STALK ME : A M/M Dark Romance Novel Read online

  I glance over at the clock on the wall which confirms the hour and the ugly reality that I’ve been inside this building since the late afternoon. Before that I was out on the streets, wishing I could jump in a bulldozer and mow all the scum down out there that lives to make my job as hard as possible, without bothering to ever have to arrest one soul. A sly grin curves up on my face and then it eases just a little when I know that’s almost every law-abiding officer’s wet dream. We can’t clean up the dirt with the sweep of a broom although we wish like fuck we could. It’ll never be that easy.

  We must respect the rules…

  After all, what would this world be without them?

  Before I was out on the streets hours ago, I was once again inside this building and sitting to a desk and attempting to console a very distraught young woman sitting on the opposite side who had just lost her sister to an overdose. It was real messy. Young girl. Homeless. Broke. A sad soul who had decided that whoring herself would snag her the cash she needed to destroy her veins every chance she got. It was three days before her emaciated body was found. I stood there, hovering over it, fingers flexing, fists balled at my sides while silently raging as I muttered the Lord’s prayer to myself hoping that he himself could hear it. Hoping that he could do something about the horror that had left these streets often covered in bodies and blood. It was an unforgettable display of all the brokenness of humanity. The sadness. The hopelessness. The acrid scent of death. It was the type of scene that wrapped tight around your heart and squeezed out what felt like all the remaining beats as you regarded it. But this is what we do… We witness the horrors of life up close, live and direct.

  It’s all in a day’s work.

  Prior to all that fabulous stuff, I was sitting to a table at a diner on West 49th Street and asking for the strongest coffee known to man that would hopefully wake me out my daze and prepare me for the crap day that I knew lay ahead. And here I am still in the middle of that predictably long, crap crap day, only now it is night.

  A sigh drifts from me and mixes in with the stench of bleach drifting in from the corridor just outside this office where the half-assed cleaners had just been hard at work only a few minutes ago.

  In short, I have been on the clock for almost fifteen hours straight and counting.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  The hands of time never stop turning.

  No hard liquor. No nap. And the best part of it all is that I haven’t had to kill anyone yet.

  On any given day, I’m faced with the possibility of encountering a vast array of misfits.

  The purse snatchers. The jumpers. The plain old lunatics. The murderers. The stalkers.

  It’s a never-ending list of fucked-up possibilities.

  Looking down, I palm the gun secured in the holster at my side and breathe.

  The night is far from ending. It’s highly unlikely that I’ll have all six bullets remaining in the chamber of my gun by the time the sun rises. I’m almost certain I’ll have to waste them on one of the soulless tonight. Most of the filth that crawls its way up and out of the sewers at night and terrorizes this city’s streets aren’t even worth a bullet. At least not one of mine. Too expensive. Lot of the time if you sit back and wait patiently, the scourge of humanity eventually takes care of the rest of the undesirables that dare to call themselves human beings. They’ll all kill each other eventually, guaranteed.

  Evil eradicates evil.

  The consumers become the consumed.

  Shit in; shit out.

  Without halting my stride, I head toward the massive window across the room which overlooks the city. I scrub the stubble covering my jaw with a hand and gaze out at the bright and colorful lights ahead which cast an orange glow on the streets below beyond the filthy glass in front of me. Looking past my own reflection, I have an unobstructed panoramic view of the Hudson as it flows deep and wide in between here and Jersey reminding me of where my jurisdiction starts and where it abruptly ends.

  And then my focus stays on the high and low rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen—where I grew up.

  Known for its working-class roots, low real estate prices, and gritty reputation because of all the crime. I know crime all too well. It’s been a part of my life ever since I could remember. I never faltered past the neighbor’s door when he was beating the breath out of his wife. I never faltered when a man was gunned down right in the street nearby where we were once playing a game of stick ball. I never questioned my father when he told me I had to be off the streets by a certain hour either and to make sure that I was always carrying a blade. Because I understood…

  Have a cool awareness. Stay vigilant. Have no fear.

