Obsession (Aegis Global #1)

1. Knight in Shining Tire Iron

Chapter one

Knight in Shining Tire Iron

Melina

The quiet stillness of dawn wraps around me like a warm embrace.

Heat seeps into my palms as I cradle my coffee, the rich aroma of hazelnut mingling with the scent of damp earth still lingering from last night's rain.

Somewhere down the street, a dog barks, followed by the low hum of a car engine—someone heading to work before the morning fully wakes.

Arrow, my long-haired German Shepherd, sits on the porch beside me, his thick coat brushing against my skin. His sable fur, flowing in shades of deep black and golden brown, make him appear as though he could be carved from loyalty itself.

He’s steady, protective, and far too perceptive for his own good. I brought him home shortly after my divorce, and he’s been the one constant in my life since. Born on Valentine’s Day, we named him Arrow after my son, Declan, joked that Cupid himself must have sent him to me.

I run my fingers through the scruff on his neck. “What do you think, buddy?” I murmur. “Is today the day I finally get my shit together?”

He exhales a gentle breath and rests his head on my thigh, my gaze dropping to the mug in my hands.

It’s pink with a glossy black interior and the NYC skyline etched across its surface.

I bought it this past fall while visiting Declan in New York after he landed the lead in his school’s fall musical.

He was nineteen then, and a sophomore at Tisch on a full scholarship. I remember sitting in the audience, pride swelling in my chest, as an ache bloomed for the little boy who once needed me to tie his shoes.

The house has been quieter since then. Too quiet.

He was constantly singing—show tunes, pop ballads, whatever came to mind.

I can still hear him in his room, belting out "My Heart Will Go On" as I soaked in the bathtub. I teased him mercilessly at the time, but I’d give anything to hear it again.

His voice filled every corner of this place, and now the silence is deafening.

Harper’s voice helps, but it’s not the same. What I miss most is hearing them duet. Their harmonies would stop me in my tracks and steal my breath in a way only a mother could understand.

I was seventeen when Declan was born, and in many ways, we grew up together.

That makes the distance between us even harder.

And Harper, well… she’s seventeen herself.

It’s a strange, full-circle moment, which causes me to reflect on how young I was and how different her life is from mine at that age.

My thoughts continue wandering as a flicker of movement draws my attention toward the street.

My new neighbor jogs by, each stride smooth and unhurried.

Power flows through every step. Not gym-built muscle, but the kind you earn in the sun through sweat and grit.

I find myself watching longer than I should.

I’ve seen him before—most mornings before sunrise, out running the same loop like clockwork. Always at the same pace. Always alone.

We’ve never spoken—just exchanged the occasional nod—one that says I see you, nothing more.

He’s not from here, of that I’m sure. McKinoak isn’t exactly a tourist destination, and I know most people in town by face if not by name.

He’s only been here a few weeks, and everything about him feels intentional. Focused. Trained.

Arrow perks up, ears forward, silently observing his every move. My curiosity matches his, but before I can get a better look at him, he disappears around the corner.

I exhale slowly and rise, shaking off the stiffness—time to wake the kids.

The air inside is cooler, still carrying a hint of the lavender candle I burned the night before.

The house is quiet except for the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the faint creak of floorboards under my feet.

On the fridge, mismatched magnets hold up school photos and a scattering of Spencer’s doodles.

My youngest leaves his art everywhere, but the latest—a lopsided dragon—has earned a permanent spot. I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

Harper’s awake, sitting at her vanity, gaze sharp as she applies eyeliner.

Her naturally blonde hair has been dyed a rich brunette—a change she made last year chasing an edgier look, and the septum piercing was a battle I eventually lost. Her style is what I call grunge chic.

She hides her curves under oversized hoodies and baggy jeans like armor, but she’s my twin, and the resemblance is uncanny—same prominent cheekbones, full lips, and expressive blue eyes.

“Morning,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” she mutters, capping her eyeliner and tossing it onto the cluttered vanity. “Spence up yet?”

“No, but... he’s about to be.”

Harper smirks, already expecting the struggle I’ll face getting her brother out of bed. She’s not wrong. Spencer isn’t a morning person.

I cross the hall, knock once, and gently push the door open. Hidden beneath a fortress of blankets, a wild tangle of dark curls peeks through as the only sign someone’s in there.

“Spence,” I say. “Time to get up, buddy.”

He groans, pulling the covers tighter. “Five more minutes.”

