen, and when he can’t . . . that’s not anywhere I want to be.
As a general rule, Viper is cold, callous, and cruel, and yet for some reason, he treats me like a queen. But today, his inability to stick to a schedule works out perfectly for me. The sooner I get started on him, the sooner I’ll be out of here tonight, not that I have anywhere to be, but it’s been a long day, and I’m more than ready to get out of here and drop down onto my bed.
We’re working on his chest today—a demonic skull that winds up around his throat, and considering the size of his chest, this artwork is going to be huge. It’s fucked up and chills me to the bone, but it’s one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever worked on, and the fact that Viper can sit down and shut up while I work, instead of whining like a little bitch, only makes it that much better.
Cleaning up my sketches and my tablet, I make a neat little pile on my table before getting myself set up, and as I do that, Viper talks shit with Big Jim. As I scurry around my station, making sure everything is just right, the bell over the door chimes again and I glance up, Crew strides through the door.
His gaze comes to mine first, just as it always does, and I give him a tight smile before his stare shifts toward Viper. His smile instantly falls away, and I let out a heavy sigh. The two of them have never got along, purely because they both want to claim something that neither of them will ever get—me.
Crew Ledger is one of my closest friends and works in the station just to my right, and most of the time, he’s the best kind of devilish angel. Sexy as sin, tall and broad and covered in tatts with the most panty-melting grin that sends a thrill through me every time he looks at me, but he’s also a colleague, and I value this job too much to cross that line with him and he knows it. He respects it though . . . most of the time. I’m not going to lie, there has been the occasional night where we’ve maybe had a few too many drinks that have ended up with me on my knees, but come morning, I draw the line back into the sand and we’re right back where we were.
Crew is the kind of man to treat me like a kid sister. He values my input and comes to me with his problems, but those few times where we’ve crossed that line, he treats me like a dirty little secret, and that’s never sat well with me. Viper, on the other hand, treats me like a queen, and while I know the sex would be mind-blowing, he’s also not the kind of guy who’s looking for exclusivity. So while he may want to marry me, there’s no telling just how many other women he’s whispering the same promises to, and I just can’t get down with that.
I’m not a prude. I love a little sharing in the bedroom, but when that sharing comes along with deceit, that’s when I get pissed off, and let’s face it, I can be a crazy, jealous bitch when I need to be. I’m not looking to adopt drama into my life, not now that everything is going so well for me.
Crew glares at Viper, and knowing just how much he gets under his skin, Viper smirks back at him. “Viper,” Crew grunts, striding past him and toward my station. Viper doesn’t bother responding as Crew steps right into me, his big, strong arm circling my waist. He pulls me against his chest before dropping a kiss to my cheek. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, pulling away, respecting my space. “How are you doing? Everything good?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, my gaze narrowing on his face, not liking how withdrawn he seems. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, just didn’t realize your biggest fan was going to be here, otherwise I would have scheduled my client for tomorrow,” he tells me, moving around his station, getting his shit set up. “You working on his chest today?”
