Closer Than You Think (Alcott City #1)

Chapter 1

One

Silas

W hen blood spills, I can breathe again.

Deep breaths extend into the depths of my lungs, filling me up in a way nothing else ever does.

The man I was sent to kill lays on the wooden plank floor of the cabin he’d been hiding out in. I don’t know what he did to earn a hit from Ares, but that’s not my business. Someone pays and provides a name, we do the job. So few can afford it and even fewer know about us. It’s a lucky position that weeds out the pointless jobs.

I look from him to the knife I’m holding. Blood stains my hands, a deep red against my tan skin. The texture always intoxicates me. Viscous, slippery, slightly sticky as it coagulates in real time. I rarely bother to use gloves like I should because I love it so much. So few people have the pleasure to relish in it. So few people want to relish in it, but I consider that a defect in the average person’s character.

I should be cleaning up by now, but I take a moment to appreciate the kill, the peace that settles over me. It’s the only way I get it nowadays, and no one else is here to interrupt me, so I let myself linger. Just for a couple minutes. But then my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

“What?” I ask, pulling it up to my ear. It’s Cain, my brother-in-arms. The closest person I have to family.

“Just checking in on you, Silas. You said it wouldn’t take more than a couple hours and it’s been almost four.”

I did say that.

“Yeah, fucker took longer eating than I thought. Came up here to hide out and then spent an hour and a half at the fucking diner. It’s done though. I’m cleaning up and heading out in twenty.”

“Alright. Blake just got back from his job. And Jet is getting a room up in New Hampshire. Shit went south and he’ll need an extra day.”

“Fuck. Anything I should worry about? He need backup?”

“Nah, the plan just fell apart. He’s got it.”

“Okay. Make sure he checks in regularly. I don’t like when simple jobs go sideways.”

“Me either, and I’m already on it.”

“Figured you would be.”

“Alright, just get out of there and let me know when you’re back in the city.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Hey, what were you just saying about checking in regularly?”

I laugh and hang up on him. Cain is a little more anxious than the rest of us, especially because of his past. But I appreciate how much he cares and how much he does for all of us at Ares. The man is an expert in computers and can also kill a man with his bare hands in ten seconds flat. He’s exactly the kind of person I’d have looked for to run the Ares command center if I wasn’t lucky enough to already know him.

I pocket my phone and clean up my knife and hands. I don’t bother cleaning up the rest of the scene or the body. This cabin hadn’t been touched in over a year before the target came here, and he had no known connection to it. I made sure of that. No one will find his body until it’s good and decomposed. If at all.

One thing that sets Ares apart is knowing how to personalize each hit. Violent, quick, messy, clean, public, quiet . . . each one is its own story, and we have plans and contingencies for each type of kill.

Tonight was supposed to be in and out, quick and quiet. The delay at the diner was only a temporary setback. But now the job is done. The kill was clean and precise, just a single thrust between the ribs to pierce the heart. No spray, no struggle. If it had been Cain or Jet or Blake, they wouldn’t have gotten a drop of blood on them.

But I’m . . . different.

Satisfied my hands are clean, I take one final look around the cabin to ensure I haven't left any traces behind.

The coppery aroma of blood hangs thick in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of pine and cedar. I commit every detail to memory - the growing pool of crimson seeping into the cracks between the floorboards, the vacant stare in my victim's lifeless eyes, the heady rush that courses through my veins.

These are the moments I live for, when time stands still and my true self emerges from the shadows. The kill satisfies something primal and savage within me that lurks beneath the composed facade I present to the world. Here, alone with my handiwork, I am simply a predator indulging his darkest urges.

With my duffel bag in hand, I make my way outside into the moonlit woods. The night air is cool and crisp, invigorating. I take a deep breath, savoring my satiated bloodlust before compartmentalizing it again. There will be another time, another target. For now, I need to disappear like a shadow into the darkness.

The SUV is waiting where I left it, half a mile down an old, unused logging road. I toss my bag in the back and slide into the driver's seat. As the engine rumbles to life, I think of her.

My compulsion, my obsession . . . perhaps the only thing that can compete with my need for blood.

