My anger is roaring through my veins like liquid fire and as soon as I see him sitting astride the huge bike, I feel my mouth pull into a snarl. This was a step too far.
I rush at him and as soon as I get close, I have to resist the urge not to shove him off that stupid bike, but given his reaction last time I touched him, I keep my hands to myself.
“You bastard,” I snap and his gaze immediately comes to me. I watch his thick brows draw together as he takes in my ranting with an ease that bothers me. “Did you get off on scaring me? Did you laugh about it?” I lean into his face and hiss, “I told you I’d keep my fucking mouth shut and I have. Why are you still terrorising me?”
“You done?” he asks, his voice gruff, rough.
I clamp my mouth shut and fold my arms over my chest. “Why were you in my flat last night?”
Confusion clouds his expression. “I wasn’t.”
His words kick me in the gut as I search his face for any sign he’s lying, but he doesn’t show any.
“You… you must have been.” Fear claws at my heart. If it wasn’t him, then… who the fuck was in my flat last night?
I stagger and he reaches out, snagging my arm. Electricity fires along my skin the moment he touches me and he pulls back quickly, as if he feels the burn too. I peer at him, my tongue gluing to the roof of my mouth as his words settle around me.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, my hand covering my mouth as bile races up my throat. I’m going to puke. “Who was in my flat then?”
I turn away from him as he starts to climb off his bike, vomit swirling in my stomach. I feel him come up behind me and I turn to him. This time I’m peering up at him, because he looms over my small frame.
“Someone was in your flat?” he demands, and there’s a deadly edge to his voice that honestly scares me. Fire blazes in his eyes as he scans his gaze over me, as if searching for proof that I’m unhurt. “Did they touch you?” he hisses.
I shake my head. “As soon as I saw him I locked myself in my bedroom. They were gone in the morning.” I chew on my bottom lip as ice fills my belly. “I thought it was you.”
He shakes his head. “Wasn’t me.”
He pushes around me, striding in the direction of my flat, his steps purposeful and filled with rage. I trail after him like a lost puppy, unsure what to do or say. I didn’t want to piss him off by accusing him, but what else was I supposed to think? He’s been stalking me for weeks. Who else would it be?
When he steps into my flat, I feel the small space shrink even further. He seems to suck all the air out of the room too, making it hard to breathe. His eyes move around my stuff, apparently cataloguing every inch of my living space.
“I think he got in through the living room window. It was open this morning and the potted plant on the sill had been knocked off.”
He moves over to the window and peers at it. I watch him, my thoughts rolling. Standing here with my stalker is weird. He seems really upset by this situation too, which surprises the hell out of me.
“I’ll stay tonight,” he declares, as if it’s a done deal.
I blink at him, his words not penetrating my brain. “Uh, what?”
“In case he comes back.”
Ice floods my belly. I hadn’t even considered that and the thought makes terror attack my body. I shake out my trembling hands. As terrified as I’ll be spending the night here alone, there’s no way in hell I’m letting a man who has been camped outside my flat trying to scare me to death stay over, like we’re having a sleepover.
Not. Happening.
“You can’t stay.”
“Why?”
I stare at him, wondering how he can even ask that question. As I do, I take in his features. This close up, I can see the flecks of dark hair among the blond in his beard and I can see the tight set of his eyes. He scares me as much as he interests me.
“I don’t even know your name, and you’re stalking me.”
“Fury.”
“Your name is Fury?”
A chill runs through me at this revelation. Who the hell is called Fury? Someone with anger management issues, that’s who.
“Said so, didn’t I?”
I peer up at him. Nothing I’ve seen so far points to him living up to his name. Even when he killed Max, he’d done it with calculated calmness that frankly scared the living piss out of me. I’ve never seen the fury in his eyes, though I can see the darkness and that rightly puts me on edge.
“Ain’t stalking you either,” he mutters, sounding pissed off.
“What you’re doing is the very definition of stalking,” I inform him. Then I sigh. I don’t want to spend the night alone, in case my late-night burglar comes back, but I don’t want to let a murderer sleep on my sofa either.
Fury doesn’t give me the choice. He moves over to the sofa and sinks onto it.
“Make yourself at home,” I murmur.
He peers up at me. “Won’t let anything touch you, Amalia,” he tells me in his gruff voice.
And I believe him. He’s sincere when he says he won’t let anything touch me, and I have no idea what to make of it.
Chapter Six
Fury
Amalia is sitting on the armchair next to the sofa, her eyes focused on the screen, but every now and again she keeps shooting me what she thinks are covert looks. They’re not. I know she’s trying to work me out, like
