Chapter 2
Ipress my back to the damp brick, letting the shadows swallow me whole. The club’s neon sign flashes overhead, painting the sidewalk at my feet in electric purple and blue before plunging them back into darkness.
My target stands fifteen feet away, fumbling with a cigarette pack, unaware that in thirty seconds, I’ll slide a blade between his ribs for what he did to me and the Omegas who never made it home.
The alley reeks of piss and stale beer, but I’ve breathed worse. Two months in captivity taught me the spectrum of human filth, from the literal to the walking kind. Like this Alpha.
Steven Mercer was a mid-tier procurer for Tony’s trafficking ring, before he tucked tail and ran after the Rockfords took down Tony’s business. He had supplied at least thirty Omegas to the operation that held me. That raped me.
My fingers trace the knife handle at my hip, the shape a familiar comfort after years of training with Caleb Rockford, the family hitman.
A gun rides at the small of my back. My mentor would want me to use it to kill Mercer without ever getting close to him, but tonight isn’t about safety. It’s about feeling this man’s life drain beneath my hands.
As Mercer lights his cigarette, the flame illuminates his jowls and a patchy beard. He takes a long drag and exhales smoke toward the sky. The bass from inside the club vibrates the pavement and thrums up through the soles of my boots.
I’ve tracked him for weeks. Learned his patterns, his weaknesses. Tuesday nights, he steps out for a smoke at one o’clock in the morning, like clockwork. Always alone. Always taking a moment to adjust his expensive watch before lighting up.
The same watch he’s wearing now, purchased with money made from selling Omegas like cattle.
My earpiece crackles, and Aaiden’s voice fills my ear. “Target confirmed. Don’t play around.”
I don’t respond. I don’t need his permission to claim my vengeance.
Mercer finishes his cigarette and drops it onto the wet pavement, and the ember hisses as it dies. He doesn’t turn back toward the club door. Instead, he steps deeper into the alley, toward the dumpster. The piece of shit prefers pissing in public over using the bathroom inside the club.
Perfect.
I move on silent feet, avoiding the puddles and lifting my feet so no scrape of a boot on concrete will give me away. My heart pounds, but my hands remain steady. There’s comfort in purpose, in knowing what I’m here to do.
Ten feet.
Five feet.
Three.
Mercer must sense something, a shift in the air, perhaps, or some primal Alpha instinct. He starts to turn, but I reach him first, shoving him hard into the brick wall. His head cracks as it connects, his momentary disorientation buying me the seconds I need.
I should make this one swift stab upward beneath the ribs, angled toward the heart. That’s what Caleb taught me. But I want him to know. I want to see recognition before I kill him.
“Remember me?” I hiss into his ear, the tip of my knife pricking his side without breaking skin. “You sent me to the Auction house after shoving post-Heat contraceptives down my throat.”
Confusion clouds his face, followed by slow, dawning horror. “You’re—”
I don’t let him finish. The blade slides in, parting flesh with ease. But he’s stronger than he looks, and survival instinct kicks in hard. His elbow catches me in the jaw as he twists, throwing his weight backward. We stumble together, a grotesque dance in the neon-splashed puddles.
Pain blooms along my side, and I look down at the small knife clutched in his hand.
Where the fuck did that come from? And how did he manage to get me in the side, right where the armor vest doesn’t protect me?
Blood glistens on the blade, and a dark stain spreads across my shirt. The bastard got me.
Rage overtakes training, and I drive my knife deeper, twisting it to mess up his insides more.
Mercer wheezes like a punctured balloon, the high, breathless squeal singing to my ears.
His knees buckle, his weight falling forward onto me, our faces inches apart.
Shock widens his eyes, and his mouth works without sound, blood pooling on his lips.
With a shrug, I let him fall.
He lands in a puddle, sending dirty water splashing across my boots. The knife remains buried in his chest, rising and falling with his weakening breaths. Blood mixes with the rainwater, spreading in thin tendrils of crimson caught by the flashing neon.
This is the moment I’ve dreamed of. The vindication, the justice. But as Mercer’s breathing grows shallow and his lashes flutter, I feel nothing but a hollow space where satisfaction should be. Another name checked off a list that never gets shorter.
Fire streaks up my side, and when I press my hand to the wound, warmth seeps between my fingers. Not deep, but not good, either.
“Target neutralized,” I mutter into the comms, knowing Aaiden is waiting for confirmation.
