Chapter Two
Asher
I shouldn’t be here.
The thought has been running in a loop in my head since the moment I stepped out of Wilder House this morning, but it hasn’t stopped me. It didn’t stop me yesterday, and it sure as hell isn’t stopping me now.
Because the truth is, staying away isn’t an option anymore. Not after finally hearing her say something beyond simply taking my order. Seeing the way her cheeks flushed when I said her name. Before, I told myself I was just passing time. Another distraction while I figured out my next move.
That lie held up for a while. But it stopped being true the moment she walked up to my table and smiled at me like I wasn’t a man with blood on his hands. Now, it’s something else. Something more dangerous.
An addiction.
I push open the café door and step inside. The familiar scent of coffee and pastries hits me instantly. My eyes scan the room automatically. Mapping exits. Counting people, noting anything out of place. Old habits don’t disappear overnight.
Then I see her. Behind the counter, moving between machines and customers with a quiet efficiency. Strawberry blond hair in a long plait. Her shy but warm smile. And those soft blue eyes that say everything she thinks she keeps hidden.
My heart goes haywire. The way it does every time I see her. I make my way to my usual table in the corner. Back to the wall. Clear line of sight. I sit down, shift slightly in my seat. It forces my attention away from her for a moment, and I scan the room again. That’s when I see him.
He’s sitting two tables over. Angled just enough to keep her in his line of sight without being obvious about it. Average build. Late thirties. Nothing about him stands out at first glance. Except for the way he watches her. The same way he has been watching her for the past two days.
It’s not casual. Not curious. It’s focused. My body stills instantly. Every sense sharpens as I study him more closely. He lifts his cup, takes a slow sip, but his eyes don’t leave her. Not even for a second. That’s not a coincidence.
Heat builds in my chest, dark and unfamiliar. Not anger. Something more territorial. The urge to put myself between her and the entire world and dare it to come closer. It should unsettle me. It doesn’t. It feels like the truest thing I’ve wanted in years.
Hell, I’m so far gone…
But there is something different in the way the man looks at her. It’s not a desire for her I see in his sharp gaze, but intent. An intent to do harm. And that doesn’t sit right with me. His gaze hits mine. It narrows slightly. Suddenly, he stands and moves toward the door.
I stand a second later. My eyes subconsciously flit to Nora’s. Our gazes meet. She smiles softly, a little shy. I smile back, distracted. Her face falls, just slightly—she thinks I’m brushing her off—and I hate that I can’t stop to fix it.
Not now…
I shift my gaze back to the stranger as he exits the café. I follow suit. The bell above the door chimes softly, the sound swallowed quickly by the noise of the street. He doesn’t turn. If he’s not aware I’m behind him, then he’s either confident or careless.
With every step he takes, my suspicions increase tenfold. We walk half a block before I close the distance between us. When we reach the alley between two buildings, I move. Fast. One hand grabs the back of his collar while the other shoves him hard into the wall.
His body hits brick with a dull thud, air rushing out of him in a sharp grunt before he can react. “What the…”
“Who sent you?” I cut in, my voice low, but edged with something dangerous.
His eyes widen slightly, more surprised than scared. It tears down my last shred of doubt. Not a civilian.
“Man, I think you’ve got the wrong…”
I tighten my grip, slamming him back against the wall just hard enough to make the point clear. “Don’t,” I bark. “I know what you do, and I know how this works. So choose your next words wisely.”
His jaw clenches, his gaze sharpening as he studies me more carefully now. He takes in my stance, my grip, the lack of hesitation.
He starts to struggle in my grip. He jabs his elbow into my gut. I swallow my grunt, tightening my hold. I slip his gun out of the holster at his waistband and jam it against his stomach.
“Start talking, or a bullet goes into you,” I warn through gritted teeth.
The man stiffens. “Why the fuck should I tell you anything. Who the fuck are you?”
I give him a chilling smile, jabbing the gun deep enough to hear his sharp inhale. “Obsidian,” I say.
I might no longer be a hitman, but I’m sure that my reputation precedes me. And he confirms it when his eyes widen.
“Obsidian?” he says slowly.
I don’t react outwardly, but internally, everything locks into place.
“Answer the question,” I demand instead.
He finally exhales, tension shifting in his shoulders as he recalibrates. “You’re not on this job.”
“Who. Sent. You?” I follow each word with a jab of the gun muzzle.
“Emerald.”
My expression doesn’t change. For a moment, I just look at him, letting that sink in. My jaw tightens.
“What’s the job?” I ask, my voice quieter now but no less dangerous.
“The girl,” he says finally. “The one inside the café.”
Nora.
Something cold drops through me. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel fear—real, teeth-baring fear. He could have taken her out any day this week, and I’d have been two tables away, none the wiser. The thought has me jamming the muzzle to his temple. No one touches her.
“How much?” I ask.
“Enough.”
I press him harder against the wall, enough to remind him I’m not in the mood for vague answers. “That’s not a number.”
He lets out a small breath. “Six figures.”
