Stalker: Abducted—Curvy Age Gap Romance

By Q. Zayne

A plus-size model with damaging secrets. A torture-murder stalker getting too close to her. A bodyguard grappling with inner demons—and an obsession with his client’s curvy daughter. This Dark Romantic Suspense novel takes you into chills, love, and wicked criminal twists.
Beware: Abduction, danger, adult language, man-in-charge power play, and detailed intimate acts.
Mace is forty, still rock-hard, but damaged. His failure to protect a mob boss’s son destroyed his reputation and left him guilt-ridden and bereft. The chance to change his life walks in the door in killer heels. But despite being the one with the money and the job offer, she exposes Mace to dangerous temptation. One raw, forbidden night could bring redemption—or death.
Stalker is standalone novel from the Alpha point of view, no cliffhanger, HEA. Note: A shorter version appeared as Stalked and in the two-book set Mine.
I wanted her. It was that simple, that true, and that fast.
Get in here. Immediately. You won’t be the same when you get out of the basement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Q. Zayne
• Release date: Jan 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215637654

Q. Zayne

Q. Zayne often appears on top 100 author lists. Q. minored in Classical Archaeology and has an MFA in Creative Writing from SFSU. After teaching at the university, working as an editor, and freelancing, the author embarked on a wild digital publishing adventure. Thanks to fabulous readers, super promoters, and unflagging supporters, Q. writes fiction for a living from the Yucatan, Central America, and the California coast.Check out the Quin Zayne books for dirty, high-heat romance, and Q. Zayne for Erotica and naughty fairy tales.

Book preview

Teaser

SAY GOODNIGHT, ANGEL, my beauty, my love. Go to the window and say goodnight. I like to watch your lips move. I like to watch your ass move. I like to watch your big breasts sway like peaches on the tree.

I’m going to shake you to your core. I’m going to take you and take you, until you can’t be taken any more. You’re mine forever.

DEDICATION

FOR YOU, WITH A SPECIAL thank you from my heart for your reviews.

Copyright ©️

RESPECT THE WORK OF authors. Do not post this book on any site.

Copyright ©2024 Hughes Enterprise. All Rights Reserved.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

No part of this publication may be copied, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author except for brief excerpts in a review. Cover photo ©Deposit Photos and the photographer, all rights reserved. The use of the photo doesn’t suggest endorsement by the photographer nor the model, nor does it imply anything about the model.

Second Edition electronic book publication: January 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual businesses, entities or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All people and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. The content within is used in a fictional manner and is in no way intended to represent reality or to condone the behavior depicted. This work is for mature readers 18+.

Please note: An earlier version appeared as Mine in the Basement and in Mine Forever.

Act 1: Bodyguard

VISITOR

THERE’S NOT A LOT OF work for a bodyguard past his prime, especially when he’s known to drink too much, and his last client got killed.

I swung my boots up onto my desk and knocked off a pile of papers. Bills and other stuff I didn’t bother to open hit the floor, spreading like the chaos in my mind.

These days, I don't drink so much. I damned near drowned in it after I held Tito’s head while the light went out in his eyes. He was more than a job, and I wasn’t over him.

I swung my legs down and planted my boots on the floor. I yanked open my desk drawer and grabbed my last clean T-shirt. This week, I’d push myself.

I freshened up at the corner sink, suspecting not for the first time that the old building used to be a whorehouse. The spotted mirror made me look like a jaguar, and it added a few years. Had to be the mirror.

I wet-combed my hair and pulled on the T-shirt. It fit snug over my shoulders and the still-hard ripples down my torso. I tucked it in tight to my jeans. Company wasn’t likely, but I was raised to keep up appearances. My father bailed, and my mother ran on pride and alcohol. Once pride goes, there’s a short drop to the gutter.

With a sigh, I dropped to the creaking floor and hit my push ups. Next to running—and making love—working my muscles was the best thing for banishing demons.

Huffing and pumping my muscles didn’t shut up my mind, though.

In a small town, they never let you forget your mistakes. It didn’t matter I hadn’t stepped foot in a bar in months, and I’d gone back to keeping my hair cut short. I was dead to most of them, dismissed as a drunk and a failure.

Hell, I got Tito killed.

I blew out a breath. His death was a hit, and the way it happened while his father the don ran for mayor made me suspicious of his rival, Scarlatti, but I had no proof. Tito died on my watch. It amounted to the same thing as being the one who got him killed. Maybe everyone was right to steer clear. In a city this small and limited, failure could be catching.

There was one place I could go, if my heart would let me. I shook it off, too much pain down that road. Grief flattened everything, left me with an aversion to closeness. It worked the same way I got wary fast of my grandmother’s old finger-burning stove.

The morning’s horns started in. I glanced at the grimy breezeway through my office’s only window. If Charlie hadn’t let me keep the place for free, and sleep here, too. I would have been out of town a long time ago. Maybe I’d be better off somewhere else, somewhere people didn’t avert their eyes in the grocery store. People loved Tito. They didn’t love me.

I double-timed the push ups, breaking a sweat, making my arms burn. It was time to do something. Staying in here torturing the past got me nowhere. I fucked up. I fucked up big time. I had to move on. Today, I’d give Charlie notice. That would be a step. Throw myself out of the nest that had become a crypt.