His response is immediate. “Exit through the eastern alley. The car will meet you in four minutes. Stay out of camera view.”
All business, that man.
I turn away from Mercer’s body, keeping to the shadows. The rain picks up, washing blood from my hands. The kill should mark progress. Another step toward vengeance. Instead, it’s just more blood and the same dead end.
“Route clear. Go now,” Aaiden directs, as if he’s moving pieces on a chessboard. As if I’m a pawn to position.
I glance at the route Aaiden wants me to take. Then I look toward the street.
Busier.
Riskier.
Mine.
“Copy that,” I lie, already turning toward the street exit.
I cut through the rain-slicked streets, my side throbbing with each step, warm blood trickling between my fingers. The neon signs blur above me, not from blood loss, at least not yet, but from the quickening drizzle that soaks through my black hair and runs down my neck.
Freedom tastes of rain and copper, and I savor it as I scan for cameras, witnesses, or anyone who might connect me to the dead Alpha in an alley two blocks back.
“Repeat position,” Aaiden commands, an edge to the order now.
He must have figured out I was done following directions for the night.
I peel off the communicator behind my ear and stuff it in my pocket.
When I had set out on my path of vengeance, I never expected the head of the billionaire Rockford family to become my handler. I thought Caleb would be the blade at my side, but he’s too busy being in love.
Well, fuck that, and fuck Aaiden for thinking he could fill Caleb’s shoes.
A group of drunk college students stumbles past, laughing and jostling each other. I angle my body away, keeping the bloodied side out of view. My black clothes hide the stain, but I can’t risk questions or someone remembering me if the police come asking about Mercer.
I cross the street against the light, weaving between slow-moving cars. Their headlights catch the raindrops, turning them into falling stars around me.
For a moment, a sense of weightlessness fills me, disconnecting me from the ground. Then my side screams as I step up onto the curb, and reality crashes me back to earth.
The stab wound isn’t as shallow as I thought.
Shit.
I duck into a narrower street lined with closed shops. Less foot traffic, fewer witnesses. The drizzle thickens to proper rain, washing away whatever blood trail I might be leaving.
Small mercies.
Two blocks down, the street curves, and the familiar, soft purr of an expensive engine creeps up behind me.
My muscles tense, ready to run, but I force myself to keep walking as if my side isn’t leaking life with every heartbeat.
The sleek black car rolls up alongside me, matching my pace, and the rear window slides down.
“Get in,” Aaiden says over the rush of rain.
I keep walking. “I’m fine.”
The car stops, and the door swings open. Aaiden unfolds himself from the backseat, all six-foot-four of him stepping into the rain. His green eyes lock onto mine, hard as jade and just as unyielding.
Then he latches onto the way my hand holds my side. “You’re bleeding.”
“Am not.” The automatic lie falls from my lips as fresh warmth seeps beneath my palm.
Aaiden steps closer, and I hate how my body reacts, pupils dilating, breath catching. His pheromones hit me, sinking into my bones and flooding my lungs. Alpha. My Alpha, if biology had its way.
But biology can go fuck itself.
He doesn’t touch me, but he stands close enough for the heat radiating from him to filter past my soaking wet clothes to caress the chilled skin beneath.
I tilt my head up to maintain eye contact, chin jutting out in defiance.
The corners of his lips tighten with the only sign he feels anything at all. “You deviated from the exit route.”
“I know how to disappear from a crime scene without the help of your GPS coordinates.” As I shift from one foot to the other, pain lances through me, and I can’t stifle the small hiss of pain from escaping past clenched teeth.
Concern flashes before the mask slides back into place. “You’re leaving a blood trail. And there are three security cameras on this street. Police response time in this district is four minutes, and you’re six blocks from the nearest safe house.”
I want to argue, to tell him to go to hell, but my legs wobble.
The adrenaline from the kill drains out, leaving pain and exhaustion in its wake.
And there’s something about the way Aaiden stands there, uncompromising as a mountain, that draws me closer.
Urges me to lean into him. To bite him. To force a reaction.
“I don’t need your—”
“Get in the car, Jade,” he orders again, now with a growl simmering beneath the words.
Not his Alpha Command, he would never dare, but so close that it sends a shiver up my spine.
When I don’t move, he adds, “There’s a police scanner report of a disturbance near the club. Two officers are responding, which means your window to escape is closing.”