The Sweetest Thing (A stalker age gap obsessive romantic thriller.) Read online

  THE SWEETEST THING

  J. A. WYNTERS

  The Sweetest Thing: Copyright © 2022 by J. A Wynters

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof my NOT be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form or by any means whatsoever, including photocopying, recording or other mechanical methods, without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non- commercial uses permitted by cop-right law.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.

  The Sweetest Thing

  Editing by: Spell bound editing

  Cover design: The Dust Jacket Designs

  Interior Formatting: Dawn Lucous, Yours Truly Book Services

  CONTENTS

  Author Warning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  A Word from Jane

  About the Author

  Also by J. A. Wynters

  Sneak Peek of Four Rooms

  AUTHOR WARNING

  Dear reader, the following book contains scenes that may be triggering for some, including but not limited to cheating, dub-con, non-con, stalking and assault.

  1

  I wipe the droplet of sweat trickling down my cheek and turn the air con up. Not that it will make a difference. The thing has been busted for three months, and the men in charge keep promising to fix it, while the city keeps cutting costs around every corner. I let out a long, heavy breath letting my body and mind decompress as my lungs empty. The night is heavy with humidity, and I still have another five hours left on my shift.

  Thankfully it hasn’t been a very busy night, which is both a blessing and a curse. The long nights drag out when all I do is cruise around my assigned area, watching for disturbances, speeding, illegal parking, and other traffic violations. These oftentimes are boring instances and usually result in nothing more than a few issued tickets, a barrage of belligerent insults to my person and my badge, and a shit tonne of paperwork to fill out. Other nights those situations mushroom suddenly and without warning from humdrum into a life-or-death situation.

  Tonight, I have issued three tickets and given directions to a confused old lady who was too prideful to accept my offer to follow me to her home. I half wonder if I’ll see her on the news tomorrow. A part of me wants to go out and search for her, make sure she made it home alright. The other part of me wants to get a coffee and get some paperwork done. I decide on the selfish route.

  I’m worn out and jaded, and the lights from the 24-hours petrol station call to me like a rockstar to the spotlight. I drive in slowly; it’s instinct as I scope the place out to make sure I’m not walking blindly into a robbery. The coast seems clear. I cut my engine and run a hand over my face before opening the door and stepping out into the muggy air. It hits me like a wet sponge, and I feel the instant pooling of sweat beneath my armpits. Maybe the air con was doing a better job than I thought.

  The girl behind the counter is young and looks even more bored than I am, but she still greets me with a smile and gestures discreetly for me to come over.

  Dammit.

  I pull on my belt as I walk towards the counter.

  “Evening, officer.” She doesn’t sound local.

  “How can I help you?”

  She gives me a lopsided smile, clearly entertained by our role reversal. I am not the one who’s meant to be helping her out. She points to the back of the shop where five teenagers stand huddled, talking too loudly about things boys their age know nothing about.

  “They’ve been there for fifteen minutes,” the clerk says quietly. For the first time, I register the slight tension in her voice and strain behind her eyes.

  “So?” I raise an eyebrow as my gaze sweeps over them. Worn-out jeans that hang below asses, fake gold chains and homemade tattoos crawling up skinny necks. This is the generation that will be the next world leaders. I shake my head thinking about Libby and Savannah, my two young daughters, and the kind of world I’ve brought them into. I didn’t want kids, not seeing what I did at work every single day, but Libby was a surprise. I did the right thing by Annie. Later, she insisted kids need siblings, and I just wanted to make her happy or shut her up. Maybe that’s the same thing.

  “They’re loitering.” She shifts her weight around and chews on her bottom lip nervously. Her eyes fall to her hands that are entwined together.

  I nod. I get it. The father in me bares his teeth and steps forward alongside the cop. I approach the youths; they look like a cartoon version of a gang, all pasted together by some dumb kid and his crayons.

  “Can I help you?” I seem to be stuck on that line tonight. Five pairs of eyes rise all at once and greet me with contempt as they take a quick survey of the intruder.

  “Fuck off, pork-chop,” the tallest one of the lot says, and the rest chuckle and high five as if they’d won some kind of Olympic event. It’s so fucking cliche I want to vomit.

  I ignore his remark, just one of a thousand I’ve heard before. “Are you planning on buying anything?”

  “That’s none of your business, pig.” The same kid answers; he must be their leader.

  “If you’re not planning on buying anything, I suggest you move on.” I feel like a ‘rent a security guard.’

  “And we suggest you mind your own fucking business. Free country an’ all, we can be anywhere we want.” The other four nod and agree with a few muted ‘yeahs’.

  I don’t have time for shit. I walk back to the girl behind the counter while the boys cheer behind me telling me to ‘walk away’ and how ‘that’s right, I know when to fuck right off’. She looks even more nervous now that I’m coming back, and the boys are still at the back of the store leering at us.

