Page 17 of The Eraser

She's still filled with pain and hurt. Those eyes of hers are filled with despair. I have a niggling feeling that there's something I have yet to uncover about her.

Not only has she gotten older, but she's also grown some fucking amazing curves. She's almost seventeen and I'm still keeping the fuck away from her. She's too innocent, too damn sweet for someone like me. Her dress style has changed. She no longer wears tight clothes and sports bras when dancing. Instead, she opts for baggy t-shirts and high-waist leggings. She still looks phenomenal but I'm curious as to why the change.

It's easy to find her each week. Her routine hasn't changed. She's kept up with her dancing. She's gotten even better than when I first saw her dance. I stick to the shadows and watch her. It's a fix I can't deny. I need to see her, and watching her dance is like my drug.

I watch as she enters the dance studio—one that I now own—and give her a few minutes before I make my way in through the back entrance. I have my own personal way to get to the viewing room upstairs to watch her. She has no idea that I'm here, and that I've been doing this for the past two and a half years.

The rickety stairs are old, and there's a stench of mold. These stairs are in need of repair from the damage a storm caused years ago. The roof caved in—just on this side of the building. It's why these stairs are out of order and not for public use. Once I'm upstairs, I head to the viewing room and take my position.

She's warming up, the music soft and melodramatic. She's tied her long black hair up into a tight bun, and she's wearing black leggings and an oversized black t-shirt. Gone are the bright colours she used to wear. Now she's always in dark colors, especially black.

Her steps are light and a little hesitant as she begins. I'm entranced, just as I always am; fixated on Jessica as she begins to pick up the pace and move fluidly across the floor. She's like an angel as she glides through the dance. She's been doing ballet for years and it shows.

She's so fucking beautiful, I can't take my gaze from her. It's just her and I, the only ones here, and she has no idea that I'm watching. She's so focused on the dance, so in tune with the music, that she doesn't see anything but the music. Her movements become more graceful, more powerful. The passion in her eyes is palpable, radiating a warmth that envelops me despite the cold darkness I'm used to. I'm lost in her world, a world where she shows her emotions through dance.

As the music rises, Jessica leaps into the air, her body arcing elegantly before landing with a quiet grace. It's a moment of pure perfection, a moment that takes my breath away. She's worked hard on it, this time nailing it to perfection.

But then, as quickly as it began, the music fades and Jessica's dance comes to an end. She stands there for a moment, chest heaving with exertion, her head bowed as she tries to catch her breath. I know she's finished. She's rarely here for much longer than one dance. Which means it's time for me to go.

When I get outside, it's pouring down with rain—something that happens more than not here in Ireland. Jessica's already out of the building and walking up the street. I follow behind her, intent on seeing what she's doing today. Some days, like today, I'm able to follow her for a bit. She's only got two friends and spends the majority of her time in her own home. A place that I doubt is happy, considering her father is a fucking ass. Other days, I'm only able to watch her for a few minutes before I have to leave and do some work.

My cell rings. Pulling it out of my pocket, I see Maverick's name on the screen. "Yeah?"

"Well good morning to you too, sunshine," he says chirpily.

Over the years, Maverick has fought internally about how close I am to his sister. Years ago, Callie's home was broken into. I was the person she called, and it was the worst night of my life. For the first time since I was a kid, I felt fear. I thought she was going to die. I listened to the fucker who broke into her home and beat her. When I arrived, she was unconscious, and Maverick had a hard time dealing with that. He couldn't understand why she called me. He didn't realize that she was protecting him. She was balancing on the edge. Had she not called me when she did, and had I not got her to the hospital, we could have lost her, and she didn't want Mav to see that. Since then, he's grown, and now he’s not so threatened by me.

"What the fuck do you want?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Still following Jess around, I see."

My blood chills and I snarl. How the fuck does he know that? "What do you want?"

"She's my cousin, Stephen. She's too fucking young for the bullshit this life would bring her," he tells me. There's no anger in his voice. He's simply stating facts.

"I know," I say through gritted teeth. I fucking know that she's too innocent for me, that she's too good for someone like me. I don't need him to tell me that. "Now what do you want?"

His laughter grates on me. "You need to chill, man. Tonight, Jer's called a meeting. Everyone is needed to be in attendance. He wants all the men present."

"Fucking hell, what's happened?" I ask, knowing he wouldn't call a meeting unless absolutely necessary. Usually, he'd send his best men to deal with the problem, but calling a meeting means something big is coming or someone's been killed.

"Haven't a fucking clue," he sighs. "But whatever the hell it is, it must be big. Butch is on edge too."

Butch is Maverick's uncle. He's the president of the Devil's Falcons motorcycle club. For him to be on edge means something big is going down.

"What time?" I ask.

"Eight. Make sure you bring Freddie with you. Jer's adamant that everyone's to be in attendance."

"I'll be there, as will Freddie," I assure him. I'm eager to find out what the fuck is going on. There hasn’t been a meeting like this since Jer's sister Patty died. We've still yet to uncover who the fuck killed the woman. It was a hit. Someone must have been hired for it to go down the way it did, but no one has come clean about who did it.

"Alright, I'll see you later, and just so you know, she'll be heading toward the church. It's her birthday. She always goes to the church on her birthday and then to the graveyard," he informs me and hangs up.

Today she's seventeen. Fuck. She's legal. Christ.

My gaze finds Jess' back in the crowd as we near the cathedral. She doesn't hesitate in entering the church. I follow behind her, pissed that I had no idea that today's her birthday. I'm not sure if it would have made a difference if I had. She's too fucking good for the likes of me. Two and a half years I've watched her. I'm obsessed; there's no other way of putting it. I'm so fucking obsessed that I can't imagine not seeing her.

It doesn't take more than two seconds to find her when I enter the church. She's sitting two pews from the back and there aren’t many people around. The mass is over, as it is most days by twelve, and another service won't happen until the evening.