I shove those thoughts aside for now. I still have work to do. The forest surrounding Alcott City is deep and dark, with towering trees blocking out almost all of the moonlight I knew was above. The old roads that wind through it are mostly abandoned. Anyone who wants to use the forest for, well, normal purposes, does it in the south or east sides. Out here, the only people you’ll run into are up to no good.

It only takes forty minutes to get back to my home of concrete and skyscrapers. As the shadows give way to the cold glow of streetlights, I feel the mask slipping back into place.

I steer the SUV into the underground garage of Ares, the engine noise echoing off the concrete walls. As the barriers slide down behind me, I'm enveloped in cool darkness, safe from prying eyes.

I park in my assigned spot on the private level only my team has access to. It might be wasteful, a whole level just for a few of us, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years—privacy and security are worth the extra hassle. I’ve built my company, my life, around that ethos.

I take the private elevator up to the top floor that serves as Ares's clandestine headquarters. It’s late, so the rest of the building is most likely empty, a good excuse for me to not bother making an appearance. As head of Ares, I spend half my time running the official, legitimate side of the business, and I enjoy it just fine. But it’s not my passion, and tonight I’m grateful I can ignore that side of things.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Stepping out, I'm greeted by the familiar minimalist decor of Ares headquarters. The open concept layout allows me to see Cain hunched over a bank of computer monitors, likely running surveillance on our various ongoing operations. He glances up and gives me a subtle nod before returning his focus to the screens.

I continue on to my private office, the glass walls opaque and bulletproof. Inside, I immediately go for the hidden wall safe, cleaning my knife one more time and placing it carefully alongside the rows of other weapons. A quick inspection in the mirror confirms no errant bloodstains made it onto my clothes. I splash some water on my face from the small bathroom attached to my office, washing away the last visceral traces of the kill.

Cain glances up as I enter the main room again, pushing a low ball of whiskey in my direction.

“About time you showed up,” he says wryly. “I was starting to think you got lost in the woods.”

I accept the drink with a smirk. “Just enjoying the scenery. It's not often I get to be out in nature like that.”

Cain snorts. “Yeah, nothing like a little murder to get in touch with the great outdoors.”

We don’t worry about being candid like that up here on this floor. I spent millions of dollars renovating this building to make sure this was the most private and secure place in Alcott City. Aside from my own penthouse, maybe.

Worth the extra hassle.

I settle onto the leather couch, taking a slow sip of the whiskey and letting it burn down my throat. The warmth from the alcohol mixes with the residual heat still pulsing through me from the kill, a heady combination.

“So what went wrong with Jet's job?” I ask Cain. “He's usually in and out without a hitch.”

Cain shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the desk. “Client gave him bad intel. The target changed locations at the last minute, went from a private residence to a hotel. Jet had to track him down and regroup.”

I clench my jaw. Bad intel is one of the few things that can throw off our precision operations. It means someone is either incompetent or intentionally deceptive, neither of which I tolerate.

“Did we identify the source of the bad intel?” I ask sharply.

“Not yet, but I've been making some inquiries.”

I nod, taking another sip of whiskey as I consider our options. Bad intel needs to be dealt with swiftly, or it undermines everything Ares stands for. Our reputation relies on flawless execution and absolute discretion.

“Keep digging,” I tell Cain. “I want to know if this was ineptitude or intentional misdirection. And if it's the latter . . . ” I trail off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Cain's mouth curves into a knowing half-smile. He's always had a knack for anticipating my thought process. It's part of what makes us such an effective team.

“I'll handle it personally,” he assures me, his blue eyes glinting.

I have no doubt he will. Cain is unassuming at first glance, but ruthlessly efficient when provoked. It's why I recruited him all those years ago after we served together, recognizing a kindred spirit who understood the thrill of the hunt.

“I left some files on your desk. New requests.”

I sigh, then finish the last of the whiskey. “Right. I’ll review them.”

“No rush,” he says, glancing at me with a look that says he knows more than he’s wiling to say aloud.

I grunt. “Work always comes first.”

Two hours later, I finally allow myself to visit her. If killing is one type of release, seeing Hallie is another. Different, but similar. Her innocence does something to my addled brain, calming it and exciting it all at once.