I pushed out the last push up I could do in good form. This might be as good as the day got. I savored breathing deep and the burn in my arms and abs. On hands and knees, I gathered the envelopes and papers. I threw them in the trash. No point pretending I’d ever deal with any of it. Fuck it.

A throat-clearing at the door distracted me from my spurt of purposeful activity. The door swung open.

Aye caramba. Was time travel a thing? The woman in the doorway had the face and shape of a movie siren from back before most actresses had to be skinny. I stepped behind my desk and cleared my throat back at her. It was as close as I could get to welcoming her. My words were all gone.

Her pink cheeks made me wonder how long she’d been standing there. I left the door ajar to get a breeze through the place. Maybe she liked the muscle show. I sprang to my feet, pumped up with the veins standing out on my tattooed arms. Too late to dig for a shirt, but the way her eyes widened, I didn’t think she minded.

Shaft? Mace Shaft? Her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her. She entered my office with a waft of gardenia. Her hair was twisted up, baring her pale, plump neck.

I grinned, feeling like a ravenous vampire. That’s me. You’re in the right place.

I hope so. Her pearl drop earrings, matching necklace, couture high heels, and designer bag screamed big money. Her strained voice said desperate.

I nodded and scrambled to clear yesterday’s clothes off the chair on the other side of the desk. I glanced down fast to make sure I was wearing pants.

A longing to shower and shave surged through me. At least I’d done my whore bath before generating fresh man sweat.

She smelled good enough for both of us.

Back on the safe side of the desk to hide my trouser tent, I motioned to the chair.

She sat down, and her form-fitting dress rode up.

What a form. That was a woman. Give me lush curves, and my hands and mouth could be happy for hours. Not to mention my cock. It nudged at my jeans, growing painfully stiff, eager as a dog overdue to be walked.

What can I do for you, Ms.–? I put on my most professional manner, slapping myself with a reminder. Dog mode didn’t go over well with most women. Not without prior negotiation.

Janice, call me Janice. I’m Janice Holbrook, of the pharmacy company.

Damn. No doubt there was a Mr. Holbrook. The big rock on her marriage finger was a clue.

A pleasure to meet you, Janice. The big bad wolf with his better to eat you with line flashed through me. I could see myself spreading her creamy thighs for dessert.

Your arms are huge. You must have to get your shirts specially made. She licked my muscles with her eyes, taking in my latest tattoo, the jaguar for Tito. Wow.

I sensed she was stalling. That meant an uncomfortable subject. Cheating spouse? Only if he was an abject idiot. I treated her shirts comment like a question, in hopes of setting her at ease.

Yes, I do. One of the advantages of having my own office, I wear whatever I want to work. With my income down, the T-shirt wardrobe saved money. Plus, this neighborhood wasn’t as good as it used to be. Toughs looking for someone to mug saw my build and headed the other way.

You’re not what I expected. She smoothed her skirt, nails gleaming like fresh blood.

I hope that’s a good thing. My smile felt rusty. I wanted to charm her. It had been a long time. I caught my gaze crawling under her skirt and slapped it down.

She plucked at her skirt and the dog in me wanted her to pull it up real high. I pictured black lace panties, with curls peeking out. I liked women the way I liked my food, natural.

It’s my daughter. I need you to protect her.

Down to business. That was safer footing. I wasn’t ready to think about going out with anyone. Why me? It slipped out before I could censor it.

Because my husband knew Tito, and Tito trusted you.

Her soft words gave a hammer blow to my chest.

Yeah, Tito trusted me and look where it got him, six feet under.

A lot of days, I visited his grave out at the edge of town before dawn like a masochist. As I got sober, close to sober, I ran laps around the graveyard, pushing my body to remember how we used to be, a team. It made me sore for days. Same as moving to a new town, you could bounce back in your twenties, get a fresh start, get back in shape, and make new friends. In your forties, not so easy.

She swiped the screen on one of those big phones that looked like butt armor on women who kept one in a back pocket. She handed it to me, warm from her touch. This is Hannah.

I swallowed a wolf whistle. Hannah, looking nothing like a Hannah, stood at the beach with the poise of a plus-size model, imprinting my eyes. She was as gorgeous as her mother. Dark waves blew over her shoulders. My fingertips anticipated the softness of her skin. She struck me as more of a Sloane, destined to be hot, though she didn’t know it yet. That was part of her allure. She stood there, kill-you gorgeous, and seemed to have no idea that her curves and face could devastate a man at fifty paces.

I can see why she’d need protecting. I did my damnedest to sound respectful and professional instead of like a dirty old man.

Janice laughed, and it changed her face.

I could see liking to make her laugh for a long time. If she wasn’t married, and if I hadn’t sprung a second even harder boner of the morning for her daughter.

Yes. She’s twenty-two and has a modeling career. Her smile dived to hell as though it had never been. I’m afraid the situation is more serious than her being beautiful.

She took a deep breath and it did great things for my view, her cleavage pushing at her dress and trying to get out.

My mouth wanted to help. Focus, Mace, Focus.

Serious in what way?

My daughter has a stalker. She said it in the tone of ‘my daughter has the clap,’ a shameful warning.

It sucked, but even this late in human evolution, women got blamed for men being shit brains

That seems like a matter for the police. I shut up before I could blow this any worse.

I wanted to kick myself and leave bruises. Too bad I hadn’t had time for coffee.

Her pupils shrank to pin heads. She surveyed me with her brows raised. There are reasons that isn’t feasible.

I couldn’t afford to bungle a chance