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I stand by the bed, looking down at her as she stirs slightly, but I’ve drugged her enough to keep her under for hours. Versed was the perfect choice. She’ll feel groggy when she wakes, maybe a little disoriented, but she won’t remember much. She’ll never know I left.
I tuck a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin. Soft, warm, and bruised inall the places I’ve marked her. My cock twitches, and I smirk to myself, pulling away before my desires get the better of me.
There’s work to do.
Taking one last lingering look, I turn away, careful not to make a sound. The door creaks softly as I pull it closed behind me. I pause, listening to the stillness of the house. Nothing.Good.
Moving through the hallway, I double-check every lock, turning the deadbolts with a satisfying click. The windows, too—each one checked and secured. I don’t leave anything to chance. I know her better than she knows herself. She’s resourceful and cunning, but there’s no way she’s getting out without me, and while the drugs should keep her knocked out until long after I get back, I’m taking no chances with my girl.
The house is dim, shadows crawling up the walls as I pass by, the faint scent of her perfume still clinging to the air. It makes my pulse quicken, a low, gnawing hunger in my gut that I’ve been feeding since I first laid eyes on her. The keys jingle in my hand as I make my way through the house.
Once I’m sure everything’s locked up tight, I head to the front door. I reach for my jacket hanging on the hook on the wall—black leather, worn in all the right places. It smells like the road, like gasoline and asphalt, and as I slip it on, the familiar weight of it grounds me.
I tug my gloves on, then bend to lace up my combat boots, their heavy soles echoing with each step I take as I lock up the door behind me and make my way down the driveway. My bike waits for me at the curb, its matte black frame glinting under the dim streetlights.
It’s sleek, fast—a predator in the night, just like me.
Before I slide the helmet on, I take a moment, scanning the house one last time, making sure everything’s exactly as it should be. The helmet slips into place with a snug fit, the visorsnapping down, obscuring my face. No one needs to see me. Not out here.
With a quick swing of my leg, I’m on the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath me, vibrating through my body like a second heartbeat. I rev the throttle, my eyes locked on the house.
She’s safe for now.
The wind cuts across my face like a blade as I take off down the street. I’m heading back to my place for the first time in days, and all I can think about is her.
My girl. My little nightmare.
She was mine the moment we locked eyes that night at Rustic Roast. She felt it, too. I know it, and I knew it then that there was no going back. That I’d own her, ruin her and nothing would fucking stop me. Not even her.
She needed me to do all this, and she wanted me to.
The brief moment when we locked eyes is something I’ll never forget. I knew from the look in her eyes that she felt everything I was feeling; she saw a different me.The real me. It didn’t matter to me that she was a complete fucking stranger. We shared something in those few seconds that no one else could ever understand.
She looked away, trying to brush it off, but I saw the way her breath caught, the slight tremor in her hands as she reached for her cup. She wanted me. I knew it then, and I know it now.
As I throttle forward, the streets blur past me, weaving through traffic with ease. The city’s still alive, people moving about the streets, but it’s nothing compared to what’s happening in my head. I’ve only just left and every fiber of me is itching to get back to her. To watch her.
She’s not just my obsession now—she’s my responsibility.
I pull up outside my place, the sharp smell of exhaust mixing with the cool fall air. The familiar scent of falling leaves and thefaint promise of rain lingers as I kill the engine and swing off the bike, heading inside to gather what I need.
The door to my apartment creaks open, and a stale breeze carries the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and leather. The place is dimly lit as I step inside, the door clicking shut behind me. I take in the sight of the controlled chaos—my sanctuary.
First things first, I head to my desk. It’s cluttered with monitors, keyboards, and enough wires to choke a man. I gather the most critical pieces—three laptops, two of them rigged with encrypted systems, the other full of programs designed for surveillance and breaking through firewalls. My hands move on autopilot, disconnecting the monitors one by one. The screens flicker out as I yank their cords, rolling them up in tight coils and tossing them into a duffel bag I keep slung over the back of the chair.
Next, I grab the cameras. Small and discreet, most of them are black and designed to blend into any surface. I grab a few more of the small ones, pulling out my cell and tucking them into the hidden compartment of my case. I already have tons spread around through Cara’s house, and they’ve served me well, but you never know when you’ll need to keep an eye on someone. I tuck the larger cameras into the front pocket of the bag, making sure to wrap each in a cloth to protect the lenses.
I can’t afford to have any of my toys break before I use them.
I pull open a drawer, revealing a row of burner phones. All untraceable. I grab three, slipping them into the side pocket along with extra SIM cards. Each one has its purpose—some for work, others for tracking some of the guys I run surveillance on. I like to be prepared.
Then, there are the files. Thick manila folders stacked on the corner of the desk, packed full of notes, printouts, and hand-drawn maps. They’re detailed sketches of my plans, both old and new: routines, locations, and potential targets. I hesitate fora second before grabbing the folders, flipping through them one last time.
I reach down to the floor where a small metal case is half-hidden under the desk. Inside are spare memory cards, thumb drives, and a compact SSD filled with codes that would get me locked away for life if anyone ever traced it back to me.
They won’t. I’ll make sure of that.
The chargers are next. I grab a handful, shoving them into the bag along with the cables, which I wind around my wrist to keep them from tangling. A glance at my watch tells me I’m on schedule, but I still work quickly. My girl is out cold for now, but she won’t stay that way forever.