Of course it is.
I release him just enough to shift my hold, but not enough for him to get any ideas. “Why?”
“I don’t ask questions,” he replies automatically. “I don’t know. Job came through the usual channel. Target profile, schedule, payout. That’s it.”
I believe him. That’s how it works. Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.
My mind starts running through possibilities, motives, connections. A girl like Nora doesn’t just end up on a list like that without a reason. People don’t spend that kind of money without expecting something in return.
“Walk away,” I say suddenly.
He blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“You heard me. Drop the job. The girl is off limits.”
He exhales slowly, tension leaving his shoulders. “You’re serious.”
I say nothing.
Then, reluctantly, he says, “Fine. I’ll drop it.”
“Good. I’ll let Emerald know to compensate you,” I assure him, releasing his collar.
“But you better know what you’re doing,” he adds, a hint of warning in his voice. “Whoever put that bounty out isn’t going to be happy about this.”
“I’m counting on it.”
He raises his hands slightly, then edges sideways along the wall, keeping his eyes on me until he’s clear of the gun. “Alright. She’s yours.”
I lower the gun and step aside, letting him pass. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the alley, disappearing into the flow of the pedestrian traffic on the street like he was never there.
I stand there for a second longer as the weight of what just happened settles into place. A contract on Nora. Six figures.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, dialing before I can second-guess the decision.
It rings once.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Emerald answers, his tone lighter than expected.
“It’s not a social call,” I say flatly.
That wipes the ease out of his voice immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me.”
A pause. Then, more cautiously, “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”
“There’s a contract out,” I continue. “Six figures. Female target. Works at a café.”
Silence. “You want to elaborate?” he asks after a second.
“You assigned it,” I say. “Her name is Nora.”
“Where did you get that information?”
“The guy you sent.”
A loud sigh. “Okay. Now that you know, what do you want with the information?”
“I want the contract.”
His tone hardens instantly. “That’s not how this works.”
“I know that. This is different.”
I can hear the frustration building on his end. “You don’t take female targets. That’s your rule.”
“I know my rules.”
And I’m breaking one right now, standing in an alley with another man’s gun still warm in my waistband, asking for a job I have every reason to refuse.
I’ve built my entire life around those rules.
They’re the only thing that ever separated me from the men I hunt.
Yet here I am, ready to set one on fire for a girl who doesn’t even know my last name.
“Then why are you even considering this?”
“Because I want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
A long breath comes through the line, slow and measured. He’s thinking. Calculating. Trying to figure out what angle I’m playing.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says finally.
He’s right, and that’s the problem. I couldn’t explain it to him if I tried.
I don’t have language for the thing that moved in my chest when that hitman revealed his mark—only that it was fast and total and left no room for argument.
I’ve spent years feeling nothing on these calls.
Now I can’t get her face out of my head.
I ignore him. “Then tell me who’s behind it.”
“You know I can’t. And you don’t get to demand that.”
I lean back slightly against the wall. My gaze drifts toward the end of the alley where the café sits just out of view—toward her.
Somewhere past that corner, she’s wiping down a table, refilling a mug, or smiling at a stranger, with no idea her name is sitting in a file worth six figures.
No idea I’m the reason it isn’t already done.
“Then consider this your chance to make up for the last job.”
“That’s not how favors work,” Emerald sighs.
“It is for me.”
“You’re pushing it, Obsidian.”
“I don’t care.”
He exhales sharply. “You’re serious about this.”
“I am.”
“Fine,” he says with a shift in his tone. Resignation. “I’ll transfer the file.”
A notification pings on my phone a few seconds later, a secure file coming through. I open it immediately, my eyes scanning the contents as Emerald stays on the line.
Name: Nora Grant
Age: 19
Occupation: Barista
A slow burn of fury works through me as I read the details, everything I already know laid out in cold, clinical terms. Schedule.
Routine. Known associates. Address. And beneath the anger, something I haven’t felt in years—fear.
Not for myself. For her. The realization lands hard: I have something to lose now, and that terrifies me more than any target ever could.
“I’ve got it,” I say as I scroll further down, looking for what matters most. “Who’s the client?”
“You don’t need that to do your job. Besides, I got the job from a middleman. The contractor wants anonymity,” he replies.
I let out a slow breath. “Then I’ll find out for myself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”
“Too late.”
A beat of silence passes, heavy and loaded. Then Emerald says, “The original contractor wants this done quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Within the week.”
My gaze hardens slightly as I absorb that. Not happening.
“You’ll get the job done, won’t you?” Emerald asks in a suspicious tone.
I let the pause stretch. “You’ll get what you need.”
He sighs loudly. “I knew you would say that. Don’t make me regret this, Obsidian,” he warns.
I end the call without another word, the silence of the alley settling around me again. For a moment, I just stand there, letting it all in. Someone wants Nora dead, and now I have to find out who. But first, I need to protect her.
I’ll be the one standing between her and anyone who wants her gone. Whether she wants me there or not. I push off the wall and head back toward the café, my steps steady.