Chapter Two

Hank

"You're not leaving tonight?" My oldest brother, Gentry, says as he stares at me with a scowl. He doesn't mean anything by it. This is just his face. It sits somewhere between pissed off and incredibly pissed off every day of the week. I swear the man was born with a scowl. At this point, I'm not sure the muscles of his face could even form a smile if they wanted to.

"I have some work I want to finish up."

"No, you don't. I know your workload." He shuts the door and moves heavily through the shop back toward me. It's only seven o'clock, but it's pitch black out already.

I cross out of the screen I'm toggling and stand from my desk and stretch.

"What's going on?" he grumbles. "You're working late? You avoided the guys last night at the bar. You in some kinda trouble?"

"No. Why the fuck would I be in trouble?"

"Don't know, man." He holds up both his palms, showing me he doesn't mean any harm, and I don't think he does. He's not the nosey type. Usually, he doesn't give two fucks why people do anything. That said, all us guys look out for each other. We always have. "The boys and I were worried you were sinking back into the depression thing again. Consider this a wellness check."

Last year around this time, things got pretty bad, and I pulled away from everyone. I was drinking all the time. I wasn't leaving the cabin, and I was living off canned soup and whatever I managed to hunt that week. I think they call men like that hermits, but this wasn't by choice. I didn't want to leave the cabin because the world didn't make sense to me.

I spent most of my life training to be a soldier, an elite, killing machine, but when it's over, they shake your hand, and ask you to go back into society and turn off everything they spent a lifetime programming you to do. Now, when I'm in town, I struggle to not see possible hostile situations in everything, and I find that sitting at home by myself allows my brain to actually slow down.

"All good," I say with a nod, holding my arms crossed over my chest. "I was tired last night after that Fall Fest security. I didn't have time to update this software, so I'm doing it tonight."

He nods slowly and I watch the lump in this throat bob as he swallows. I'm sure he's thinking over whether my story is bullshit. Something tells me he already knows it is.

"You think maybe you should start trying to date again, man?"

I laugh. "What the fuck? Where did that come from?"

"You're fuckin' lonely. I don't want you dipping back into the whole hermit thing." His tone is gruff.

"I could say the same for you. Not like you're fuckin' well adjusted."

He wrinkles his brows. "Quit turning shit back on me. You sound like Perry. I'm heading out. If you need somebody, I'll be home all night."

I nod and settle back into the swivel chair behind my desk, feeling vindicated for getting away with something. "Sounds good. Catch you in the morning."

The second the front door to the shop closes, I pull up the security footage to Dot's house. The cameras I installed today are top-notch. Her father wanted nothing less. They refresh quickly, they have a hundred- and forty-degree field of view, variable bitrate compression, and two-way audio. I couldn't have picked a better machine myself. It's like I'm in the room with her.

She's currently on the phone with a friend. They're talking about her father and how insane he must be to have hired me to install the security.

I shouldn't be watching her like this. It's a breach of privacy and it's illegal. But as the moments pass with me staring into the screen, I can't help but wonder why it is that I can't look away.

Is it that I'm secretly into reality TV? Maybe I'm a voyeur who can only get off while he watches someone in private.

It's neither.

It's her, and no matter how my mind tries to deflect from it, she captivated me the second I saw her. Hell, I didn't think I'd be able to drive away earlier. Part of me wanted to lift her round ass up on the bed and take care of the urges crawling their way through me right then and there.

You're such a shining example there, soldier. You piece of shit.

She sits at the counter, biting into a cupcake as she rants about her father. It seems there was an ex in Seattle that wouldn't take no for an answer. From what I gather, the man assaulted her somehow. That's why Dad wanted the cameras. Can't say I blame him. I don't even know this dude, or the full story, and I want to put a fucking bullet in his head.

That said, considering I'm sitting here violating her rights too, I can imagine someone becoming obsessed with Dot. Hurting her, though, that's worthy of execution.

She hasn't elaborated much to her friend about the ex. She must already know the details of what happened. Apparently, Dot was working on a journalist career. She was doing local news broadcasts, human interest stories, but she was next in line for the desk reporter job. I don't know much about reporting, but I've seen enough movies to know that's what journalists aspire to become.

Her face wrinkles up, and she laughs at something her friend says before hanging up the line. With the phone in her hand, she grabs a bottle of water and makes her way to the bathroom. I follow her down the hall, but she's blacked out the camera for that room.