  After all, they say that’s what makes the best cops and eventually even better detectives. After a while, nothing surprises you, nothing phases you. Once you’ve witnessed one crime, you’ve seen ’em all. It becomes a part of you. Respect the streets. Live and breathe them. Their truths.

  Out there, you must remember that it’s your life or theirs and I’ll always choose mine.

  I, Rafe Salvatore Zapata, am the son of two immigrants who had sailed across the Atlantic Ocean in an overcrowded lifeboat directly from San Juan in their chase of the American dream.

  And they’d found it right here in this city.

  They had nothing to their names—no money, no shelter, no jobs. But they’d done the damn near impossible by working until their bones and morale ached and had sacrificed so much over the years to give me, along with mi hermano and two sisters, everything they never had.

  The wail of a distant siren yanks me back and into the present.

  Bouncing on my toes, I shove my hands in my pockets and exhale a loud breath, conscious of all the time I’ve spent on the job. Nights. Weekends. Public holidays. Keenly aware of all the life which has passed me by because I’ve never had the time to live it. Or never “found” the time, as I was once told by a man who seemed jaded and disillusioned from carrying the weight of all my heavy promises and who had claimed to love me before he disappeared from my life for good. Everything we had once owned together was divided right down the middle. Anger. Resentment. Hurt. We kept our equal share of that shit in tons, believe me. But, we couldn’t split the dog. You’d be amazed at all the things people try to divide after love dies. Money. Property. Memories. The good ones and the ones a person would wipe clean from their neocortex if it were ever possible. It didn’t take me long to realize that, unfortunately, there are some things that you just can’t share. They must remain whole even if you must let them go… And I’d sent my whole heart with that man. It was full-on beating and bleeding at the very same time. Nevertheless, I always hold on to some sick hope though that one day he’ll walk right back into my life—an outrageous wish.

  Because eventually, everyone gets tired of my BS.

  Shaking my head and then lowering it, I curse at myself, burying the words under a short breath. I’ve spent almost ten out of my thirty-five years of life promising to protect and serve in one way or another. They were vows spoken when I was dressed head to toe in regulation uniform and stood amongst all the boys in blue. By the end of it all, I had pressed a kiss to my freshly shined-up badge which had been presented to me by the police commissioner himself, because I was so proud to be the owner of one. I had made staunch promises that day to keep people safe and out of harm’s way. Ones that I have always intended to keep. Hence, why I’m still standing here…

  What good is a man if he cannot ever keep his word?

  He is nothing.

  So, unofficially, I am married to this city.

  Fidelis ad mortem… Faithful unto death… Our motto, forever.

  I offer a short glance to the blue, green, and white flag on the wall, quickly reminded that collectively more than forty thousand officers on patrol, detectives, sergeants, lieutenants, captains, and police chiefs admire this flag in much the same way I do and have for the past one hundred and fifty years that this formidable law enforcement agency has existed. They respect it. Honor it. Live for it.

  Lifting a hand, I massage my left shoulder where I’d taken a few bullets point blank a few years back. They came straight out of the gun held by a maniac who had declared then that he had been watching the changing moon that night which had compelled him to kill a random woman who was sitting at a bus stop and waiting to get the next one home. To top off the entire act, he had claimed then that the Devil had made him do it. Yeah, I’ve been shot a few times. Stabbed up pretty badly too. Within inches of my lungs. Thymus perforated. Ego smashed to pieces. Still alive though. I’d been told then that I was super lucky to be. But just like my father had always said before he left this earth for good two years ago, “Only the good die young.” So, I know by some people’s opinions, I have nothing to worry about. At least not anytime soon.

  I toss a glance to the right and my eyes land on the files piled high atop my desk.

  Missing persons.

