Anticipation spread through me, coiling at the base of my neck, as I watched him scan the room—searching. If I knew the name of his target, I could find them with two clicks of my keyboard and drop them at his feet in the digital sense but I knew how much Daddy loved the chase.
For days, he tracked them, memorizing their schedule and anticipating their moves. He lingered in the shadows of their life, patient and restrained while he waited for the perfect time to strike.
It was my job to conceal his violence, but it was always hidden in the shadows of darkness. I’d never had to camouflage his actions because he preferred to disguise them himself, leaving the evidence of his execution lingering in the throes of nightfall. Dusk was his only witness.
Until me.
I was an obscurity—an anonymous voice behind a black screen. I had more interaction with AI systems and security feeds than I did with actual human beings. Desolation was my greatest friend, and it was rare I yearned for more than what I had.
My anonymity made me dangerous, but I suspected they liked me best that way—manic and unrelenting. My keyboard was my grenade. One barely there whisper of a click was synonymous with the pull of a pin. Once my brain got involved, I was capable of nothing less than absolute annihilation.
They considered me an asset.
A creator of carnage.
Elijah tipped his head back to take a sip of his drink, and I took a screen-shot of the frame, capturing the way his tongue danced along the edge of the glass, savoring each drop of whiskey. My fingers flickered against my lips, and I wondered what it’d be like if I tasted his drink of choice straight from his mouth.
Thoughts of that moment ran rampant in my mind, and I found myself tracing my lips with the tips of my fingers, imagining they were his.
With a single click, I moved the screenshot to a secure folder, one hidden in the depths of my system. Within it was two years of Elijah Kingston—proof of my obsession.
My fixation began the first time he appeared on my screen. Blue eyes blazed up at me, burning away the few pieces of myself I had left. His hand stretched toward me as if he knew I was there, watching him as he hunted. I studied every inch of him then, tracing the divots of his skin and the lines beside his mouth. We were miles away, but somehow, he looked straight inside of me, and I knew right then that he was mine.
My daddy.
Glass in hand, he strode down the length of the bar, helping himself to an empty stool. Beside him was a middle-aged man, dark hair cropped tight to his scalp. There was a scar that ran the length of his cheek, and I knew almost instantly that this was him.
The target.
I’d witnessed the death of dozens of men, and I wouldn’t flinch watching this man’s brain matter get blown across the room but I knew I’d never see it. I’d never study the trail of blood that ran from between his eyes and across his eyebrow. I wouldn’t watch his body get pulled away, the heels of his shoes scraping against the bloodied tile. I wouldn’t bear witness to the last breath he took or listen to him choke on his blood as it flooded his throat.
Elijah Kingston didn’t leave crumbs of his crimes behind. For all the kills he’d made, there had been nothing for me to pick up and reconstruct. He pulled triggers under blankets of darkness only to emerge later in the light looking as dapper and pressed as ever.
He was a paradox, and I knew with every fiber that danced along my spine that he belonged to me…
… he just didn’t know it yet.
ChapterOne
Elijah
Benjamin Thomas’eyes were two black holes. They threatened to lead anyone who dared stare into them long enough straight to hell. A lesser man would cower beneath his gaze but I wasn’t a lesser man, and I sure as shit didn’t cower.
“Have a seat, Kingston.” With a heavy hand, he gestured to the chair across from his desk. His words were cordial but the hardness of his jaw told me I’d better sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.
In two years, I’d only been in this office twice.
Unbuttoning my jacket, I sat in the oversized chair he’d gestured to. My knuckles popped as I flexed my fingers, the rings wrapped around them nearly identical to the ones he wore. Propping one foot on the adjacent knee, I lifted my chin to my boss.
“Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
He nodded once, running his tongue along his teeth. Fisting a tumbler of what I assumed to be whiskey, he tipped his chin back and took the shot. Abandoning the glass, he pressed both palms into the edge of his desk. His cheek twitched as he careened toward me, his eyes dark and words hushed.
“What I’m about to say does not leave this office. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“It appears as though someone has ordered a hit against me.”