It confuses me, but I can’t ignore it. I tried to, for a solid month after first laying eyes on her. I tried to put her out of my mind, focus on work. When that wasn’t successful, I called the city’s most exclusive Madame and had her send over whore after whore to take care of me in every way I could imagine. That didn’t work, either.

So here I am, allowing myself a glimpse into a world I can never be a part of.

But I can watch.

I blend with the shadows, skirting the fringes of Hallie's apartment. The cool metal of the fire escape bites into my palms as I ascend, each step calculated, each breath controlled. My pulse thrums—a predator's rhythm—synced to the flickering streetlights that cast an eerie glow on the climb ahead.

Reaching the second floor, I find my vantage point: a window slightly ajar, curtains fluttering like a siren's veil. Through it, the dark outline of Hallie's sanctuary beckons, her silhouette a smoky apparition against the faint light seeping from the living room. She moves with an unconscious grace, oblivious to the eyes that devour her every motion.

There's a tension in me, a taut wire stretched to the brink by her mere presence. I watch, entranced, as she peels away layers of fabric, each revealing more of her soft, moonlit skin. For a moment, I think she will stay just like that, naked and on display for my weary eyes. For my eyes alone. My throat constricts as desire coils within, primal and insistent.

But then she pulls on a tank top and a pair of shorts. She looks comfortable, relaxed, and a part of me thinks it’s even hotter than when she’s naked. I imagine my own hands reaching under the clothes, groping every inch of her. Instead, I grope my own cock, feeling its hard length under my jeans.

The darkness is kind, shrouding my sins as my mind conjures the taste of her, the feel of her beneath me. Hallie St. James is the enigma that haunts my dreams. She’s only beyond my reach because of the relentless control I force upon myself. If I were my true self, I would have broken through this window months ago and taken what’s mine.

I don’t hold back because of some noble idea or because I’m really good underneath it all. No. I hold back because of self-preservation. I learned how to control myself . . . my urges . . . at a young age. The only reason I’m the head of my own security company and not serving a life sentence, or decaying in a prison cemetery, is because of that control.

Still, she stirs a hunger that won't be tamed.

I quietly unzip my jeans, taking my throbbing cock in my fist.

Hallie's silhouette retreats from the bedroom and settles onto the couch, the fabric sighing beneath her. The glow of a lamp bathes her in soft light, her hair a dark waterfall over her shoulders.

I jerk myself, slowly at first, watching every slight movement, every deep breath.

I try to tell myself to stop, but my body rebels, thrumming with a need that defies discipline. Hallie’s slim fingers dance across pages—lesson plans, perhaps—and my mind traces the curve of her wrist, yearning to replace her pen with my touch.

She leans back, eyes closed, lost in thought. It's then, the fantasy takes over completely, uncoiling like smoke through my veins. I imagine whispering darkness into her ear, guiding her hand, our breaths mingling as shadows play across her delicate features.

“Fuck,” I mutter, the word blending with the distant hum of Alcott City's restless heart. Restraint crumbles; my hand moves of its own accord, seeking release from this torment. My pulse drums in my ears, each beat a reminder of the line I cross, the sacred space I violate with my presence.

I watch her, and as I come, the world narrows to just Hallie and the aching fulfillment she inspires. For those seconds, I am both master and slave, orchestrating my own undoing at the thought of her.

Release comes like a thief in the night, swift and silent. I watch as ropes of my cum shoot onto the brick wall beneath her window. I mark it as my territory.

Mine.

I'm left gasping, the cool metal of the fire escape a stark contrast to the heat coursing through me as I tuck myself back into my pants. Shame and satisfaction bleed together, an addictive poison in my veins.

I want to stay longer. I want to watch her all night. I want to climb through the window and fuck her within an inch of her life. But that’s reckless, and I have work to do.

With a final glance, I commit her image to memory—my serene angel amidst chaos—and descend the ladder.

The street embraces me once more, its shadows a cloak around my sins. I slip away unnoticed, the ghost of what I've done clinging to me like a second skin.

I can breathe again. But only for a little while.