  Dead bodies found in dumpsters, shoved in trash bags, floating on the shores of the Hudson.

  Rape victims.

  All open cases that I won’t ever be closing until I find the answers I need—the ones which help me and the families connected to the victims sleep better at night even if I can’t bring their loved ones back to life. I’m determined to put an end to all this even if it takes me until the end of next year. So, tonight is going to be a long one, just like all the others…

  In a few hours, I’ll pour more stale coffee and will likely eventually crash for the night under my desk.

  Edging closer to the glass, scrunching my face and peering upward. Gone is the heavy cloud cover that’s overtaken the sky much of the day. Now, the stars shine and twinkle and its true beauty is revealed. My eyes fix on t
he white moon fixed in the sky that’s in its first lunar phase. So pretty. So lonely. I stare at it for quite a while, just breathing and then my eyes take a brief snapshot of the calendar on the wall and all of its empty squares which remind me that Halloween will be with us sooner than I’d like. A full moon will also be lighting the sky on said night.

  Fuck.

  The rambling crackhead on the corner of 31st and 7th had told me that legend has it that the full moon is a moon that represents completion, the height of power, the realization of desires and a time that allows man to access clarity within himself at its peak.

  I’m not entirely certain if I believe any of the malarkey but I’ve learned to always listen even if someone is feeding you a giant load of cow manure. You may not like the smell, but you don’t have to eat it anyways. I rub my jaw harshly and face the window once more, brows colliding so hard it almost hurts.

  This godforsaken city turns into an amusement park for the insane on All Hallows’ Eve. There’s no admission fee. And all the rides are free! The phrase trick-or-treat on that night hardly has anything to do with candy and more to do with ecstasy, blow, and whatever other drugs the pusher man just might be giving out for a set price. And a select few of this city’s castaways won’t even need to put on a costume to look out of place during the entire celebration because-they-always-do. Therefore, a night like Halloween is the only night of the year that they technically “fit in” with society.

  My temples are already throbbing to their own beat.

  Law enforcement around the globe will be doubling, tripling, and quadrupling their efforts that night to keep the world safe. It’s only a few weeks away. The countdown to nationwide-crazy is on.

  I might not believe everything that rambling crackhead had told me, but I do believe one thing which will never change. This city becomes a cesspool when the sun falls beneath the horizon and goes away. The average man may never witness the things a man like me has seen up close and may never be able to unsee again. With a badge affixed to the belt around my waist given to me by the governor himself, I run alongside a special pedigree of pseudo human beings. Lunatics. Criminals. People who live to do nothing more than to cause pain to those who aren’t already suffering.

  During the day, even with a Starbucks on almost every block and a police precinct never too far away and within running distance, this city still isn’t safe.

  At night it’s utterly perilous.

  Because that truly is when the freaks come out.

  Henry

  APPARENTLY, YOU DON’T ALWAYS need a lure to catch bait…

  “Got a light?” The question earns my focus along with a grunt.

  I don’t immediately turn toward the voice, just wait to see what else they’ll say.

  A cool wind washes over me and then rushes through the alley stirring up the bonfire dancing in the barrels filled with trash and other assorted items about fifty feet away from where I’m tucked against a wall lining this alleyway and beneath the cover of darkness. It stinks of rotting corpses around here. The stench which is a mixture emanating from the actual dead and the walking dead is thick and lingering.

  The dregs of society tonight party. All chasing a high they never want to forget. The same high they had last night, in fact, the one that keeps them coming back for more. They satisfy their baser instincts. Sex. Drugs. And the pleasure it all provides. They fulfill their desires even if those desires are what appears to be killing them one by one, softly, slowly, tortuously. They toss broken pieces of furniture, paper bags, and old bottles into the bonfire and dance circles around it, almost worshipping it. A few of them are lying on the cold, cold concrete, savoring the last of their high. Groaning and writhing in their worn clothing and muttering words to themselves which would make no sense to a sane man. Others are tucked away and beneath the comfort of the cardboard box they call home and enjoying the warmth the flimsy shelter provides.

