Page 55 of Prey
“So we make it look like something else,” Darius suggests from across the room, where he’s preparing what looks like a very late dinner. “Accident. Robbery gone wrong. Domestic violence if she’s got an ex-boyfriend with a record.”
Marcus shakes his head. “I’ve been monitoring her communications. She’s careful, paranoid even. Varies her routes, checks for surveillance, the whole nine yards. Getting close enough for any of those scenarios would be?—”
“Challenging,” I interrupt. “But not impossible.”
The room falls quiet. They’re all looking at me with expressions I can’t quite read. Concern? Calculation?
“You want to take this one personally?” Ezra asks.
I should delegate to someone whose head isn’t full of gray-green eyes and dark hair. Someone who isn’t dreaming every night about a woman who played him perfectly and vanished into thin air.
“Yes.”
Raphael leans forward. “Nikolai, with respect, you’ve been… distracted lately. Maybe someone else should?—”
“I said I’ll handle it.” The words come out sharper than intended, carrying enough edge to make Damon shift in his chair.
Silence stretches for a few beats before Darius breaks it.
“Well, while our fearless leader plots federal assassinations, does anyone want to hear about my day? Because I had the most interesting conversation with a certain pharmaceutical executive who thinks he can short-change one of Theon’s shipments.”
Theon’s expression darkens. “Which executive?”
“Peterson from Meridian Industries. Apparently, he’s under the impression that synthetic opioids are commodity products with negotiable pricing.”
“I’ll have a conversation with Mr.Peterson,” Theon says in a tone that suggests the conversation will be entirely one-sided.
The banter continues around me—shop talk disguised as dark humor, the kind of casual discussion of violence that would horrify normal people. These are my brothers, my family, the only people in the world who understand what we’ve become.
So why do I feel so fucking disconnected from all of it?
Lucien’s describing a potential fighter he’s scouting when my phone buzzes with a security alert. An alert on the facial recognition database I set up to scan for Jenna. Probably another false positive, I’ve had dozens over the past two weeks.
But I check anyway, because I always check.
The image loads slowly, grainy surveillance footage from some shithole in Chinatown. A woman in dark clothing, face partially obscured by shadows.
“Found something interesting?” Marcus asks, noticing the sudden attention I’m paying to my phone.
I study the timestamp. Three hours ago. Less than five miles from here.
“Maybe.” I pocket the phone and stand. “I need to follow up on something.”
“Want backup?” Raphael offers.
“No.Keep working on the Walsh problem. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Darius calls after me as I head for the elevator. “Try to get some sleep, Nik. You look like shit warmed over.”
If only he knew. I haven’t slept more than two hours straight since she left. Every time I close my eyes, I see her—spread out on my bed, begging me to fuck her, looking up at me with those impossibly beautiful eyes while I planned all the ways I’d keep her forever.
The parking garage is empty except for my Audi. I sit behind the wheel for a moment, staring at the blurry surveillance image on my phone screen.
It might not be her. Probably isn’t her. But the possibility is enough to make my hands shake as I start the engine.
Fourteen days of searching, and every lead I’ve had has led me to disappointment.
When I find her—and I will find her—she’s going to learn exactly what happens to prey that thinks it can escape the hunter. She’s going to remember who she belongs to, even if I have to break her to make the lesson stick.
