Page 7

Fast.

The boys turn down a side street and slip through the flashing red doors of a run-down strip club.

I wait across the street in the alley, watching the back entrance and the valet line. Within twenty minutes, I spot the hotel key cards Brendan pulls out of his pocket while tipping the bouncer, along with the crest on the valet tag.

The Royal Sonesta. Penthouse floor.

Good. That’s all the intelligence I need on those three for tonight.

I turn around and head back toward the private lot where I parked my car, pulling my keys out. My plan is simple: get back to Eden, our family’s luxurious, exclusive gentleman’s club—and our most profitable business—run a full background check on Alexis Hayes, and figure out who the hell she’s connected to.

I’m stepping toward my vehicle when the side exit door of The Blackwood creaks open.

Alexis steps out into the night. She’s off her shift, her hair pulled down around her shoulders, wearing a light jacket over her dress. She locks the staff door behind her, shoulders her bag, and starts walking down the dimly lit pavement alone.

I stop, key fob poised in my hand.

My brain tells me to get in the car and drive away. But my gut—the dark, paranoid instinct that’s kept me alive in this city for thirty-four years—screams at me to follow.

If she picked up on my surveillance of Nolan, what the fuck else has she noticed? Has she been tracking my entry times? Is she feeding information to someone else?

Screw the background check. I need to see where she goes, who she meets, and what kind of life she’s hiding when that waitress apron comes off.

I slip my keys back into my pocket, slide into the deep shadows of the building, and lock my eyes onto the sway of her hips as she turns the corner.

Time to find out who Alexis Hayes really is.

She turns off the main drag, leaving the warm, noisy pulse of the Quarter behind as she heads deep into the third ward.

The bright streetlights bleed away into flickering, rusted bulbs, and the upscale charm of the city rots into cracked sidewalks, overgrown alleys, and forgotten buildings.

It’s a rough neighborhood. Not the kind of place a woman should be walking alone at two in the morning, but Alexis moves through the shadows with a fast, determined stride that says she knows these streets.

I close the distance until I’m practically breathing down her neck, keeping just a dozen paces behind her. Then, I start letting my heavy steps hit the pavement deliberately. A rhythmic thud, thud, thud that echoes off the brick walls, right on the edge of her hearing.

I want to fuck with her. I want to feel her heart start racing through the dark.

Alexis instantly stiffens. Her head snaps around, her dark eyes scanning the empty street.

The second her chin moves, I’m gone. I melt smoothly into the black void of a recessed doorway, holding my breath, staying as still as a corpse. This is what I do best. I’ve tracked men through jungles, through warzones, through dark back alleys, and slaughtered them before they even knew I was in the room. A civilian waitress doesn't stand a fucking chance.

Alexis sees nothing. She frowns, her pulse visibly hammering in her throat, before turning back and accelerating her pace.

I step out of the shadows, matching her speed, making the heavy drag of my boots slightly louder. Thud. Thud. Thud.

She spins around again, her dark hair whipping across her face. "Hello?" she calls out, her voice tight, a sharp edge of panic creeping in.

I’m already pressed flat against the rusted iron pillar of a staircase, swallowed whole by the night. She stares straight into the dark where I’m standing, her eyes wide, but sees only empty shadows.

Breathing heavily now, Alexis turns and practically starts sprinting, her shoes clicking fast against the concrete.

I grin, a dark, wicked surge of adrenaline slamming into my chest. I lengthen my stride, my heavy boots pounding loud and clear right behind her, closing in fast, letting her know the predator is right on her heels.

She’s half a block from what looks like a run-down apartment complex when suddenly, a shadow detaches itself from a doorway.

A ragged, heavy-set homeless guy stumbles out into the middle of the sidewalk, blocking her path. Alexis tries to dodge him, her breathing ragged, but she’s moving too fast and almost crashes right into his chest.

"Hey, sweet thing," he slurs, his voice thick and raspy. "Got some spare change for a⁠—"