Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in his villa, Zac’s silhouette was cast in stark contrast to the light outside. The sunlight poured in, creating a faint pearly shimmer that played across his sharp features and framed his reflection in shades of black and silver.
His figure, partly shadowed, appeared distant and enigmatic—his back broad and straight, the curve of his waist lean and defined. There wasn’t an ounce of excess on him; his body was sculpted, all strength and precision, flowing into a compact waist and balanced stance.
Then came a low voice behind him, slicing through the silence.
“Zac.”
A tall, strong figure stood just beyond the doorway.
“Walker’s right-hand man is at the Pure Nightclub,” Reid reported, stepping closer. “I’ve sent Ariana to handle him.”
Za
