THE BIKER KING’S DANGEROUS OBSESSION

Elaris The first thing I noticed about the dead man was his shoes. Black leather. Expensive Completely spotless. That shouldn’t have bothered me. But there was something wrong about a man lying facedown in an alley with blood spreading beneath his chest while his shoes looked as if they’d never touched the ground. I stood frozen beneath the flickering security light, one hand still wrapped around the strap of my bag. Rain tapped against the metal fire escape above me. My breath caught. Then I heard the motorcycle. One engine. Deep. Heavy. Approaching fast. I should have run. Instead, I stared at the body. “Don’t.” The word escaped my lips in a whisper. I didn’t know who I was talking to. The dead man. The approaching rider. Or myself. My phone was still in my hand. The screen glowed against my palm. 9:17 PM. I had been on my way home from the restoration site when I heard the sound. A crash. Then a shout. Then silence. I’d followed the noise because curiosity had always been one of my worst habits. Now I wished I had learned how to mind my own business. The motorcycle rolled into view. Black. Massive. Its headlight cut through the rain and stopped less than twenty feet from me. The rider killed the engine. Silence swallowed the alley. He didn’t move. Neither did I. Then he removed his helmet. And every instinct in my body screamed one word. Run. He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed entirely in black. Dark hair damp from the rain. A hard jaw. A scar cutting faintly through one eyebrow. But it was his eyes that stopped me. Cold. Sharp. Completely focused on me. Not the body. Not the blood. Me. His gaze moved slowly over my face before dropping to the phone in my hand. My fingers tightened around it. “You called the police?” His voice was low. Calm. Too calm. I swallowed. “No.” “Good.” My eyebrows pulled together. “Good?” He stepped off the motorcycle. The movement was effortless, but there was something controlled about the way he carried himself. Like a man who never needed to hurry because the world usually moved when he told it to. He walked toward me. I backed away. He stopped. “Don’t.” I almost laughed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Interest. “What’s your name?” “Why?” “Because you’re standing beside a dead man.” I glanced at the body. “You seem remarkably unconcerned about that.” His jaw tightened. “I know him.” The answer came without hesitation. That frightened me more than if he’d denied it. “Who is he?” “That isn’t your concern.” I looked back at the body. “Considering I’m standing in an alley with a dead man and a stranger who knows him, I’d say it’s very much my concern.” His eyes narrowed. “You should leave.” “Gladly.” I took one step backward. Then another. His gaze followed me. I turned. Three steps. Four. Then my shoe slipped. I caught myself against the brick wall. When I looked down, the sole of my boot was wet. Not rain. Blood. My stomach twisted. I stared at the dark red smear across the leather. Then I heard him. “Don’t move.” I looked up. He was staring at something behind me. Not at me. Past me. His entire posture changed. Every trace of calm disappeared. “Who else is here?” I whispered. He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached beneath his jacket. My heart slammed against my ribs. “What are you doing?” His hand came back empty. “Stay behind me.” “I don’t take orders from men who arrive at murder scenes on motorcycles.” “Then consider this advice.” A sharp crack split the alley. I flinched. The brick beside my head exploded into dust. I screamed. The stranger grabbed my arm and pulled me down. “Stay down!” Another crack. Another impact. He dragged me behind a concrete barrier as something struck the metal dumpster beside us. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear. “What the hell is happening?” “Someone saw you.” “I don’t even know you!” “I know.” He looked over the barrier. His face had gone frighteningly still. “That’s the problem.” Another shot rang out. Then silence. He waited. Five seconds. Ten. Nothing. He looked at me. “Can you walk?” I stared at him. “You just got shot at and that’s your question?” “Answer me.” “Yes.” “Good.” He stood. I grabbed his wrist. He looked down at my hand. For some reason, neither of us moved. His skin was warm. Mine was shaking. “Don’t leave me.” The words came out before I could stop them. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “You don’t know me.” “I know.” “You should be afraid of me.” “I am.” His gaze held mine. “Then why are you holding on?” I released him. “Because I don’t know which is worse.” His mouth almost curved. Almost. Then he looked toward the mouth of the alley. “We’re leaving.” “No.” His head turned. I forced myself upright. “I don’t know who you are.” “You don’t need to.” “You’re insane if you think I’m getting on that motorcycle with you.” “Fine.” He reached for his helmet. “Then stay here.” I stared at him. He put the helmet on. “Wait.” He paused. I hated him for it. I hated myself more for being relieved. “Who are you?” He lifted the visor. “Varek.” “Varek what?” His eyes hardened. “Dorne.” The name meant nothing to me. Not yet. He started the motorcycle. The engine roared through the alley. Then he looked directly at me. “Get somewhere public. Don’t go home.” My stomach dropped. “Why?” “Because whoever fired those shots wasn’t trying to scare you.” He accelerated away. I watched the red taillight disappear into the rain. For several seconds, I simply stood there. Then I looked at the body. Something beneath the dead man’s hand caught my attention. A small metal object. I crouched. My fingers hovered above it. I shouldn’t touch it. Every sensible part of my brain told me that. I touched it anyway. A key. Old. Heavy. Engraved with a strange symbol. A black crown surrounded by wings. I turned it over. There was a number carved into the back. 17. My phone vibrated. I nearly dropped the key. Unknown number. I stared at the screen. It vibrated again. I answered. “Hello?” Nothing. “Who is this?” Breathing. Slow. Close. Then a man’s voice whispered “Ask Varek Dorne why your father died.” The call ended. I couldn’t breathe. My father’s name had not been spoken aloud in years. I stared at the phone. Then at the dead man. Then toward the street where Varek had disappeared. My father. Alaric Quinn. A restoration architect. A man who had supposedly died in an accident when I was twelve. A man whose death had never made sense. The rain grew heavier. And suddenly the dead man wasn’t the most frightening thing in the alley. I was. Because someone had just connected my father’s death to the most dangerous stranger I’d ever met. I shoved the key into my pocket and stood. That’s when I heard the motorcycle again. My head snapped toward the street. Varek was coming back. He stopped at the entrance to the alley. He removed his helmet. His eyes found mine immediately. Then they dropped to my hand. More precisely to the key I was holding. The color drained from his face. For the first time since I’d met him, Varek Dorne looked afraid. He crossed the distance between us. “What did you find?” I stepped backward. His voice dropped. “Elaris.” My blood ran cold. “I never told you my name.” He stared at me. “I know.” “How?” He looked toward the dead man. Then back at me. “Because I’ve been looking for you.” I couldn’t move. Varek reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. He held it between us. My hands began to tremble. The photograph was old. Faded. But the people in it were unmistakable. My father stood beside a younger man I didn’t recognize. And beside them was Varek’s father. I looked up. “What is this?” Varek’s expression turned to stone. “Proof that your father didn’t die by accident.” My breath caught. He stepped closer. “And whoever killed that man tonight” His gaze dropped to the key in my hand. “is coming for you next.” A sound came from behind us. Footsteps. Varek’s head snapped toward the darkness. His hand closed around my wrist. This time, I didn’t pull away. Because someone was walking toward us. And Varek whispered the words that made my blood turn cold. “Don’t look behind you.” I did anyway. A shadow stepped beneath the broken streetlight. And smiled. The man in the blood wasn’t the only one who had been waiting for me.