Can't say I blame her, though murderers could hide behind shower curtains.

From the hall security, I can see she's brushing her teeth with the door open. She swishes water back and forth, spits into the sink, and wipes a towelette over her face before tossing it into the trash. She's also changed into a short nightgown that has hot pink flowers covering the fabric. I missed that part. She must have done that out of view.

I think it's official. I'm a stalker. A real-life creeper.

What the fuck?

Life's funny. One morning you're having eggs and bacon for breakfast, the next you're a full-on criminal. Gotta say, though, I didn't see that coming with my alarm clock this morning.

A sick, psychotic disappointment rattles through me, though it's quickly dissipated by the sight of her in the gown. Her breasts are low and heavy, and this footage is so clear, I can see the hard line of her nipples poking through the fabric.

Fuck. My cock pushes at the seam of my jeans.

A black cat, which she calls Gloom, hops up onto the bed as she crawls under the covers. With a delicate touch, she scratches the furry between his ears and whispers something to him that I can't hear. Something I shouldn't hear. Something I shouldn't hear because I'm not supposed to be watching this.

This isn't for me to see . This is the exact invasion of privacy she was so worked up about earlier. The reason she was angry with her father.

I clear my throat and click away from the scene. She's in bed. I don't need to watch anymore. I didn't need to watch to begin with. It's fucked up. I'm fucked up. Gentry was right to see the darkness in me tonight, because it's there in all its glory. Me, a man in his forties watching a twenty something on a private security line.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I untangle the cord to my laptop and unplug it from the wall. I should get home. I have a sink full of dishes, a lawn to mow, and a barn full of animals to tend to in the morning. The later I'm fucking around with this shit, the more exhausting all that work is gonna be tomorrow.

The ranch was supposed to be therapy for myself and other veterans like me who find peace in animals. So far, it's a haven of unfinished work and in dire need of a separate living space for guests. I need to put more focus on getting the place ready for the public instead of spying on some young girl.

What's the point, anyway? It's not like I can make anything out of it. She's too young to be on my radar, and even if she weren't, she wouldn't be interested in me. That was clear by how annoyed she was by my presence.

I have the laptop halfway closed when I hear a mewling sound come from the computer. I minimized the cameras, but I didn't close out the page.

I should've closed the page.

The sound is sharp and alarming. It's so alarming that I'm opening the laptop and pulling the page back open before I think it through.

My cock goes hard immediately.

Dot's back is arched against her pillow. Her fist is buried into the sheet. She's gripping onto it for dear life as she holds her vibrator over her clit.

Moan after delicious moan spills from her lips as her tits rise and fall.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I shouldn't be watching this. I should turn it off. I need to turn it off.

I swallow hard and hover over the ‘x' in the corner of the screen, but my cock is rock hard, and apparently, I'm out of my mind.

Her hips grind upward as though she needs the harsh sounding vibrations of the machine she's holding between her legs. There's a hum in her throat, and when she starts pinching her hard nipple, I lose what little sense of control I have left.

I unzip my jeans and pull my cock from the cave it's been shrouded in and begin stroking as I watch her thick frame in the cameras.

At the moment, I'm thinking nothing more than what her soft, wet, little pussy would feel like as I thrust inside of her. The feel of her hair running through my fingers. The sound of her moans reverberating in my ear. The view of her perfect body trapped beneath me.

Fuck!

I stroke faster, watching her twist the vibrator around in circles. She's close to coming.

She grips the sheet tighter and licks her own nipple, scraping her teeth against the bud before lifting her hips again and again.

Oh, my fucking God.

I stroke my cock faster and faster as I listen to her moan. The sounds get higher pitched and soon the sound is shrieking as she comes. Her movements slow and she lifts the vibrations away from her clit for a moment, tapping her little pussy over and over again as she jumps. I swear, I can hear the wetness being sprayed with each jolt.

Pleasure overwhelms me and soon I'm coming hard, exploding ribbons of hot come all over my hand like a fucking loser. I'm pretty sure this might be the bottom of the barrel. It doesn't get much worse. I'm disrespecting a woman's privacy and masturbating to the sight of her. I need to stop this… now!

I click the ‘x' in the corner of the screen, shut the laptop, then grab a paper towel from the drawer, wipe my hand clean, pull up my jeans, and decide to never look at that screen again. I need to get a fucking grip.