Chapter 7
seven
Of all the streets Ted Stryker could have chosen, it had to be this one.
For weeks, I have spent hours double-parked in rented black SUVs, surveilling the still, silent walk-up. And every damn time, the smell of dumplings frying two doors down threatens to distract me.
That is one downside to my size—no matter how much I eat, I am always hungry.
Shifting in the driver’s seat, I squint out the windshield, forcing myself to focus.
Come on, you bastard, I grumble internally, willing the disgraced Stryker to show his face. I know you’re in there.
One of our newest hires confirmed that fact. He isn’t good for much, yet, but the guy can trace a cell phone faster than any other man on my team.
Otherwise, Pierce Williams is just a baby-faced kid fresh out of the police academy. He had perfect marks and passed his law enforcement exams with flying colors… In the end, though, he decided to go corporate for more security. He has a newly minted wife at home, expecting their first baby.
I’m not sure if that contributes to his overall nervousness, but the kid practically twitches every time I call his name. It probably has something to do with his age—at twenty-two, he is, by far, the youngest person I’ve ever employed.
And, God help me, he acts like it.
Behind him, our other recent recruit, Brad Forrester, cracks his knuckles. A habit that might not annoy me, if he didn’t do it every four minutes. After three hours, I don’t know if I’m closer to breaking out a timer or making sure they’re permanently cracked.
While Pierce doubts everyone—including himself—Brad is cocky. He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and generally has the attitude one would expect of a little shit who couldn’t hack it in the Marines.
But he also wrestles like an MMA prize fighter. And he can shoot nearly as well as I do.
Both of them make me feel as old as hell itself.
We sit in our unmarked Escalade. Brad pops his joints, and Pierce taps his fingers against his thighs the way a drummer might hit a solo. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself?” he asks, his voice breaking over the last word.
“Yes,” I answer, projecting the calm I wish he’d summon. “You can do this.”
I believe that. More or less.
He is an awkward kid, but he obviously looks up to me. I don’t have the heart to tell him his admiration is entirely misplaced. After all, I have failed myself and the people I care about in a few very crucial ways over the years.
I sigh, counting the minutes until I can call this off. The week has worn me down and sharpened my determination in equal measures. I’m not sure why, but with every passing moment, I feel something coming for me—for us.
It seems to beat in the air, in my ears, in my chest. I feel, in each moment, seconds away from a reckoning. And, somehow, ages away from a resolution.
What if I’m looking in all the wrong places?
Maybe the danger isn’t Ted Stryker and his piece-of-shit, rapist son.
Maybe this is something bigger than protecting Ella from the men who tried to harm her in the past and keeping the rest of Grayson’s family safe from his evil uncle.
If that’s the case, there may not even be a threat lurking in this Chinatown walk-up.
Except, I feel it. Here, on the dim, still street. In my apartment at two a.m. Every time I drive away from the Stryker’s townhouse.
Something sinister is loitering, filing its nails. Playing the long game.
I hate that I don’t know how long it will wait.
Or who it truly wants to hurt.