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I’m a lone wolf, hence the nickname Bastien gave me a decade and a half ago.

The girl coughs again, looking so fucking vulnerable it makes me do something I’ve never done before.

“I want her as payment,” I demand, my tone rough and deadly, resembling the dangerous growl a wolf would give right before ripping out its prey’s throat.

Bastien’s eyes narrow on me for a moment, then he grabs the girl by her slender arm and shoves her so hard that she knocks into the sharp edge of the table before sprawling over the carpet with a fearful cry.

“I want Iosef dead by the end of the week,” Bastien demands. “I hope the girl is worth the five hundred you’re giving up.”

She’s worth every cent I have to my name.

Stalking toward her, I hate it when she cowers and lets out a frightened whimper, tears sneaking down her pale cheeks.

I haul her off the floor, and without another word, I leave the VIP area. Bastien’s remaining guards wisely move out of my way.

I pin the little girl to my chest with one arm, keeping the other one free in case I run into trouble.

It’s in rare moments like this that I feel a flicker of emotion. It shows I haven’t lost all of my humanity.

As I carry the girl out of the club, her body trembles and her breathing speeds up.

Only when we’re headed down the street, and the sidewalks grow a little quieter, do I say, “It’s going to be okay, little one.” Not looking at her, I keep scanning my surroundings for any signs of danger. “Do you have family?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod.

“Good.” The word is filled with relief. My life isn’t built for a kid. Christ, I can’t even take care of a goldfish.

I don’t say anything else, and the girl remains still in my left arm, as if she’s scared any movement from her might set me off.

As I pass a clothing store, the display in the window catches my attention, and at the last second, I go inside. I grab the first appropriate dress I see that looks like it will fit, and taking the girl to the back, I set her down and shove the fabric into her hands.

“Go change.”

Still terrified, she scurries into the dressing rooms.

While I wait, I glance around the store, and when I’m satisfied that we haven’t drawn attention to ourselves, I relax a little.

It doesn’t take long before the kid comes out, and more of the tension eases in my chest.

Noticing the glittery fabric in her hand, I grab it from her and toss it to the side before picking her up again. Going to the counter, I set her down on top of it and pull the tag off the dress before handing it to the cashier.

The guy eyes us for a second before ringing up the purchase.

I pull a stack of cash from my pocket and pass it to him, but when he glances at the kid again, I growl, “Don’t fucking look at her.”

He pales a little, and before he can count the change out of the register, I pick up the girl and carry her out of the store.

Fucking pervs. The world teems with them. They’re like parasites, looking for something innocent to destroy.

“Do you know your address?” I ask.

She nods, her voice shaky and small when she whispers, “My name is Lily Miller.” She rambles off her address and her mother’s phone number.

Pulling the current burner I’m using out of my pocket, I call the number while looking up and down the street for a safe place where I can leave Lily.

“Hello,” a tired and broken female voice comes over the line.

Just then, I spot a McDonald’s. “Do you have a daughter?”