Rule You: A Billionaire Stalker Boss Romance (Dark Tales Book 8) by Teresa Wolf

Author:Teresa Wolf [Wolf, Teresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-04-27T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

ALFIE

Let’s not get it twisted. My one, true reason for having Piper clear my schedule isn’t for a personal matter. It’s not the flu, nor is it to play 18 holes with Ernie Els. It’s to ensure her prick of a father never lays another finger on her.

A week of mornings gives me time to watch their home, learn a few general habits and see what they get up to. If I had more time to scope out the house, it’d have been preferable. Four days is hardly enough time to come to accurate conclusions about the daily routine, but I don’t have the time.

He’s a biker, which means he’s dangerous. If I don’t start making the right moves, there’s no telling what might happen to my Piper.

The first three days start and end in the same fashion. Piper leaves the house around 6 AM. After she’s gone, there are hours of silence until 9 AM. That’s when her father makes his way out into the world. The mother leaves shortly after.

The house is empty between 9 AM and 12 AM when I leave to return to the office.

I’m in a beat-up jalopy I bought from a second-hand dealer, so that I could blend in with the rustic vibe of this farmer’s street. I’m parked across the street from the Beckett residence, with a cold coffee in the cupholder and a stale croissant on the passenger seat. After three days of inspecting, I’d hate for the routine to change now.

But it doesn’t.

Unlike the earlier days, when he wore trousers and a button-down, Piper’s father emerges from their home wearing jeans and a black leather jacket carrying the patches and insignias of his club. He gets on his motorcycle, revving the engine obscenely, and disappears along the road.

Her mother appears a while later, dressed in a ratty t-shirt, frayed joggers, and a pair of tattered trainers. She catches a lift with someone in a dark blue Mercedes-Benz, with tinted windows. It’s not my place to judge where she finds her fun. As long as it’s away from her husband, she’s doing right by herself.

I collect a small duffel bag from the footwell of the passenger’s seat and make my way over to their house. I scan my surroundings, making sure that there aren’t any cars coming or going before I scale the white fence. From the front yard, I dash to the door, and with no surprise, I discover it’s unlocked.

One would think meth heads and bikers would be more cautious about locking doors, but their loss is my gain. From inside the duffel bag, I draw my Beretta 92X. It feels foreign in my grip. Once upon a time, I went shooting weekly to keep my eye and aim trained, but that pastime was replaced by the thrill of making money.

Let’s hope I don’t need to use it.

The house is quiet when I enter. The silence doesn’t stop me from clearing every room, from the kitchen to the shitter.

“Anyone home?” I call out, for good measure.

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