Slaughter (Devil Souls MC: Next Generation #2)

Prologue

Zachary (club name Slaughter)

Most people would say that 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.

I ease my grip just enough to let him elaborate. The parking lot’s security light casts harsh shadows across his sweating face.

“What are you talking about?” I demand.

“I’m the hospital administrator,” he gasps, tugging at my wrist. “We had a patient die during a routine procedure. Family’s loaded, threatening to sue. All Xavier had to do was check a different box on the form to confirm heart failure instead of surgical complication.”

My lip curls. “And he refused.”

“That goddamn Boy Scout is going to cost the hospital millions,” the man spits, finding his courage now. “Do you have any idea what that kind of lawsuit will do to our reputation? To our insurance premiums? The hospital will be ruined.”

I slam him harder against the car, enjoying the dull thud his head makes against the metal. “So you followed him here to threaten him?”

“I tried reasoning with him first,” he says, wincing at the pressure on his throat. “Offered him a promotion, better hours. When that didn’t work…”

“You threatened him,” I finish, the familiar protective rage burning through my veins. No one messes with what’s mine.

“Just trying to make him understand what’s at stake,” the administrator chokes out.

I lean in closer, studying his face, the expensive haircut, the manicured nails digging into my forearm. This is a man used to getting his way, to people falling in line.

“Let me make something very clear,” I whisper, my mouth near his ear. “If you ever approach Xavier again at the hospital, in a parking lot, anywhere, I will find you, and this conversation will seem like a pleasant memory compared to what happens next.”

Fear flickers in his eyes. Good. He is starting to understand.

“Who—who are you?” he stammers.

I smile then, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare.”

I release him suddenly, watching with satisfaction as he crumples against the car, gasping for air. He massages his throat, eyes wild and darting around the empty parking lot.

“You’re insane,” he stutters.

“Maybe.” I shrug, stepping back. “But I’m also very dedicated. Remember that.”

I walk away, listening for the sound of him scrambling into his car. The engine starts, tires squealing as he peels out of the lot. Pathetic.

Pulling out my phone, I send a text to my contact at the hospital, a janitor who owes me a favor. I need to know more about this patient’s death, this family threatening to sue. If Xavier is in trouble, I need all the information.

As I walk to my own car, a warm satisfaction spreads through my chest. Xavier might not know it, but I’ve been solving his problems from the shadows for years. It is what I do best, eliminating threats before they can touch him.

Tonight, I will follow him home as usual, make sure he’s safe. Tomorrow, I’ll start digging into this hospital administrator, and find some leverage to ensure he stays away permanently.

After all, protecting what’s mine is a full-time job.