I tug the comforter back, revealing his striking green eyes, still hazy with sleep. He’s tall for eleven—growing faster than I can keep up with, and that smile of his could light up a room.

“Come on, kiddo. You’re gonna be late.”

“Only if I leave this bed,” he says, lips curling into a sly grin as he swings his legs over the side.

“Smartass,” I mutter, ruffling his hair as we head downstairs.

“Language!” Harper calls from her bedroom, her tone mockingly offended.

“He’s heard worse,” I shoot back, earning a muffled laugh from Spencer as he trails after me.

By the time we settle at the table, breakfast has presented its usual scene—Spencer devouring a stack of pancakes while Harper nibbles on a granola bar. Once they’re settled, I disappear into my bedroom to get ready, swapping my typical jeans or leggings for something a bit more polished.

The clock reads 7:30 a.m. I have just enough time to drop Spencer at school, grab a latte, and make my 9 a.m. meeting with James Sinclair, CEO of Simmons Home Furnishings. He’s a potential new client, and the reason I’m heading into the city rather than hiding behind a Zoom screen.

Freelance copywriting keeps the lights on and the kids fed. By noon, I have two web pages due for a tech start-up and the opening three emails for a wellness brand’s welcome series. Each line must be friendly, human, and compelling enough to click.

But first, James is expecting a fresh pitch for their seasonal catalog: homepage copy, product blurbs, and a catchy email campaign.

I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and walk into the kitchen. Harper’s standing in the doorway—travel mug in one hand, car keys in the other. No matter how early she wakes, mornings are always a race.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you something real for breakfast?” I ask, eyeing the half-eaten granola bar on the counter.

“Caffeine is breakfast.”

I scoff. “Fine. Just don’t call me when you pass out in class,” I say, teasing.

Harper bends down, kissing the top of Spencer’s head. “Later, Spence.”

“Later, loser,” he fires back with a grin.

She softens when she looks at me. “See you tonight, Mom.”

I reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, like I did when she was little. “Drive safe, sweetheart.”

She gives me a look—half fond, half exasperated—then grabs her backpack and heads out.

Spencer watches her go, then turns to me. “She’s so dramatic.”

I laugh and give his arm a light squeeze. “You both are.”

With Harper gone, we gather our things and head to the car. We’re halfway down the street when the morning jolts to a halt—a sudden lurch, followed by the unmistakable grind of metal on pavement.

“Are you serious?” I mutter, easing onto the shoulder. Spencer unbuckles, craning his neck to peer out the window. “I think it’s flat.”

“Thanks, Spence. Super helpful,” I reply dryly, climbing out to check the damage. I crouch, frowning. It almost looks… slashed.

A prickle travels down my spine, but I shake it off. Now is not the time for paranoia.

Spencer leans out, resting his arms on the door. “You should ask that guy you keep staring at for help. You know, the one who runs by every day like he’s auditioning for an action movie?”

I glare at him. “Excuse me? I’m a strong, independent woman, and perfectly capable of changing a tire.”

“Pretty sure he’d get it done faster.”

“So would I—if you’d stop heckling me.”

His mouth pulls into an amused expression. “Well? Are you gonna change it?”

I brush off my hands and sigh. “No. Not in a skirt and heels.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his lips twitching.

I roll my eyes and climb into the driver’s seat, reaching for my phone to call AAA, but before I have the chance to dial, a shadow falls across my window.

I lift my gaze and freeze. It’s him—the runner, moving with the same focused intensity, like a man on a mission with a past he refuses to talk about.

He raps his knuckles against the glass before I can decide whether to be wary or relieved. “Need a hand?”

His voice is deep and unwavering, the kind that doesn’t rattle easily. I hesitate, but only for a second.

“Yeah. That’d be great.”

***

Matt

Six Years Ago—Somewhere in the Middle East

The desert night swallowed all sound but the thud of my pulse. I crouched behind a crumbling wall, tension coiled tight.

This was supposed to be a snatch-and-grab, but Ghost-Six had us walking straight into a hornet’s nest.

“Ghost-One,” Six’s voice snapped over comms. “We’re pushing deeper. You ready?”

“Ready,” Bishop replied, his tone low.

“Ghost-Two, status?” Six called out.

“Tracking,” I said, tightening the grip on the Mk18.

I didn’t like it. Too much risk. Too many men at command willing to play Russian roulette with our lives.