  “Are there any security cameras here?” I ask, and she nods showing me the feed behind the counter. Two cameras, one pointing at the clerk and till – obviously the owner has some trust issues. The other is a fisheye lens across the rest of the store.

  “Can those get turned off?”

  She eyes me for a second, then nods. “But only for five minutes or the owner will call and ask what’s going on.”

  “I’ll only need two.”

  She doesn’t question me, just flicks a switch somewhere and the TV monitors turn black.

  I make my way to the back of the shop. The boys all look up at me, but they don’t see me as a threat, just a nuisance, and that’s their mistake. Thinking that just because I wear a uniform I always operate within the law. Don’t get me wrong, 99% of the time I do, but tonight has been long and this week has been shit, and my patience has now run out.

  I don’t flinch or falter or hesitate. I ball my hand into a tight fist, and it connects hard and fast with the kid’s jaw who kept mouthing off to me. He stumbles back and wails, at the same time, his eyes grow large and his lanky frame wobbles in an epileptic dance as he smashes against the fridge and sinks to his ass as if his bones have all melted and all he is, is flaccid empty skin.

  The other boys all look on in disbelief. One covers his gaping mouth, the others openly staring with saucer-sized eyes. One of them tries to be brave. “What the fuck, man? You’re not meant to do that.”

  “Really? But he assaulted me, I was defending myself.”

  “He didn’t…” His words dissolve and he shrinks away when I take a step closer. I take him in. He doesn’t look much older than fifteen, and suddenly he looks very young and very unsure of himself. That’s the thing with people; they have expectations, especially from law enforcement. They assume our hands are tied and they can abuse us, but when you shake up those beliefs with some unexpected actions, all their assurances fall away and they remember their place.

  “I think he did.”

  “Well, he didn’t.” He whimpers, still trying to be brave. “We all saw it.”

  “You saw nothing, little boy.” I get in his face. His brow is peppered in sweat, and he swallows hard enough for me to hear.

  “The camera…”

  “What camera?” I wink at him, and his eyes widen even more before he tries to step back, his back finding the chip aisle.

  “Your word against mine, not that anyone would believe you over me.” I shove a finger into his chest and push hard. “Go take a fucking shower and get a job. Do something with your life.”

  He stammers over his words but says nothing in return. On the floor, his friend is crying. The rest of them look shaken, like I’ve beat up their mothers and made them watch.

  “Now,” I step back and address the group, “collect your friend and get out of here and don’t let me hear that you’ve been back.
”

  They all stare at me.

  “Now,” I whisper, and that breaks their trance as they scramble to grab their friend and make their way out of the shop. If they were smart, they would go to the ER, but they are not. I follow them out and make sure they see me taking a note of the car’s make and model. Insurance in case I need it.

  When I get back inside, the video feed is back on, and the clerk has a cup of steaming coffee for me. “Thank you,” she says. She’s shy now, but visibly more relaxed.

  I pull out my wallet.

  Holding out her hand, she pushes the drink towards me. “On the house.”

  I know it’s not. I know she’ll have it docked off her salary, and I know we’re not meant to accept thanks in the form of gifts or payment, but fuck it – it’s not like it’s a blow job. My head hurts as much as my hand, and I need to stay up and do my paperwork. I settle for a polite thank you and get back into my car.

  I cruise around for a few minutes till I find a vacant parking lot to catch up on reports. I park someplace where people can see me if they need help; I’m technically still on duty. I’m two minutes into the reports and one sip into my coffee when someone approaches my vehicle.

  I get out of my car as the man nears so he can’t surprise me while I’m sitting down. What can I say? It’s the job; if you’re not always thinking tactically, you’ll end up dead.

  As it turns out, he was a homeless fellow just after the time. He leaves, and the only evidence of his presence is the lingering BO of a meat sack that hasn’t seen a shower in months.

  I’m about to get back into my car when I hear it. It’s faint, but it’s definitely hostile. Two voices; a male and a female. I scan the area and find a dark alley ahead. I take a few steps in its direction, and the voices grow louder.

  “You ruined my life.” The voice is deep, harsh and aggressive.

  “You were the one that ended things, but it’s not too late.”

  “You’re fucking crazy—”

  “Miss, are you okay?” I survey the scene, taking everything in. The man is about my height, his wild hair hangs over his brow and covers his eyes. His hand is wrapped around the girl’s wrist and clenched tight, his knuckles bleached white. I can’t see his face as it’s locked onto hers, but his body language has me on edge. He’s angry and threatening.

  “She’s fine.” The man answers for her, brittle anger in his sharp voice. “It’s you who should be careful.”

  I’ve seen these situations a hundred fucking times, and I feel my early finish slip away. This guy is about to put a match to my otherwise mundane nightshift and ruin my fucking day.

