Chapter 2
Six months ago…
Jamie Buchanan
“Got the money?”
My voice carried softly, echoing off the damp brick walls as shadows pooled around us.
I’d chosen an alley tucked far away from London’s main streets, shrouded in just enough darkness to keep our business hidden.
A fine drizzle fell softly, settling in tiny beads across my leather jacket and soaking the tangled red hair at the nape of my neck.
She stepped from the shadows, her silhouette lean and graceful. The faint moonlight traced over her features: intelligent, calculating eyes fixed unwaveringly on mine. Her black coat rustled gently, reminding me of a crow’s wings, and her dark hair shimmered.
“Yeah,” she replied smoothly, holding up a battered canvas bag. “I’ve got it.”
I watched her cautiously. Girls like her—girls with a calm, dangerous look behind their eyes—had always given me pause.
I’d learned the hard way, surviving on the gritty, dangerous streets of the city, that pretty faces often hid the sharpest knives and I’d bet my life savings that this was one to be reckoned with.
“Your employers were clear,” I said, leaning casually against the wall. “The brother’s got to be unharmed. That’s a lot harder than you’d think around here.”
The corner of her mouth turned up into the faintest smile. “I was assured you’re the man for the job.”
I snorted softly, amused. “Sure. I’m the idiot they pay when it’s a suicide mission. The rogue fool they call in when the sensible blokes say no.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “My employers don’t hire fools. They know you’re fast. Efficient. And,” she eyed me knowingly, her voice softening just slightly, “that you have experience with this sort of extraction.”
I flinched involuntarily, pushing back memories of my time in Glasgow when I had to steal supplies from under the noses of military thugs, and when I had to sneak terrified civilians past checkpoints in the dead of night.
Those days had scarred more than my body.
They’d left an invisible mark on my soul.
“So,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “Where do you want me to drop him off? Belfast? Edinburgh?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice even further, almost a whisper. “No. You’ll bring him all the way back to London.”
I froze, my heart skipping a beat. “London? You’ve got to be joking.”
Her gaze held mine, unflinching. “I never joke about business.”
“London’s suicide,” I hissed, leaning closer, adrenaline surging through my veins. “The Regency patrols are tighter than ever, and you want me to smuggle a shifter right into the lion’s den?”
She lifted a cool eyebrow. “Scared, Buchanan?”
A grin tugged at my lips. “Been scared all my life. Hasn’t killed me yet.”
She studied me silently for a long, loaded moment, the drizzle pattering softly all around us. “Good,” she finally murmured. “Then we understand each other.”
I sighed, raking a hand through my damp hair. “This isn’t a quick in-and-out job. It’s high-risk. The Regency won’t take kindly to someone bringing a shifter back inside their precious borders.”
She smiled softly, a hint of admiration behind her cool eyes. “Then it’s fortunate they hired someone good enough to not get caught, isn’t it?”
I eyed the bag again. It was enough money to survive for months. Enough to keep running, away from the past, away from every demon that clawed at me in the dark. But what would I be running toward?
My gaze narrowed, suspicion sparking. “Why all this risk, then? What’s he worth to your employers?”
Her answer was quiet, simple, and unmistakably genuine: “More than you know.”
I stared at her, measuring every word. There was the kind of deep and personal pain hidden in her eyes I knew too well.
“All right,” I said finally, reaching out to take the canvas bag from her. “Tell your mysterious employers they’ve got themselves a deal.”
She released it, giving me a brief nod. “Logan Yorke. Alive. Unharmed. Delivered to England discreetly. The money will be doubled upon your success.”
My chest tightened slightly at her words. “Then that’s what they’ll get.”
She turned to leave, shadows swallowing her again, but paused at the alley’s edge. “Be careful, Jamie Buchanan,” she called quietly over her shoulder. “There’s more at stake here than just money.”
I watched her vanish into the gloom, her words lingering heavily in the air.
“There’s always more,” I muttered softly, tucking the bag securely under my jacket. “That’s what makes it fun.”