The Stalker Chronicles Read Online Free Page A

staring back.
    A couple of years ago, when the entire media circus took place that plastered my face and the face of this famous author, Xavier Preston, across TV stations and print media, I did something I never thought I would ever do. I had plastic surgery. Nothing too major or extreme, à la Michael Jackson. Just a few tweaks here and there, mainly on my face. It was enough to make me unrecognizable to the general public.
    Add some gray contact lenses to the equation, along with coloring, relaxing, and straightening my naturally curly hair. Then throw in a few extra pounds, and I was no longer the person the entire nation saw splashed across their TV screens for weeks. I could come and go freely without the scrutiny of finger-pointing, stares, and frowns. I had even changed my last name; I couldn’t resist the urge to keep my first name. So, I was still Pilar. I would always be Pilar and everything that it stood for.
    As the wheels of the plane touched down on the runway, I was literally beaming. I was sure happiness from within was radiating outward for all to see. I was back. And Xavier had better watch his back, because this time I was bringing it. Last time was just child’s play.

Chapter 6
    Dre’
    The professional men and women of Houston were slowly, but surely, spilling into the trendy restaurant and after-hours bar. It was the newest hot spot at the moment. Most were still dressed in their business attire, myself included. We all desired the same thing: to unwind, de-stress, and begin our weekend with a good time.
    As usual, the women outnumbered the men. I didn’t think I would trade living in Houston with any other major city in the country, with the exception of perhaps Atlanta. A man like me could get seriously spoiled rotten here.
    What I mean by “a man like me” is that after two unsuccessful marriages, I was no longer looking for love. What the hell was love? I wasn’t even sure I believed it existed anymore. It was similar to no longer believing in the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus as a kid.
    Two times I thought I was in love, head over heels, and within a few years, the illusions faded, and all I was left with was two angry bitches. Women were like vampires. They sucked, sucked, and sucked, until they’d sucked all the life out of a man. And then they still weren’t satisfied. Houston women were notorious gold diggers. Always had their hands out, palm up and wide open, waiting for some man to take care of all their needs. Well, I wasn’t the one. Not anymore. Been there. Done that. End of story.
    Don’t get me wrong. There were many professional, highly intelligent, independent, successful women who had it all. Superwomen. I worked with some. At the end of the day, the money they made on their own was their money; they desired our money to satisfy their wants.
    Personally, regardless of what my ex-wives thought, I realized I was a good catch. Hell, I had a well-paying job with many perks as a vice president of a major financial institution. I had made some good investments, even in this recession, and I owned a home and two nice luxury cars. Hell yeah, I had it going on. With my bald head and goatee, my smooth brown skin, women always commented that I resembled that famous black chef G. Garvin. I could afford to lose maybe ten pounds, but other than that I was the man.
    I took my time with my drink as I sat at the L-shaped bar and eavesdropped on lively conversations on either side of me. I had a group of beautiful women to my left and a couple of attractive girlfriends to my right. I wasn’t in a hurry, and I was in a mellow mood. It was a Friday evening, the night was still young, and I didn’t have any specific plans for the weekend ahead.
    â€œGirl, I finally had the opportunity to check out that movie, Diary of a Stalker , that you’ve been raving about for weeks now.” This was coming from one of the women sitting to my right, who was