●Nicholas●
Tonight marked the second night I'd been literally stalking her. And it was worse than I'd imagined. She'd lodged herself in my head like a fucking parasite, occupying every corner of my thoughts until I couldn't think straight. She wasn't just on my mind—she was my mind right now, the only thought I could hold on to without it twisting into something darker.
Two nights. Two nights I'd spent in her room, watching her sleep. What was terrifying was how defenseless she was. She slept like a log. With zero sense of danger, which made me wonder whether her father had ever told her of danger lurking out there.
I'd expected her to fight me with all the energy she had when she first saw me, but she didn't. Maybe she was smart enough to know that fighting me would be useless. Or maybe she was just naïve. Either way, it was fucking intoxicating. I had found myself a muse, a challenge, a temptation that wouldn't let me go. I hoped this obsession would burn out eventually—though every instinct in me said it wouldn't.
By the time I left the villa—the fortress of the senator himself, I called Anna. She'd been running the security systems there long enough to know every inch of the place, earning a level of trust that allowed her to wipe me clean without a trace.
"I'm already out," I said.
"Cool," she replied, her voice clipped. She already knew what needed to be done: erase every camera trace, every hint of me breathing inside that house.
I started walking, my vehicle parked a little distance away, and dialed Leon at the same time.
"The house is clean. I went through everything, but there's nothing," I reported. Jonathan Blake was careful. Too careful. But it only frustrated me more. Every time I thought of the number of lives ruined, taken, twisted by that bastard through organ trafficking, I wanted to rip something apart. He was a millionaire, but nothing was ever enough. The hunger, the greed, the complete disregard for anyone but himself… it was infuriating.
"The quick route doesn't look like it's going to work," Leon said. I couldn't argue with him.
"I bet I'll have to go to Jack's burial. Jonathan will be there," I muttered. Not looking forward to another one of his smarmy smiles, or the self-righteous posing—but there was no other way.
I reached my car, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine.
The drive through the city was almost peaceful. It was past two in the morning and the streets were mostly empty. I rolled the window down, let the cold air rush in, then reached into the dashboard for a cigar. The flame flared, smoke curling into the night as I took my first pull.
My mind betrayed me immediately.
Her face surfaced without warning. Those wide brown eyes, glossy with fear. The way her lips trembled when she realized she was alone with me. I shouldn't have been thinking about her like this, but restraint had never been my strongest trait. She'd cry again when I finally got close to her—only next time, it wouldn't be fear doing it. Pleasure made people break just as beautifully, and I planned on learning every reaction she had.
I took another drag, exhaled slowly. I was fucked.
By the time I reached my penthouse, the city lights felt dull compared to the thoughts clawing through my head. I headed straight for the bathroom and turned the water on cold, letting it pound against my skin until my pulse settled. This was getting dangerous. Before her, distraction had been easy. Now, nothing else even registered. I didn't want substitutes. I wanted her.
Before her, I would have called up someone for a quick fix, but that thought felt empty now.
After dressing, I moved into my study and initiated a video call to headquarters. I'd been supposed to report an hour ago, but curiosity had gotten the better of me. Or obsession. Same thing at this point.
Brad and Samuel appeared on screen, already mid-argument like always. They never got along, and I didn't bother asking what had set them off this time.
Brad was the first one to focus on me, the displeasure from their argument still written all over his face and somehow directed at me too.
"Did you get the name?" he asked, not bothering with a greeting.
I'd been handed two major cases to handle alone. One involved Senator Jonathan Blake, who was linked deep in drugs and human trafficking, even though he played the role of a clean politician to the public. The other led to Rebecca Williams, a woman who ran a club in Vegas where women disappeared without a trace. Girls went in, and some of them never came out. I was convinced the two cases weren't separate at all. Men like Jonathan didn't get their hands dirty unless there was someone supplying them, and Rebecca fit too neatly into that picture. My gut told me he was buying women from her, moving them through his own channels, and if I was right, pulling one thread would drag both of them down together.
"Yeah," I said. "Rebecca Williams. She was a lecturer at a university in California."
My fingers were already moving across the keyboard as I spoke, pulling up files, forwarding everything to the shared system. Her face appeared on their screens a second later.
"They shut down operations about a month ago," I continued.
Samuel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest as he said, "I think they already know we're on their ass."
"Obviously," Brad snapped before I could respond. "People don't just stop making money out of fear unless there's a reason."
Wilson shot him a glare. These two had been at each other's throats for years. I was half convinced one of these days they'd kill each other out of pure spite.
"We tapped her phone," I cut in. "We would know when they started operating again."
That finally shut them up.
Brad exhaled slowly. Samuel nodded once. Tension eased, just a little.
After a few more clipped words and unnecessary warnings, I disconnected the call without ceremony. The screens went dark, leaving me alone in the quiet again.