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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
K.N. Wilder
Read between
October 9 - October 12, 2025
Most people would call it stalking. I call it...selective admiration. Tomato, tomahto.
Same thing, really.
“I am vengeance. I am the night. I am...really fucking hungry.”
“Sleep well, Oakley Novak,” I murmur to the empty room. “I’ll be watching. For your protection, of course. Not because I can’t stop thinking about the way you bit your lip when you lied about your name. Definitely not because of that.”
Definitely not
She never even takes off her jacket. The brown leather one with at least seven concealed snack pockets. I counted. Twice. This woman carries more emergency food than most people pack for a week-long camping trip.
I need a jacket like this.
Oakley Novak needs a guardian angel, even if she’d consider me the devil.
🫶🏼
I have standards, damn it. I’m not some basement-dwelling creep with a collection of toenail clippings. I’m a sophisticated basement-dwelling creep with military-grade surveillance equipment.
The hottest kind of basement-dwelling creep!
I’m a professional. A gentleman stalker, if such a thing exists.
“So this is what a psychotic break feels like,” I mutter to my laptop. “Fascinating.”
Food is homemade. No poison, I promise. That would be counterproductive at this juncture. —Your Stalker. P.S. I always looked away during wardrobe changes. Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, rarely, but I felt bad about it!
“So you’re stalking me for my own good?” I arch an eyebrow. “Stalking is such an unpleasant term. I prefer targeted observation with occasional nutritional intervention.”
Instead, something unfamiliar uncurls in my chest. Something that makes me want to slay dragons for her, which is ridiculous because I’m not a knight. I’m the dragon.
🐉💚
I’ve always been good at balancing—physically, at least. Emotionally, I’m about as balanced as a Jenga tower in an earthquake.
Same though
My woman. Mine.
🥵🔥
“When I saw those men in your apartment,” he continues, “I realized I would burn this entire city to ash before letting them touch you again.”
🥺
“Were you willing to die for me back there?” He pauses, not meeting my eyes. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because you’re mine.” His voice catches on the word, as if surprised by his own admission. “Mine to watch, mine to protect...” He swallows hard. “Mine to fuck, mine to love.”
😭🖤
“Serial killers aren’t cute. Puppies are cute. Babies are cute.”
“You’re mine, Oakley,” I whisper against her lips. “To love and to cherish. And I’m yours. You can have everything. My life, my heart. Everything.”
“Breathe? There’s a dead body, Oakley.” “I’m aware. I’m the one who killed him with a fish.” “Right. With a fish. In a gas station bathroom.”
“Welcome to improv murder, babe. Sometimes you gotta wing it.”
“You like that I know exactly what you are, and I’m still here.” Something darkens in his eyes. “And what am I?” “A killer with blood-stained hands,” I say, my voice low and certain. “A predator who watches from shadows. A man who’s crossed every line I was taught to fear.” My fingers trail down his chest, possessive. “And I want every dark, twisted part of you. Mine.”
“Also because Xander is clearly smitten,” Calloway stage-whispers, “and we’re nothing if not supportive of workplace romance.” “This isn’t a workplace,” Xander protests. “Of course it is, Bestie. Murder is our business, and business is killing.”
