He’s perfect.
The thought hits me with startling clarity, cutting through the haze of pheromones and adrenaline flooding my system.
This man is exactly what I’ve been searching for. Strong enough to actually dominate me. Powerful enough that my own pheromones wouldn’t make him collapse like every other alpha I’ve tried to be with. Dangerous enough to satisfy the part of me that craves pain and submission in equal measure.
My fingers dig into the brick wall, nails scraping against the rough surface. Hunger coils in my gut. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want this stranger right now.
The boss lets go of the man’s hair, and the guy’s head drops to the concrete with a thud that makes me wince. The boss straightens up, taking another drag from his cigarette as he steps back. He doesn’t even look at the broken man at his feet anymore, like he’s already dismissed him from his thoughts entirely.
He makes a casual gesture with his free hand.
“Finish it,” he says, voice flat and bored. “Then dispose of him.”
The enforcers move in immediately, and I have to force myself to keep watching even as my stomach churns. They don’t hesitate, don’t show any mercy. Fists and boots rain down on the man who’s already barely conscious, each impact accompanied by sickening sounds that echo off the concrete walls.
The boss doesn’t watch. He’s already turned away, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it like he’s checking his messages while his men beat someone to death a few feet behind him. The casual indifference is somehow more chilling than the violence itself.
One of the enforcers steps forward, a tall guy with a shaved head and a scar running down his jaw. He says something too quiet for me to hear, and the boss nods without looking up from his phone.
The beating continues for what feels like forever but is probably only a minute or two. Finally, the sounds stop. The man on the ground isn’t moving anymore, isn’t making any noise. I can’t tell if he’s dead or just unconscious, and I’m not sure which option is better.
“Get rid of it,” the boss says, still not looking up. “Make sure it’s clean.”
The enforcers start moving, grabbing the unconscious bodies and dragging them toward what looks like a van parked at the far end of the lot. I press myself flatter against the wall, heart hammering as I realize how exposed I am. If any of them glance this direction, if they decide to sweep the area...
But they’re focused on their cleanup operation, hauling bodies and wiping down blood with enough familiarity that suggests they’ve done this many times before. The boss finally pockets his phone and starts walking toward the street, the scarred enforcer falling into step beside him.
I need to move. Now.
I slink backward, keeping to the deepest shadows as I retreat from my vantage point. My footsteps are silent on the cracked pavement, years of running from trouble having taught me how to move without making noise. The sounds of the cleanup fade behind me as I circle around, using the maze of alleys to get ahead of them.
My pulse is racing, but it’s not fear driving it. It’s excitement, singing through my veins like lightning. I’ve found him. After months of disappointing encounters and failed attempts, I’ve actually found a dominant alpha strong enough to make my knees weak.
I just need to figure out who he is.
I emerge onto the main street a block ahead of where the alley lets out, ducking into a recessed doorway of an abandoned shop. From here I have a clear view of the intersection without being obvious about watching. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the camera app.
It only takes a few minutes before I see them. The boss and his scarred companion round the corner, still deep in conversation. In the better lighting of the street, I get an even clearer look at him.
Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Tall, probably six-two or six-three, with broad shoulders that fill out his expensive black coat perfectly. Everything about him screams money and power, from his tailored clothes to the way he carries himself like he owns the entire city.
A sleek black car pulls up to the curb, something foreign and expensive. The driver gets out and opens the back door, bowing slightly as the boss approaches.
I raise my phone, zooming in as much as the camera will allow. My hands are surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline still flooding my system. The boss pauses before getting in, sayingsomething else to the scarred guy, and I take the opportunity to snap several photos of the license plate.
The angle isn’t perfect, but I manage to get a clear shot just as the boss slides into the backseat. The scarred enforcer closes the door behind him and the car pulls away from the curb, merging smoothly into traffic.
I stay in my hiding spot until the taillights disappear around a corner, then let out a breath. My fingers are shaking slightly as I pull up the photos, zooming in to make sure the license plate is legible.
It is. Crystal clear, every number and letter perfectly visible.
Victory surges through me. I commit the plate to memory, repeating it silently to myself as I save the photos to a secure folder. Then I’m moving again, heading back toward the main streets with purpose in my stride.
My mind is already racing ahead, planning. I need information. I need to figure out who this guy is, what organization he runs, where he operates. The license plate is a good start, but I need more. I need to know everything about him before I make my move.
Because I am going to make a move. There’s no question about that.
I’ve become a stalker.
