Tyrant Stalker (Tyrant Dynasty #2) Read Online Isabella Starling

Categories Genre: Dark, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Tyrant Dynasty Series by Isabella Starling
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Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
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"Do you remember my name?" the redhead purrs, and I shake my head. She pouts at this but doesn't let it disturb her for too long. She tugs on the knot. My towel threatens to come undone, exposing my dick which is still throbbing from thinking about Dove in the shower. "It's Hanna."

"Hanna, is that right?" I say and she nods with what I'm sure she thinks is a seductive smile. I grab her wrist then. "Well, Hanna, you should get the fuck out of my room before I make you regret coming in here."

"How are you going to make me regret it?"

With a single move, I twist her arm behind her back, and she shrieks in pain. I know the human body well. One more twist, a few inches to the left, and I'll break her tiny wrist. The thought thrills me.

"I told you," I hiss at her as she looks up at me, her eyes terrified. Fucking finally. "I'm taken. Now get the hell out of my room before I break your arm. And then your neck."

I let her go, and she stumbles back, her expression wounded as she picks herself up, dusting off her denim cutoffs and that stupid fucking Nirvana shirt. "You don't want me?"

"No," I grunt. "For the thousandth time, I'm not interested. Now get lost."

She cradles the wrist I twisted in her other arm and leaves without saying another word. Once the door closes behind her, I breathe a sigh of relief. Fucking women. They just can't resist me.

***

The next morning, I follow Dove's Uber to Rodeo Drive. I'm surprised to see her there. Dove's not really the shopping type, and much less a designer kind of girl. But my doubts are quickly quashed when I see the Barbie car pull up.

Elise Howard, of fucking course. This should be interesting.

For the next few hours, I follow them around as they shop for ridiculous fucking outfits. That Elise bitch keeps trying to force my little bird into something pink, but luckily, the girl is smart enough to resist. Through the windows of one of the high-end boutiques, I watch her try on a black number. It's got long sleeves and a cowl neckline but reaches down to her knees. The dress is tight, and it pisses me off how hot Dove looks in it. Elise helps her pick a pair of simple black heels to go with the outfit, and little bird buys her a wallet for helping her.

I don't know what she's getting ready for, but if it involves a man, I'm going to fucking kill him.

After their shopping is done, the girls exchange air kisses and say their goodbyes. Elise leaves in her ridiculous car and little bird orders an Uber. I linger close by as she waits for her ride, holding the shopping bags in her hands. The temptation to approach her is fucking overwhelming. Maybe just a little bit closer... close enough to inhale her scent. I barely remember it. I haven't let myself get close to her for years, and I'm craving the unique perfume of her skin.

I do my best to remember it – the powdery mix of her own scent, the rosy smell of her perfume. But nothing is as good as the real thing.

I put out my cigarette under my boot and slip closer, hidden in the shadows. I stop five feet away from her. Dangerously fucking close, but little bird is oblivious. She needs to be more careful. But I'm close enough to smell her now. Close enough to fill my nostrils with her unique blend of soft, velvety rose petals and baby powder. Goddamn, she's amazing. My obsession deepens.

She's close enough that I could reach her, grab her by the throat and drag her into the shadows I emerged from. I have to fight every instinct to stop myself from doing it, and when her Uber arrives and she steps inside, my hands form fists. I want her. I won't be able to hold back much longer.

I hitch my own ride and follow her Uber back to her place. It's almost six p.m. and she still hasn't eaten. My own stomach is grumbling as much as hers must be, but she doesn't make anything to eat at home. Instead, she tries on her outfit and fusses with her hair and makeup in front of a mirror.

She's going on a fucking date. She has to be.

My lip twitches as I think about her with another man. If he touches her, I'm taking her tonight. I have to. I can't let anyone else have her. My blood is pumping, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The desire to finally take what's mine is fucking overwhelming.

The car that pulls up on her street is flashy. A driver exits, opening the door for a dark, messy-haired tall guy wearing an all-black suit. His slightly shabby hair is slicked back. He's handsome. But not good enough for my little bird.


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