The Liberator

He jerks like he’s going to race me down the stairs. Or tackle me. I’m not sure which, but I’m ready for both. I flick my finger just to screw with him, and he leaps to his feet.

Me. He’s definitely barreling toward me.

We lock arms like sumo wrestlers and grunt like the pigs we’re fighting for.

“There’s…probably enough…for both of us,” Max growls through the strain.

I push my weight into him, knowing there’s no way he’s winning this ridiculous battle. And a battle it is. Because I’d fight to the death for crispy, fatty bacon. “Then stop fighting me… you…moron.”

“Okay,” Max says nonchalantly, and at the same he time moves to the side and makes a break for the stairs.

I fall forward from momentum and hit the ground. Then I go to take off after him, thinking I can still make it to the kitchen first—when something catches my eye. I turn toward Charlie’s bedroom window, and my face scrunches up with confusion.

When I move closer, my confusion switches to alarm. The something that caught my eye is a dude I’ve never seen before. He’s staring up at Charlie’s window, and something tells me he’s been there awhile.

Before I can think, I turn and run.

3 Lurker

I see Max in my peripheral vision as I hit the bottom of the stairs, but I can’t see his face. All I’m focused on is getting outside and finding out who’s creeping around Charlie’s place.

“Beat you, jerk-off!” I hear Max say as I whip the door open.

I don’t close it behind me; I just barrel through and head toward the street. Stalking down the walkway, I glance left and right. I spot him striding away from Charlie’s house. He’s about six feet tall and has a bright blue baseball cap on. I’d know the miniature “C” logo on the back anywhere, because it was born in my hometown in honor of my favorite team—the Chicago Cubs.

“Hey, lurker,” I yell out, my pulse racing. “Stop.”

The guy doesn’t turn to look over his shoulder. He doesn’t speed up. He just keeps on walking. I half think I’m out of my mind, that I used to be this guy who was chill about everything, and now suddenly I’m this roided-out freak show chasing guys down the street. But I was chill before I met Charlie. I was chill before I started caring about someone other than myself.

Now I’m this guy.

“Dude, can you not hear me?” I ask, louder. He’s only a few yards away when he turns a corner and I lose sight of him. I jog, then sprint, toward the curve in the road. My heart picks up, and I breathe harder. For five weeks I’ve been on edge, waiting for something like this to happen. Now I’ve caught a guy spying on Charlie. I don’t sense dargon—the material our cuffs are made from—but maybe it’s because I’m too panicked. I try to calm myself down and focus, but it’s hard when I’m sprinting toward a creeper who’s out of sight. The bend in the road is near, and I move even faster, sweat pricking my brow. I turn the corner—

And slam into the enormous guy.

He reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “Whoa, bro. Watch where you’re going.”

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I go for the dude’s midsection. I take him to the ground and pin his shoulders to the pavement. Then I get close to his face and snarl, “Who are you?”

“No, who are you?” The guy, who looks to be my age, says through labored breaths. “You’re the one who just tackled me.”

“I’m the guy who’s going to bury you if you don’t tell me what you were doing outside her house.” I shove his shoulders back toward the asphalt to drive my point home.

“Outside her house?” he says like he’s confused. Then understanding relaxes his features. Or maybe it’s that he just came up with a convincing lie. “Oh, crap. Must be Easton. My brother. Was he wearing a blue baseball hat?”

I ease up a little, because yeah, he was. My eyes rake over the guy beneath me, and I decide this wasn’t the same person who was watching Charlie. This guy is even taller and broader than… Easton. “He was looking up into my girl’s window,” I bark, my muscles still balled up with tension.

“Look, can you let me up?” he says. “I’m not trying to fight you.”

I look the guy dead in the eyes, and I don’t like what I see. His open palms, his half smile—he’s trying almost too hard to show he’s not a threat. But I can’t keep him pinned down forever, as much as I’d like to, so I get to my feet and yank him to a standing position. “Talk.”

After brushing off his dark blue shirt, he offers his hand. “I’m Salem.”

I glare at his hand until he pulls it back and shoves it into his pocket.

“Look, my brother is harmless,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “He was in a car accident a couple of years ago, and it’s messed with his head.”

Salem’s jaw works like he’s upset, but I’m not sure he is. Glancing over my shoulder, I ensure Charlie is nowhere in sight.

“Before the accident, Easton had a girl,” Salem continues. “And sometimes he gets confused. But he won’t be a problem. I swear.”

I look the guy, Salem, up and down. “Six foot one, I’d say. Dark hair that falls below the ear.” I lean forward a bit. “Green eyes that seem shifty.”

“What are you doing?” Salem asks, and I see a spark of anger in his stance. It’s the spark I knew he was hiding.

“Memorizing your face,” I answer. “So that if I ever see you or your brother near her house again, I can welcome you back.” I punch the word “welcome” so he gets my point.

Salem smiles, but there’s a flash of darkness in it. “You won’t be seeing us again.”

I stare at him for a long time, then nod, because what else can I do? And if I’m wrong that this guy is bad news, then I really am morphing into a paranoid sociopath. Spinning around, I head away from him. I try my damnedest not to turn back and glare. Turning back would imply I’m insecure, and I need this guy to know I’m not afraid of him.

When I near Charlie’s house, I notice she’s standing in the doorway with a spatula in her hand. Despite being on edge, I can’t stop myself from grinning. I feel like such a chick around her sometimes, like I’m seconds away from buying a tiara and starting my period.

“What’s going on?” she asks. I expect her to look worried, but instead she looks strong. Her head is tilted back, and her shoulders are squared. It’s like she’s been ready for this. Like she’s been waiting to step in and take control. Charlie must weigh a buck twenty, but right now she looks fierce.

Her body language is so freaking hot; I want to eat her alive.

I contemplate not telling her about the guy. I don’t want to upset her, but the assurance in her eyes tells me she can handle it. “There was someone out here,” I say. “He was standing in the street looking up at your window.”

“Did you sense anything? Another cuff?” she asks. I shake my head, and her shoulders relax. “Then come inside and eat some damn bacon.”

My eyes widen. “You just cursed. That was very unladylike.”

“Get inside,” she says, a hand cocked on her hip.

I’m trying hard to look unconcerned, but I can’t forget what I felt around Salem—like something was off about him and his brother. But Charlie’s got a point. I didn’t sense a cuff, and collectors can’t survive without them. So chances are, it’s just some jerk who saw a pretty girl and wanted to stop and stare. Still, as I’m walking by her to go inside, I turn and look back over my shoulder to double-check that they’re both gone.

“It’s fine,” she adds softly. “I’m fine.”

I stop suddenly and take her face in my hands. “I’ll never let what happened to you that night—”

“I know,” she says.