Chapter 1
Will
In my line of work, survival isn’t just about skill.
Sure, as a mercenary, knowing how to flip an opponent three times your size, reload a gun in seconds, or knock a man unconscious with a single punch helps—but instinct? That’s what keeps you breathing.
For example, at my last job, I was supposed to sneak into my target’s house. Our intel told me that the back entrance would give me the best shot, but my gut told me to go through the front instead. I found my target and his mistress engaged in extracurricular activities. I put a quick shot through his head and the job was over in less than three minutes. Instinct over skill every. Damn. Time.
That same gut feeling is pulling me toward the small theater across the street. I don’t hesitate. I adjust my jacket to conceal my weapon and head toward the entrance. The air is thick with the scent of buttered popcorn and cheap perfume, laughter spilling from the patrons crowding the sidewalk.
A single, battered poster hangs near the door, advertising the latest production. My eyes catch on the image in the center—a woman in a delicate blue mask, dark waves cascading around her shoulders. I need to see the face behind that mask.
The ticket attendant doesn’t even glance up as he hands me the stub, clearly bored with the whole ordeal.
Inside, the dim lighting casts everything in warm shadows, the worn velvet seats creaking as I settle in the back row. I scan the theater, noting every exit, calculating the quickest escape route, cataloging the potential weapons within reach.
The lights lower and a hush falls over the crowd.
I hear the men in front of me asking if Lily is performing tonight and feel a sudden urge of protectiveness for this woman they seem so eager to watch.
Lily .
The name barely registers before the stage lights illuminate her.
She steps forward, small and delicate, removing the blue mask. The breath locks in my throat.
Fuck.
She’s… perfection.
Even in the distance, she’s radiant. Big, expressive eyes framed by long dark lashes. Luminous skin that catches the soft glow of the stage. Plush lips, pink from nervous nibbling. Tiny. Barely over five feet, swallowed up by the vastness of the stage, and yet she owns every inch of it.
The audience fades. The world narrows to the woman standing in the spotlight.
She’s radiant, ethereal, the kind of beautiful that people write poems about. My heart pounds, my grip tightens on the armrest, knuckles turning white from the pressure. Everything around me fades, everything except her.
The second she opens her mouth and I hear her voice, the voice of an angel, I know I’m done for.
I have no fucking clue what this play is about, but I memorize every word that leaves her lips. Every expression, every movement. I stare at her plump lips and I can’t help but imagine those pink pillows wrapped around my cock, fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her to me until she moans. I get so lost in my fantasy I nearly startle at the sound of applause erupting around me.
She bows and as she rises, her gaze meets mine. My pulse slams in my ears as she raises a hand to those gorgeous lips and blows a kiss, right at me. Heat sears through my body as logic tells me it must have been meant for someone else.
The possessive part of me wins over as I stand before I even realize I’m moving, staring at her as she disappears behind the curtain. I come to my senses the second I lose sight of her, sitting back in my seat to catch my breath. After a few moments, I rise and follow the rest of the crowd to where I’ve heard she will make an appearance at the stage door.
I just want one more glimpse of her.
I step outside, positioning myself to the side of the crowd, waiting until the actors start to emerge. She comes out last, bundled in an oversized coat that swallows her frame. She’s even smaller than I realized, her curls bouncing with each hurried step.
She gives the crowd a dazzling smile and a wave before she walks off. She shouldn’t be walking home alone, not this late at night. Not when she has dozens of men lined up to watch her perform every night.
Instinct takes over yet again and before I know it, I’m trailing her. I’m just looking out for her. It’s my job to help keep people safe , I repeat to myself over and over, trying—and failing—to convince myself that following her is noble and not entirely self-serving and admittedly creepy.
I’m a 35-year-old ex-Marine turned mercenary, trailing after this aspiring actress who can’t be more than twenty-five. I need to get a grip.
Just not right now. I keep trailing after her. She moves through the streets with a natural grace, stopping off at a bakery and emerging with a cup of tea and what looks to be a cookie. She takes a sip of her drink and smiles, cheeks pink from the cold.
That same warmth spreads in my chest and I tell myself it’s just curiosity, some kind of pull I feel towards this woman.
But curiosity doesn’t make my fists clench when she smiles at another man.
Curiosity doesn’t make my chest tighten when she lingers too long in the cold, her tiny fingers trembling around the cup.
Curiosity doesn’t make me follow her all the way home, watching as she unlocks the door to a small, neatly kept apartment.
She pauses.
Glances over her shoulder.
Not at me. No. I know how to move unseen. But at something— no, someone—else.
She looks over her shoulder three more times before stepping inside and locking the door.
That tightness in my chest grows.
Is she always this cautious? Or is there a reason?
Did something else draw me to her tonight? Is it possible she’s in danger?
I stay to make sure she gets in safely, watch her house until the lights go out.
I won’t follow her again.
The next night, I find myself pacing my motel room, wondering if I should check in on Lily once more before I go. My bags are already packed because my mission in this town is over.
I should leave. I have no reason to linger here. My job is done and I’m putting myself at risk by remaining here. But instead of hitting the road, I find myself walking toward the theater again, propelled by something stronger than reason.
One more look, I promise myself.
There isn’t a show today but luckily, there is a rehearsal. It takes nothing for me to sneak in.
“And he told me we couldn’t be together,” Lily says to one of her co-stars.
From the shadows, I watch her again, mesmerized as she rehearses with the others. When she’s on that stage, it’s like a spirit takes over her body.
I remember how shy she looked ordering in the bakery last night, and can’t help but be more intrigued by this introverted woman who can dazzle a crowd.
I'm captivated once more by her effortless transformation from timid to dazzling.
When she’s done with her rehearsal, she starts walking backstage. I wait a while and I’m glad I do because I see a figure follow her.
Rage ignites inside me and he’s lucky I left my gun behind today.
I trail them both, every muscle coiled tightly, ready to strike. But before I intervene, she turns back and he vanishes abruptly into the darkness, leaving Lily safely at her townhouse steps. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and keeps moving. Then, I realize that this must have been why she was so anxious last night.
How long has this, soon-to-be-dead, man been stalking my goddess?
When she gets to her front door, there’s a small box resting on her doorstep. My heart pounds harder as I watch her look at it. From a distance, I catch the slight tremble of her body. She looks around again then kicks the box, dashes inside her house and the loud sound of her locks echoes into the night.
She goes to the window and pulls the blinds together but not before looking around once again. She’s scared. Horrified. Lonely.
I know one thing for sure —I can’t leave her. Not now, not ever.
I will find that asshole and do what I do best. But this time, the reward won’t be a cash prize.
It will be the safety of my goddess.