Primal Pursuit

“And he’s alone?”

“Yes,” one of my contacts says. “Very.”

“Good.”

I hang up and text Maximo who’s in charge of all Dark Sovereign’s security. He agreed to do me this personal favor, something he doesn’t hand out freely.

Sending you an address and a photo of a girl. Keep an eye on her place. Don’t let her leave.

On it. You owe me one.

Feeling a little more at ease, I put the address I was given into Google Maps and start driving.

Shit, I had to knock her the fuck out. Drug her water and hide the taste of the powerful sleeping pills I had on me. I always carry them. There are times I just need to knock someone out in a harm-free way. Sometimesthat someone’s me, like on a long-haul flight. I rarely take them, but a flight’s the perfect place for assisted sleep. And when I’m operating on little to no sleep and have a hit, then getting off that flight with shut-eye under my belt means I can really hit the ground running.

Didn’t need them this time, but there were a few times some of the girls we rescued needed to be put down for some hours of dreamless sleep.

As I said, I always have them, and tonight, the last one came in handy.

Rabbit’s a grown woman. She can do what the fuck she wants, kill who the fuck she wants. But not something as risky as this. I kept her out for an alibi should the cops come knocking.

If they do—which I doubt—she’ll say she had a date, and the restaurant will verify. There are even fucking receipts. Nothing in my name, but rather David Shore, my go-to paper trail guy.

There are other ways to handle this. Do nothing. Call it in and get Dark Sovereign truly involved. Just watch or hire a goon to threaten him.

The first and the last option are total shit. Men like her landlord don’t stop once they start. And they don’t react well to threats. The middle one? That’s the smart thing to do. The best way. It’s not like the Dark Sovereign needs to sign off on things I do. I’m one of the Elite. I’m not the king, but I’m in the fucking inner circle of the court if we go with that analogy.

Unless it’s a violation of any deals or partnerships or crossing enemy lines just to get my murder on, they don’t really care.

But with this, they might just. Rabbit’s connected to my first real hit. And that’s connected to something Alexius has going. He’s concerned because of her and me.

Her and me?

Is that a thing? Us?

Yeah. That’s gonna be a yeah. Fuck, I know it’s a yeah.

She’s my problem and one that fits so well with my kinks and desires I want to keep her my problem for as long as I can.

But me doing this? I’m doing it because it’s going to scratch an itch to fucking destroy the motherfucker who dared lay fingers on her in the wrong way.

No one does that.

No one.

I’m choosing this option because I want to.

That face he messed up is mine. Her and the entire package that comes with her is mine—even if it is a murder-inclined package. It doesn’t matter. It’s. Mine.

She’s mine.

I turn onto the freeway to skirt around and change cars. I push my hand through my hair.

Fuck me, she hasn’t looked at the tattoo?

That’s some submissive shit right there. And I actually like it.

Rabbit’s a gloriously strange creature, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.