What the hell!
947 Words
The alley kill was done.....handled, dumped, forgotten the way all necessary things were forgotten. But the girl who bolted from the shadows?
She stuck.
A quiet ache twisting under his ribs, refusing to loosen.
He flicked on the screens...not for alley footage this time but for the surveillance his crew had wired into his system. Hospital hallway cams, The street CCTV outside the clinical building, The bus-stop camera two blocks down. And a traffic cam across from her neighborhood that caught anyone walking toward the apartment complex. Not enough to invade her privacy, just enough to track her steps.
Earlier that day, she’d slipped out of clinicals, scrubs wrinkled from a long shift. Another feed showed her waiting at the bus stop, backpack heavy, exhaustion deep in her posture. A traffic camera across the street caught her approaching her apartment block. After that, the trail ended...No inside footage,No access to her floor. Just the blurred outline of her passing the lobby before disappearing from view.
He leaned back, scotch burning warm, but his restlessness stayed sharp.
Yesterday returned to him in pieces...Rossi shuffling into the club, hat twisting between nervous fingers,his voice cracking as he begged for more time on the loans. The man looked like he’d been carved out of grease and fear.
When they patted him down and his wallet spilled open, a single photo slid across the table.
Her.
Sun on her face, innocence soft around the edges.
Something hard and immediate struck him. Before Rossi could stutter another excuse, Lorenzo shoved a contract forward.
“Marry her to me.”
He knew Rossi would come, He had prepared the contract beforehand.
His name already printed bold in the groom’s space.
No negotiating, No middlemen.
Rossi had begged...“She’s in med school, she’s my future”....but the pen still scraped out his surrender.
The vague “groom” her father mentioned to her tonight? That was him.
Now, watching her on the CCTV feeds, the whole thing twisted inside him, turning into something personal, something that hooked beneath his skin.
Why her?
Women at the club draped themselves over him nightly....red lips, dangerous perfume, nails dragging promises up his neck. He took one upstairs just last night, let her claw at him while he went numb. Even then, mid-breath, mid-touch, his mind had drifted to that girl’s panicked sprint.
They begged for him.
She ran.
That fear lit something feral in him. Not just desire....curiosity. A need to know what fueled the fire in her eyes.
“Cut the s**t,” he muttered, slamming the empty glass down.
He had real work tomorrow. Rivals pushing at the docks. A warehouse meeting at dawn. A snitch to break. He should’ve slept. Should’ve planned.
Instead he grabbed his jacket and cap and walked out before logic could stop him.
Rain glazed the streets as the SUV growled through the city. His mind should’ve been on shipments, reroutes, and threats. Instead, he drifted...steering without thinking.
Her apartment block appeared before he even realized where he was going.
What the hell?
He parked far back in the shadows, killed the engine. From this distance, her window was nothing but a soft rectangle of yellow light behind thin curtains. No face. No details. Just the faint movement of a silhouette pacing the room....back and forth, hands probably in her hair, frustration rolling off her in the restless shifting of the light.
Eventually the pacing stopped...her shadow lowered, maybe sinking onto the couch. Later, another light faded. The room quieted. He couldn’t see her climb into bed, couldn’t see her at all. Only the soft dimming of her world as each lamp blinked out.
Still, he knew she was unraveling over the news Rossi had dropped.
Good.
Let her understand the weight of his claim.
He watched longer than he meant to, breath fogging faintly against the cold window beside him. Neighbors’ lights blinked out one by one. Her room settled into darkness.
But something messy tugged inside him....not pity. He didn’t do pity.
Something he hadn’t felt in years.
His phone buzzed. Marco. He ignored it.
Instead, he traced her routine in his mind...clinical building, bus stop, home. A grind he strangely respected. A rhythm he wanted to command. Own.
Dawn edged pink across the sky before he finally drove off.
The shower back home was scalding, steam choking the mirrors. He dressed in black, tailored sharp, chain cool against his collarbone. The mirror reflected the king of this city...untouched, unbothered.
But something had cracked.
Marco texted the meet spot.
His GPS autopiloted him toward it… until he passed her street again.
Third time in less than a day.
Christ!!!
He parked farther away. Early morning light spilled from her building. She emerged in fresh scrubs, coat tight around her, backpack slung over one shoulder. No coffee. Eyes red, but her jaw locked like she’d built armor overnight.
She scanned the street slowly. Too slowly. Her gaze brushed the shadows where he hid..just for a fleeting moment...and adrenaline punched through him.
She jogged toward the bus.
He followed at a distance, staying several cars back as traffic swallowed the route. Watched her slip into the hospital. Watched her leave. Watched her come home through the same grainy CCTV angles.
She was predictable. Disciplined. Fragile in ways, but not weak.
Brave enough to run.
Strong enough to keep moving.
Why was he chasing shadows?
Power said he could take her whenever he wanted.
But something deeper tugged....something hungry for the mystery under her skin.
He didn’t want just obedience.
He wanted the moment she finally looked at him without fear...fought him, challenged him, burned for her own reasons
- Writer
