I’m not keen on the idea either. Prison would be hell for me. Nowhere to play with my toys in private. Caged like a wild animal. It would kill me a piece at a time.
“Stay on her, Fury. I mean it. Do whatever the fuck you have to do to keep her fucking mouth shut.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. Giving me carte blanche is a bad idea, but I don’t tell him that. He knows what he’s getting himself into. He’s known me long enough.
By the time I leave Rav’s office, my ears feel like they’re bleeding. My president likes the sound of his own voice when he gets on a rant, not that I blame his caution. This is a situation that could get out of control, but I’m not worried. I don’t think Amalia will talk. She was too scared to open her mouth, and I’ll keep her that way.
I head outside and climb on my bike, pulling my bandanna over my face before I tug on my helmet.
As I approach the building, I stop at the kerb and rev the pipes. I want her to hear that noise and know I’m watching her. I want her to be afraid. The more scared she is the less likely she is to talk.
My eyes move to the building, taking in the red brick and the large bay windows. There are flowers in the front yard. Everything about this woman is the opposite to me. She’s light to my dark, colourful to my grey. There’s something that interests me about that, something beautiful I don’t understand.
My eyes stray to the ground floor window as something moves. Then she comes into view. Her gaze finds mine and even from here I can see the fear in her eyes. Good. Afraid will keep her alive. She lets the curtain drop and then moves away from the window and my stomach sinks. I want her to come back. I want to see my angel again, even if it is only for a moment.
I sit outside her flat for an hour, just watching for any sign of shadows moving, but nothing stirs again. I wonder if she’s hiding from me. I wonder if she’s inside, terrified. Usually, I would relish that thought, but with her, it turns to ash in my belly. It makes me feel even more covered in filth. It doesn’t feel right.
But I don’t move from my spot. I just keep watching the flat, my heart rate picking up every time I think the shadows are stirring, that she might be moving inside. It’s just my eyes playing tricks on me, making me believe things that are not true, but that little thrill is worth a thousand murders. It makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt.
I expect the plod to turn up, but they don’t. She keeps her word to keep them out of this. I sit there for hours, watching. The cold air gnaws at my gut as I light a cigarette, but I ignore everything but the window where I last saw her.
When I’m sure I’ve sent my message loud and clear, I head back to the clubhouse.
The next night, I’m sitting outside her flat again, and the night after that. Every night for a week, in fact. It becomes part of my routine, a necessity before I can find a restless sleep. Some nights, she doesn’t know I’m there. Others she’ll be at the window, watching me back. I watch her intensely, and I know I’m falling into a hole so deep I can never crawl out of it. This is different to murder. This is something else, a new type of obsession I can’t wash off my skin. She’s embedded under my skin in a way I’ve never experienced. It started as a necessity, but my watching has moved into something more. Something darker, and I don’t know how to control it.
I pull my bike up outside the petrol station a week later and climb off the back. My eyes are gritty as I reach for the pump. There are a couple of cars parked at the other pumps, and their owners give me a wide berth, eyes wide with fear as they see the Untamed Sons insignia on the back of my kutte. I’m used to this reaction, so it doesn’t faze me. Even before I put on the kutte, I was viewed as something to be afraid of. In my forty-five years of life that has been my one constant.
I deserve the fear I get from others. I’m a scary motherfucker with deep-rooted psychological issues. I would freak out even the strongest psychologist. The things that get me excited are deeply disturbing.
That’s why my growing obsession with Amalia scares the shit out of me. I’ve never had a woman consume me like this. Last night, for the first time, I sat outside her flat until the sun started to come up. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Every time I tried to something would stop me. I tried to convince myself it’s because I’m worried she’ll talk to the police, but that’s not it. It’s something… more.
It’s been eight days since she witnessed me putting a bullet in Max. It’s been eight days since I started camping outside her flat every night. I have no idea if she knows I’m there. After the first couple of nights, she stopped acknowledging me. It makes me more determined to glimpse her. Every sighting of her is like heaven. I wish I could study her face, see her perfection up close. The longer I sit outside her place, the more I feel like I know her. I’ve noticed her quirks, her routine.
I finish pumping my petrol and stride into the kiosk to pay. When I head back outside, I see her across the street and my heart stops dead in my chest.
Amalia.
It takes me completely by surprise, throwing
