My first target is the one with his hand on Raven’s throat. I slam into him from the side, one arm hooking around his neck as I use our combined momentum to throw him to the ground. His skull meets the concrete with a sickening crack.
I turn on the dog, the one who should have worn a motherfucking leash and stayed out of my territory. He reaches inside his jacket. I don’t give him time to find whatever he’s grabbing for.
The knife in my hand flashes once in the dim light before I bury it in his chest, angling up under the ribs to find hisheart. His eyes widen in surprise—they always do, like they can’t believe death found them so quickly.
“Bad dog,” I snarl as I twist the blade, ensuring the damage is irreversible, then pull it out in one smooth motion. Blood sprays across my face, warm and copper-scented. Some lands on my lips. I don’t wipe it away.
The first man is struggling to his feet. Guess he didn’t die. I kick him hard in the temple, and he goes still. Maybe dead, maybe not. I don’t particularly care either way.
I turn to Raven, expecting to find her frozen in fear or shock. Instead, I find empty space. The spot where she stood against the wall is vacant, with just the faintest impression in the dust to show she was ever there.
“Raven!” I shout, my voice low but urgent. Nothing.
She’s gone. Slipped away while I was dealing with her attackers. The thought of her alone in the night with potentially more attackers around doesn’t sit right with me. I scan the courtyard, the street beyond. No sign of her. Just the bodies at my feet.
My first instinct is to hunt her down. To chase. To catch. But practicality wins out. I have bodies to deal with, questions I want answered, and the sun will be up soon. Besides, I know her name. I know where she works.
Finding Raven Carter again will be easy.
The harder part will be figuring out what the fuck she’s gotten herself mixed up in that has people grabbing her outside my building. Or maybe… fuck. This probably has nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.
Conceit is thinking you’re special. I’m just realistic about blast radius, and it would make sense. Whoever they were probably stalked my building and saw us arrive, lying in wait and grabbed her.
I look down at the men at my feet. Blood pools beneath them, dark against the concrete. I’ll need to call for cleanup and even use some of the many favors owed to me.
When I lower myself to wipe my knife on the dog’s shirt, I notice a tattoo on his wrist. A black circle. I quickly check the other guy, and wouldn’t you know it, he has a matching tattoo.
Another circle enters my life, and I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence.
While raking a hand down my face, I gather my thoughts. I really wish she hadn’t run. And not just because I always want to fuck after a fight, but because I want to make sure she’s okay.
The sky is beginning to lighten at the edges. I need to move fast. I take one last look around the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of blonde hair, a flash of one of my shirts. Nothing. But I’ll find her.
I stride into the lobby, blood still drying on my face. The night guard’s eyes widen when he sees me—bloodstained, and radiating the kind of quiet fury that makes smarter men run. But he can’t run.
He’s stationed here under my authority, paid to ensure nothing happens in my building. And he’s failed spectacularly.
“Secure the perimeter,” I order, voice deadly calm. “No one in or out until I say otherwise.”
The guard—Steve, if I remember correctly—swallows hard. “Mr. Russo, what happened? Should I call the police?”
I laugh, the sound empty of humor. “The police? Are you new here, or just that fucking stupid?”
His face pales beneath his five o’clock shadow. Good. Fear makes people efficient.
“Two men attacked a woman outside,” I continue, stepping closer until I’m looming over him. “Right under your fucking nose.”
“I didn’t see—”
“Exactly.” I cut him off. “You have two fucking eyes, and you still didn’t see. That’s the fucking problem.”
I glance at the security monitors behind the desk. Six different angles show the courtyard, the front entrance, and the parking garage. All the places a competent guard would be watching.
“Pull the recordings,” I demand.
While I explain I want everything from an hour before I arrived with Raven through ten minutes ago, Steve scrambles to obey. The screens flicker, then display the recorded footage.
For now, I focus on Raven exiting the elevator, crossing the lobby in my stolen shirt, checking her phone, and then slipping out the side entrance to the courtyard. Minutes later, the two fuckers follow, moving with purpose.
