I know how they work.
They don’t ask questions. They don’t hesitate. They don’t stop until the job isfinished.And if one of them is coming for me now… They won’t just take me out. They’ll take Lydia too.
No. Not a fucking chance.
I need names. And I need themnow.My mind shifts gears. This isn’t about defense anymore.
This iswar.
I shift carefully, sliding out from under Lydia without waking her. Her body stirs, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her fingers flex like she’s searching for me.
“I’m here, killstreak,” I whisper, brushing my lips against her forehead.
She settles, body going limp again. But I don’t. I move through her house like a shadow.
Silent. Controlled. The air feels heavier. Like it’s holding its breath. I check the doors. Locked. Windows. Secure.
But none of itmatters.Because Ifeelit. The ghost of Patrick’s presence still lingers in the air. I grab my phone, jaw clenched, heart pounding harder now.
This isn’t paranoia. This isinstinct.I open a secure line and send out a message. Not to friends.
I don’t have those.
I havecontacts.
Men who owe me.
Men whofearme.
I need intel. Names. Because if Patrick has reached out to one ofthem…
I’m ending this before they ever get close.
I stare down at my phone, waiting. Seconds stretch into eternity. My heart pounds like a fucking war drum.
Then…
Message received.
I open it.
One name.
My blood goes cold.
Fucking hell.
I know the name.
Zane Matthews.
Ex-special forces. Trained in close-quarters combat and black ops. A fucking ghost who could disappear in plain sight.
And worse? He owes me.
I saved his life.
But Zane isn’t the kind of man who stays loyal. He’s the kind of man who follows the highest bidder.