PROLOGUE
Zachary (club nameSlaughter)
Most people would saythat I’m a stalker; some would say that I was insane.
But I just call it protecting what’s mine.
It’s been this way since high school, this dance we do.Him pretending not to notice me watching, me pretending I’m not counting his every breath.
I take another sip of my whiskey, keeping to the shadows of my corner booth.The bartender knows me by now, the guy who sits for hours nursing one drink, eyes fixed on the handsome doctor in scrubs.She probably thinks it’s pathetic.Maybe it is.
Xavier brushes off another woman, some redhead in a tight dress who’s practically draping herself across him.I feel that familiar burn in my chest, the possessive heat I’ve carried since we were seventeen.
So I stay in the shadows, watching.
Last month, I followed a drunk who’d been eyeing Xavier too intently outside this very bar.Made sure the guy understood that the good doctor wasn’t available.My knuckles were bruised for weeks.
Xavier checks his phone, finishes his beer.He’s leaving.I drop cash on the table, ready to follow at a safe distance to make sure he gets home okay.This is my routine.My obsession.
As he stands, his eyes lock with mine across the room.A moment of recognition, a slight nod.Then he’s gone, pushing through the door into the night.
I count to thirty before following.The cool air hits my face as I step outside, scanning the parking lot for his silhouette.He’s by his car, keys in hand, but he’s not alone.There’s a man I don’t recognize standing too close to him, gesturing wildly.
My body tenses.I move closer, staying in the shadows of the building.Xavier’s posture is rigid, defensive.I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I don’t like it.My hand instinctively reaches for the switchblade I keep in my back pocket.
The man jabs a finger at Xavier’s chest.Even from this distance, I can see Xavier’s jaw clenching, that familiar tension line forming between his eyebrows.He shoves the man’s hand away, says something short and clipped, then turns his back to him.
Xavier climbs into his truck, engine roaring to life with unnecessary force.The tires squeal against the asphalt as he peels out of the parking lot.
I wait until his taillights disappear around the corner before stepping out of the shadows.The man stands watching Xavier leave, muttering something under his breath.Perfect.Just the two of us now.
My footsteps are silent against the pavement as I approach.The stranger doesn’t hear me coming, they never do.In one fluid motion, I grab him from behind, my fingers finding his throat.I slam him against the side of a parked car.
“What the fuck were you saying to him?”I growl, increasing pressure just enough to make his eyes widen.
“Jesus… can’t… breathe,” he chokes out, clawing at my hand.
I ease up slightly.“Answer me.What business do you have with Xavier?”
“Just work stuff,” he replies.“Hospital politics.”
“Lying to me is a very bad idea.”I tighten my grip again, watching the fear bloom in his eyes.“I’ve been watching him for years.He doesn’t know you.”
The man’s face is turning an interesting shade of purple.I loosen my hold just enough to let him speak.
“Okay, okay,” he gasps.“He—he owes someone money.I’m just the messenger.”
My blood runs cold.Xavier is in debt?To the kind of people who sends thugs to parking lots?
“How much?”I demand.
“Twenty grand.”The man coughs.“Gambling debts.Sports betting.”
Something isn’t adding up.Xavier, the careful, cautious man who calculates every risk, throwing money away on bets?I study the man’s face, looking for tells.His eyes dart left, a classic sign of deception.
“Try again,” I say, pressing my forearm against his windpipe.
“Insurance fraud,” he wheezes out, eyes bulging.“Xavier refused to change a patient’s cause of death to benefit the hospital, and now we are out millions.