  “Step away from her, sir.” I reach for my baton, his threat echoing in my ears.

  I expect resistance. I expect aggression. I expect a fight and three hours of paperwork. I don’t expect the guy to let go and take a small step back. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off her.

  “Now move along,” I prompt him, hoping this would fizzle out into nothing more than a dispute between two lovebirds that will be forgotten by both parties in the morning.

  “Remember what I told you, Amy. I’m not fucking around,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

  “Sir,” I call out my warning, and he shoots me a quick look before he pushes off and marches down the street. I notice the brown paper bag in his hand and the scuffed jeans. He doesn’t turn back.

  “Miss, are you okay?” I repeat my earlier question.

  “Yes, thank you, officer.” The woman walks out of the shadows, and I catch my first glimpse of her. She can’t be older than twenty-one or twenty-two.

  Her luscious red lips stretch in a sweet smile and glisten in the streetlights. Her long bottle-blonde hair tickles her naked shoulders and cascades towards a pair of tits I want to die on, pushed up by a white halter top that shows off a lacy black bra beneath. She’s wearing a chequered skirt, fishnets and boots. She looks like she’s just walked off some Playboy shoot, and my entire body forgets that I’m mid-thirty and comes alive like I’m watching a wet teenage fantasy.

  I ignore the tightness in my pants as I meet her gaze, smoky eyeshadow around her sultry green eyes. I clear my throat. “Did he hurt you?”

  She looks over her shoulder as if looking for the man, making sure she’s safe. “No more than usual.” She grabs her wrist and starts to rub it in her hand.

  “Do you know him?”

  “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

  My heart does a strange irrelevant flip at her words, and I swallow down a sudden surge of need – to protect her – to have her.

  What the fuck was that, Rossi? You’re a married man with kids, moron. Plus she’s at least ten years younger. You’ve seen pussy before. Get it together, idiot.

  “He bothers you a lot?”

  She shakes her head, but the way her body stiffens tells me there is much more to her story than she’s telling me.

  “Would you like to put a complaint against him?”

  She stiffens again. “No, it’s okay.”

  I’ve seen this kind of shit too often as a cop; women getting harassed and scared in their own homes, afraid to put a stop to it. I guess I can’t blame them. Our system has failed them time and time again, letting out bad guys who just go and finish the job they started.

  I sigh in frustration, sadness, in helplessness. Some days this job feels like a waste of time. “Can I offer you a ride home, miss?”

  “It’s Amy.” She gives me a lovely smile. “And no thank you. I live just up there.” She points at one of the buildings, but I’m too busy looking at her lips to notice which one.

  I nod, tearing my gaze away and reach for my pocket where I pull out one of my cards. “Here, if you change your mind.” I hold it out to her, and she smiles as she reaches for it. Her fingers brush lightly over mine as she takes it from my hand, and I can’t help but notice how soft her skin is.

  She flips it in her hand a few times before looking at it. “Detective Sergeant Joseph Rossi,” she reads out, and heat flushes across my cheeks at the way she pronounces my name, emphasising each sound slowly and meticulously. Of course, I’m not a detective sergeant anymore, not tonight anyway, not for the last three months. But maybe after the hearing and probation, things will change again. I bat the thoughts away and find Amy’s face. “My friends call me Joe.”

  “Joe.” Her face beams and her lips pout in a sweet little smile. “Well, thank you for saving me, Sergeant Joe,” she says and bites her lower lip, sucking it in before turning and walking towards her apartment block.

  I bring my hand up to my face, wiping my mouth and drawing it down my chin as I watch her ass sway. There is something about her that goes beyond sexy. She is beyond just desirable; she is captivating in every way. Or maybe it’s just that Annie hasn’t opened her legs up to me in three months, and this girl just needs a little bit of water spilt on her to look like she just walked out of a porn shoot.

  I adjust my rock-hard cock in my pants and watch as she disappears inside an apartment building. I’m not sure, but I think she looks back at me before she enters and the door closes behind her. I wish it was winter and the cold air would cool my body, but I feel like I am on fire, every bit of me hot and bothered.

  I get back into the car, gripping the steering wheel far too tightly. I sit for an hour trying to concentrate on my paperwork, but each time I begin to write anything down, all I can see are her lips or the curve of her tits or that ass swinging below that tiny fucking skirt. By the time my shift is over, my cock hurts so bad all I want is a hot shower and quick wank before bed.

  I drive home thinking about Annie and the girls, wondering if my wife would let me steal five minutes with her in the bedroom before the girls need breakfast.

  I notice the car, even though I want to pretend that I don’t. It weaves from lane to lane, slowing down then speeding up, braking erratically before taking off again. I let my head fall back into my seat and look up at the brightening sky. My shift ended fifteen minutes ago. “Fuck.”