Page 5 of Hard Bargain

And then—

The man stilled. Not in a dramatic way, but Knox felt it all the same. His head turned slightly, not enough to show his face, but enough to tell Knox he’d been made. A deep, controlled voice cut through the fear. “Step out.”

Knox’s stomach twisted hard. For a split second he considered running, but he knew better. If he ran, he’d be shot before he hit the end of the alley. His feet moved on their own, slow, cautious, stepping out of the darkness into the thin wash of streetlight.

Hazel eyes fixed on him—golden at first glance, almost warm, until the coldness inside them canceled the illusion. His expression didn’t change, no surprise, no annoyance, nothing. Just an intense, razor-sharp stare that slammed straight into Knox and held him there. He’d never been looked at like that before. The force of it was too much, too sudden. It burned through him, seeing far more than Knox wanted anyone to see.

One of the other men cursed under his breath. “Boss—”

A small flick of fingers silenced him instantly.

Knox realized he was biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, but he couldn’t make himself stop. His nerves felt flayed open, every sensation too harsh: the night air against his skin, the copper on his tongue, the slow drag of the man’s eyes as they moved over him from head to toe. It was just a quick sweep that somehow felt like he’d catalogued every inch of Knox in half a second.

“You saw,” he said. The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

Knox swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the dryness constricting his throat. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s irrelevant.” His voice was deep and even, controlled in a way Knox found more unsettling than shouting would have been.

The man stepped closer. Not enough to crowd him, but enough to make the power dynamic unmistakable. Knox wasn’t a short man himself, but despite his own height, he had to look up. It made his pulse jump and his skin prickle. He fought the urge to take a step back; he would not give him that.

The man tilted his head, studying him with a cool, almost private interest. “What’s your name?”

Knox licked the taste of blood from his lips. Something stubborn in him didn’t want to just hand it over. “Why do you need it?”

The man’s voice stayed even, unbothered by the pushback. “Your name.”

Knox held his gaze longer than was smart, some reckless part of him refusing to be the first to look away. “Knox.”

Something flickered in the man’s expression. “Knox,” he repeated, as if testing the shape of it. “And your last name.”

Knox went still. It was one thing to give up a first name, something small and disposable, meaningless in a city this size. A last name was different. A last name could be used. He stared at the man for a long moment, searching that unreadable face for some sign of how much worse this would get if he refused. He found only certainty—the look of someone who already knew Knox would answer, and was simply letting him arrive at that conclusion himself. “Wolfe,” he said reluctantly.

Something almost satisfied passed behind the man’s eyes. “You walk out of here alive only because I allow it. Not a word to anyone,” he said, each syllable measured. “One of my men will take you home so we know exactly where to find you.”

Knox’s pulse stumbled.

The man held his gaze another second, long enough for the threat to settle. Then, with the same awful calm, he said, “And Knox… you owe me now.”

He forgot how to breathe. He stood there rooted to the ground, feeling the weight of those words settle onto his skin like a brand. There was no room in them for negotiation. Whatever had happened in this alley had altered the shape of things in a way Knox could not yet see, but he felt it all the same.

The man stepped back at last and gave a single nod to one of the others. A large figure moved toward Knox right away, like obedience had long since become reflex. “Let’s go,” he said, jerking his chin toward the mouth of the alley.

Knox managed a stiff nod before turning and forcing his feet to follow. He didn’t dare look back, but he knew those hazel eyes were still on him. Tracking him.

His escort didn’t say a word, just gestured for him to move faster. As they walked, Knox’s pulse throbbed in his throat, in his ears, in every step hitting the pavement. His mind kept replaying the moment in the alley—the shot, the collapse, the stare that pinned him where he stood.

You owe me now.

You owe me now.

You owe me now.

The words moved through him on repeat, low and relentless.

By the time they reached his building, Knox’s hands were trembling inside his pockets. The familiar brick facade loomed in front of him, but it didn’t feel like safety.

The man stopped at the main entrance and glanced briefly at the dark windows above, then back to Knox. “Which one?” he asked.