Chapter 2 #2
The man on the ground suddenly goes rigid. His whole body starts to shake, trembling violently. Even the enforcers standing around shift uncomfortably, some of them taking involuntary steps backward.
I don’t understand what it is that’s making them react that way until it reaches me.
The scent rolls over me like a wave, crashes into my senses with enough force to make me grab the wall for support. Pheromones. Strong enough to make my knees weak, to make my head spin, to make every nerve ending in my body light up at once.
A dominant alpha.
But not just any dominant alpha. These pheromones are stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. They make my previous encounters seem like cheap knockoffs, watered-down versions of the real thing. This is the genuine article, undiluted and overwhelming.
My vision actually blurs for a second. The air feels thick, heavy, like I’m trying to breathe through honey. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else.
The man on the ground has completely folded. He’s whimpering now, curled into himself, all his earlier defiance crushed under the weight of those pheromones. Even his own men look uncomfortable, shoulders hunched, eyes averted.
The boss doesn’t even seem to be trying. He’s still squatting there, cigarette dangling from his lips, watching the man crumble with what looks like mild interest.
I should leave. I should turn around and get the hell out of here before someone notices me lurking in the shadows like a creep. This is mob business, the kind of thing that gets people killed for witnessing.
But I can’t move.
My eyes are locked on the boss, drinking in every detail.
The way he holds himself with absolute confidence, like he owns every inch of space around him.
The casual cruelty in how he’s using his pheromones to break this man without even lifting a finger.
The complete lack of mercy in his expression.
He’s perfect.
The thought hits me with startling clarity, cutting through the haze of pheromones and adrenaline flooding my system.
This man is exactly what I’ve been searching for. Strong enough to actually dominate me. Powerful enough that my own pheromones wouldn’t make him collapse like every other alpha I’ve tried to be with. Dangerous enough to satisfy the part of me that craves pain and submission in equal measure.
My fingers dig into the brick wall, nails scraping against the rough surface. Hunger coils in my gut. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want this stranger right now.
The boss lets go of the man’s hair, and the guy’s head drops to the concrete with a thud that makes me wince.
The boss straightens up, taking another drag from his cigarette as he steps back.
He doesn’t even look at the broken man at his feet anymore, like he’s already dismissed him from his thoughts entirely.
He makes a casual gesture with his free hand.
“Finish it,” he says, voice flat and bored. “Then dispose of him.”
The enforcers move in immediately, and I have to force myself to keep watching even as my stomach churns. They don’t hesitate, don’t show any mercy. Fists and boots rain down on the man who’s already barely conscious, each impact accompanied by sickening sounds that echo off the concrete walls.
The boss doesn’t watch. He’s already turned away, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it like he’s checking his messages while his men beat someone to death a few feet behind him. The casual indifference is somehow more chilling than the violence itself.
One of the enforcers steps forward, a tall guy with a shaved head and a scar running down his jaw. He says something too quiet for me to hear, and the boss nods without looking up from his phone.
The beating continues for what feels like forever but is probably only a minute or two. Finally, the sounds stop. The man on the ground isn’t moving anymore, isn’t making any noise. I can’t tell if he’s dead or just unconscious, and I’m not sure which option is better.
“Get rid of it,” the boss says, still not looking up. “Make sure it’s clean.”
The enforcers start moving, grabbing the unconscious bodies and dragging them toward what looks like a van parked at the far end of the lot.
I press myself flatter against the wall, heart hammering as I realize how exposed I am.
If any of them glance this direction, if they decide to sweep the area. ..
But they’re focused on their cleanup operation, hauling bodies and wiping down blood with enough familiarity that suggests they’ve done this many times before. The boss finally pockets his phone and starts walking toward the street, the scarred enforcer falling into step beside him.
I need to move. Now.
I slink backward, keeping to the deepest shadows as I retreat from my vantage point.
My footsteps are silent on the cracked pavement, years of running from trouble having taught me how to move without making noise.
The sounds of the cleanup fade behind me as I circle around, using the maze of alleys to get ahead of them.
My pulse is racing, but it’s not fear driving it. It’s excitement, singing through my veins like lightning. I’ve found him. After months of disappointing encounters and failed attempts, I’ve actually found a dominant alpha strong enough to make my knees weak.
I just need to figure out who he is.
I emerge onto the main street a block ahead of where the alley lets out, ducking into a recessed doorway of an abandoned shop. From here I have a clear view of the intersection without being obvious about watching. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the camera app.
It only takes a few minutes before I see them. The boss and his scarred companion round the corner, still deep in conversation. In the better lighting of the street, I get an even clearer look at him.
Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Tall, probably six-two or six-three, with broad shoulders that fill out his expensive black coat perfectly. Everything about him screams money and power, from his tailored clothes to the way he carries himself like he owns the entire city.
A sleek black car pulls up to the curb, something foreign and expensive. The driver gets out and opens the back door, bowing slightly as the boss approaches.
I raise my phone, zooming in as much as the camera will allow. My hands are surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline still flooding my system. The boss pauses before getting in, saying something else to the scarred guy, and I take the opportunity to snap several photos of the license plate.
The angle isn’t perfect, but I manage to get a clear shot just as the boss slides into the backseat. The scarred enforcer closes the door behind him and the car pulls away from the curb, merging smoothly into traffic.
I stay in my hiding spot until the taillights disappear around a corner, then let out a breath. My fingers are shaking slightly as I pull up the photos, zooming in to make sure the license plate is legible.
It is. Crystal clear, every number and letter perfectly visible.
Victory surges through me. I commit the plate to memory, repeating it silently to myself as I save the photos to a secure folder. Then I’m moving again, heading back toward the main streets with purpose in my stride.
My mind is already racing ahead, planning. I need information. I need to figure out who this guy is, what organization he runs, where he operates. The license plate is a good start, but I need more. I need to know everything about him before I make my move.
Because I am going to make a move. There’s no question about that.