32. Wolfe
WOLFE
I saw him before he saw me.
Same tan coat. Same slick hair. Same smug mouth that had once opened too easily in a steel elevator and whispered something about Cloe that made my blood run cold.
He was standing just outside the service entrance—too close to the private lot.
Too still.
Too casual.
Cigarette in one hand.
Phone in the other.
And a notebook.
I moved faster than I should have. Didn’t run. Didn’t stalk. Just moved with purpose. Because I knew exactly who the fuck he was. And exactly what the fuck he was doing.
When he spotted me, he smiled. The same lazy, condescending tilt of his head that made my fist itch.
“Hey,” he said, like we were old friends. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. ”
I didn’t answer. My eyes dropped to the notebook in his hand. He started to tuck it into his coat pocket.
Too slow.
I stepped in.
Grabbed the front of his jacket.
Yanked him forward.
Hard.
The notebook fell to the ground.
I kicked it aside. Pressed him against the wall near the dumpster. He grunted. Coughed. But he didn’t fight.
“You’ve got five seconds,” I growled, voice low, tight. “To tell me why the fuck you’re here.”
He opened his mouth.
Tried a smirk.
“Relax. I’m just waiting for a meeting?—”
I slammed him into the wall again.
His head hit hard enough to echo.
“No, you’re not.”
He choked on the next word.
I shoved my hand into his coat pocket, grabbed the notebook, flipped it open.
License plates. Dozens of them. Scrawled in messy, frantic handwriting. I looked up slowly.
“You looking for her?”
He didn’t respond.
So I hit him.
Once.
Straight to the gut. He folded, gasped. Still didn’t fight.
“W-what’s the big deal?” he coughed. “She’s beautiful. I wanted to know where she parks.”
My vision went white.
“Say that again. ”
“She’s hot, man. You’re not the only one who wants a piece of that?—”
I didn’t hear the rest.
Because I hit him again.
And again.
And again.
Until he dropped. Until the notebook hit the pavement. Until my knuckles split. Until the red on my hands wasn’t just his.
I winced hard.
He tried to crawl.
I grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him behind the parked car, out of view.
“You think you can hunt her like she’s prey?” I snarled. “You think you can stalk her and walk away?”
He spat blood.
Didn’t speak.
So I kicked him.
Hard.
“Look at me.”
He did.
Barely.
One eye swollen shut already.
“She’s not yours to watch.”
He laughed—weak, wet.
“You think she’s yours?”
I crouched low. Got close enough that he could smell the sweat on my collar.
“She’s mine. In every way that counts.”
I took the notebook. Ripped out the pages. Held it to his face. Wasn’t about to tell the motherfucker she didn’t goddamn drive .
“You come here again, and I swear to God, there won’t be enough of your body left for them to identify.”
He flinched. That felt like victory. Footsteps behind me.
Royal’s.
“Wolfe.”
I didn’t look back.
“He was watching her.”
“I figured.”
“You going to stop me?”
Royal was quiet for a second.
Then—
“No. Just don’t kill him here.”
I stood. The man didn’t move. Didn’t try to run. I dropped the notebook on his chest. Let him see the page again. Then turned.
Walked away with blood cooling on my hands and fire still crawling through my spine. Royal didn’t say anything until we reached the corner.
Then—
“Feel better?”
“No.”
I wiped my palm on my coat.
Tasted metal in my teeth.
“She’s not going to know about this,” I said.
Royal shrugged.
“She probably will. But not from me.”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t stop walking. Because if I did? I’d go back and finish it.