Chapter 3
ROOK
Asha Sparks was about to commit murder.
My murder.
I could practically feel my heart going into cardiac arrest over the danger she was putting herself in.
What kind of girl got ghosted right before a date and decided the next best thing was to stroll through the bowels of the city? One with no sense of self-preservation, that was who.
Christ, she’d drive me to an early grave.
I almost wished I’d let her date go ahead. Instead, I’d paid the wanker a visit and explained how short his life would be if he contacted her again.
Having followed Asha on the El to Philly’s epicenter of crime and homelessness, I kept my distance while she strolled past drug dealers and fentanyl zombies, dodging tents and discarded needles.
A stiff breeze that reeked of piss and something even fouler snapped escaped tendrils of deep auburn hair against the hood of Asha’s coat.
She walked like this hellhole didn’t scare her, but her hand clenched a can of pepper spray in her pocket.
That was the only thing standing between her and a city full of predators.
Good thing she had me, a monster of her own, lurking thirty feet back, ready to gut any arsehole who even looked at her the wrong way.
Asha stopped at a corner where a young woman wearing far too little for an autumn night stood in front of a phone shop.
I leaned against a light pole, raised my hood over my beanie, and scanned the street.
I saw it all. Every twitch, every set of eyes that lingered too long on her.
Asha flipped the girl a ten and offered her a cigarette.
They spoke for no more than a minute, during which Asha held out her phone, presumably to show a picture of the missing runaway she’d been investigating on her podcast. At a shake of the girl’s head, Asha moved along.
She spoke to five more women, with similar results, before giving up and heading back toward the station. That was when I noticed I was no longer the only one watching my Wildfire.
And I recognized the son of a bitch.
Lorenzo fucking Tate.
Torin had put a hit out on the drug-dealing pimp months ago for moving in on our territory. Tate had skipped town, but it looked like the dumb shite had returned.
I stuck to the shadows while Tate moved closer to Asha.
She quickened her step, and he followed suit.
He reminded me of a cat excited by the prospect of capturing a mouse.
But the arsewipe didn’t realize the Big Bad Wolf was right behind him, primed to bite his whole fucking head off before he touched her.
But if I made a move now, I’d blow my cover.
My hands curled into fists, itching for violence. I had to wait. Just a little longer.