  It is a scene like no other.

  One I’ve seen many times before.

  Frankly, it is unrivaled entertainment.

  My motherfucking playground.

  Welcome to the carnival!

  Guns N’ Roses’ “Don’t Cry” crackles through the night air.

  Casually, I draw in more smoke and then send it up toward the sky when I exhale.

  A curse word is muttered.

  Still, I don’t turn their way or acknowledge their presence since they’ve so boldly invaded the small bit of privacy I seemed to have carved out here for myself. I like my privacy. Eventually, I’ll have to tell them that.

  The raucousness ahead picks up.

  Glass shatters. Hoots and hollers surf on the wind. A man and a woman start slinging cruel words at each other about the needle they’d just shared and soon it breaks out into a full-on scuffle.

  I smile.

  No one makes a move to intervene.

  This is just the way it is out here in Hell…

  Cocking my head to the side, I smoke a bit more while watching the world as I always do.

  The stranger nearby me shifts and sends the pebbles beneath their stilettos scattering when they do. I catch a whiff of cheap perfume on the breeze. It’s poison to my lungs, but nevertheless I breathe it in because I have no choice. They’re too close. Much too close.

  “Heyyyyy.” The deep voice becomes femme fucking sweet. “I’m talking to you, mister.”

  A comforting hand parks itself on my shoulder.

  I stiffen.

  A gentle laugh follows.

  My hand lowers and, slowly, I twist in the direction of the voice and face who’s standing there.

  The boy-man points a finger in my direction. It’s aimed at what’s in my hand. “I’ve seen those before.” He laughs. “Or, I should say I’ve smelled them before.” He scrunches his face. “Those are really expensive cigarettes.”

  Impassive, I eyeball him.

  Curly blond wig. Looks like something Madonna would wear on a bad night. Miniskirt so short that both of his cheeks are almost exposed. Barely walked in five-inch heels. He’s cute, I’ll give him that much.

  And then I face ahead once more.

  Crestfallen, he inches closer, eyes all over me—my shoes, my watch, my jacket. He’s practically robbing me already in his mind. His thieving fingers are just waiting to catch up. “I wasn’t planning to ask for a cigarette.” His laughter is lackluster and uncomfortable. Trepidation feathers around his words. But just as always, they still push forward. “I just need a light.”

  I bother for just a second to look his way and stay fixed on the cigarette he holds between his fingers. With his posture he might as well throw his hands up in surrender. He’s young. Innocent.

  “What are you doing out here tonight?” I press my lips together.

  Shivering just a little, he smiles. “You know, the usual, just out looking to make friends.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “And maybe a little money, honey.”

  I don’t smile. “There’s always a price to pay when you make friends.”

  Sucking his teeth, he laughs. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

  It’s quiet for a while where we stand beneath the semi-darkness. Far up ahead the partying turns wild. A siren in the distance slips into my ears. More bottles break. A shrill scream explodes from a woman. The desperate cries are coming from the next alleyway. The sounds of the city move around inside me and remind me of where I am... Hell… I mustn’t forget. I am standing smack-dab in the middle of Hell.

  Only it isn’t hot, just so, so cold.

  I smoke some more and then, slowly, I retrieve the pack of cigarettes from a pocket and pull one out. I examine it for a few seconds before I pass it to the boy-man.

  With a sly grin settled on his face, he plucks the cigarette from between my fingers. “Thanks.”

  And then I fish a lighter out from the same pocket, and after striking it with my thumb, I put the fire to end of the Sobranie, lighting it up. The fire illuminates the face in front of me for a few seconds while I search for any stranger danger there and our eyes connect. The boy-man’s eyes widen and his lashes flutter before it becomes dark again.

  “I won’t ask for your name, mister.”

  I wasn’t planning to give it…