Chapter 4
LEON
PASSENGER - DEAFTONES
“That’s it. Be a good little pet and keep using your credit card.”
I need one as well but I’ll fill up once he leaves. As long as he keeps using that rectangular piece of plastic, I won’t have any trouble finding him, even after he has a bit of a head start.
Dimitri Volkov pulls a cellphone from his pocket and I quickly change to my RF 100–500mm lens, zeroing in on the screen and his fingers as he taps away. I hold down the shutter button and let it rapid fire, taking as many photos as I can in hopes of figuring out our final destination.
Not that I actually need it.
I was hired to find this deliciously scarred alpha by his father, who gave me explicit instructions to eliminate the traitor and bring back his body, meaning I was to kill him on sight when I found him.
I’m so good at what I do, it only took me a day and a half to locate him but that was nearly two weeks ago and I’ve yet to pull the trigger.
Instead, I’ve found myself rather captivated by the grumpy asshole, and the urge to claim the bounty on his head has faded to static noise against the impulse to figure out why he’s running.
At first I believed I just wanted to fuck him.
Dimitri is very good looking. The epitome of tall, dark and handsome: six-foot-four, roughly two hundred and twenty pounds of solid muscle.
Inky black hair kept just shaggy enough to curl around his ears and nape of his neck.
Crystal blue eyes. Well, one is crystal blue.
The other is completely clouded in milky white swirls and usually under an eyepatch, the surrounding olive-toned skin of his socket, orbital and cheek bone covered by what looks to be some sort of burn scar.
My guess is from a type of explosive. His features are sharp, very defined, and the bit of scruff on his face adds to his overall appeal.
I think I’d prefer him clean shaven, though, but only because I can tell the lack of shaving is somehow connected to why he’s running from the very Bratva he was set to inherit.
When Boris contacted me, I wasn’t expecting the mark to be his own flesh and blood.
I’ve worked with him before, when he had a job he didn’t want connected to his organization, or when his men failed to produce the results he was after.
The crotchety bastard pays well, very well, and he’s always kept his word about allowing me to remain a ghost, a myth amongst our circles no one has been able to give merit to.
I’ve never turned down a job he’s offered me but this is the first time he’s managed to surprise me.
Of course, I graciously accepted the bounty on the lovely little target’s head but the mystery surrounding him is really what sold me on things.
Another reason I assumed I merely wanted to fuck Dimitri and would be able to get on with killing him after the fact.
There’s more to it than that.
Not to say I won’t jump at the chance to find out if the prodigal son is a top, bottom, or switch if it presents.
I’m not that unstable. He looks like he could be a lot of fun in the sack, a real rough and tumble kind of guy, but again, I could have made that happen long ago if that was all my curiosity was about.
It isn’t, and for the first time since I’ve been professionally hunting, I’ve let myself become invested in more than the payout.
Lowering my camera to my lap, I watch as Dimitri finishes filling up his car and heads inside the gas station.
When I received his file, I read about three different vehicles he would most likely be driving; a black Audi A7, a black on black Cadillac Escalade-V, or a Kawasaki Ninja H2R.
In black, of course. Was Dimitri driving any of these when I found him?
No. As a matter of fact, I caught him coming out of a junkyard in Mays Landing, New Jersey, driving a beat to hell F-250 from the early 1990s.
The same one he’s driving now and frankly, I’m shocked he’s been able to keep the thing running as we’ve made our way along the most fucked up route to God knows where.
I’ve followed Dimitri through ten different states since that junkyard. Ten, including my home state of Kansas and now Iowa, and I think we’ve avoided the most logical and straight shot in and out of every single one.
It makes no goddamn sense.
My brow arches as I lift my camera again, looking through the windows of the rather happening travel shop in Clive, able to clearly see the alpha purchase his fourth burner phone of the trip so far.
Something is telling me I’m going to finally need to plant a tracker on his truck.
It’s strange that he’s continued to use his credit card when it’s obvious he’s on the run but part of me thinks this stop is different.
I was able to swap out readers at the first stop he made, overlaying my own device over top of the one at the pump so I could track his activity for as long as he used the card.
It’s worked well, exactly the way it was supposed to, but a new burner phone and longer pit stop has my gut telling me I need to step up my game.
So, I put away my camera and start my car, casually driving across the street before pulling into the line of pumps before occupying one a couple over from the blue and white monstrosity.
I reach into the glove box for my wallet and a tiny little bug, one I know he won’t find until it’s far too late, then exit my generic Honda.
I scan the other vehicles as I move between the pumps, making sure we still haven’t been followed and I’m not actively being watched, and when I’m just about to walk past his truck, I accidentally drop my wallet.
Quickly bending to pick up the vegan leather bifold, I rush to stick the tracker under the bed a few inches behind the rear driver’s side tire then carry on about my business right as Dimitri walks out.
He holds the door open as I approach, ever the gentleman, despite the permanent scowl on his face, and it is everything I can do not to do more than nod my thanks as I walk by.
The bastard smells like butterscotch.
Butterscotch bourbon to be exact, and knowing that’s his natural scent has my goddamn mouth watering.
How do I know that shit is clinging to his skin and not saturating his breath?
I don’t, not really or in some traditional sense, it’s just another of the many gut feelings I’ve had about this alpha since setting eyes on him the first time.
And while the desire to fuck him came racing to the forefront of my thoughts because of the way he smells, I can confirm there is a hell of a lot more to my interest in him than that.
Especially when I turn down the first aisle along the window and catch Dimitri staring at me through the thick, filmy glass.
I do believe hunting for this bounty just got a hell of a lot more interesting and I, for one, am fucking thrilled.