Page 6 of Tempted By Shadow

I report to King every evening. “Nothing to report” has become my standard line. She goes to the store. She goes to the coffee shop. She comes home. She doesn’t go out at night, doesn’t meet with anyone suspicious, doesn’t do anything that suggests she’s about to make another bad decision.

She’s just... living. Quietly. Like someone trying to put themselves back together.

I don’t tell King that part. Don’t tell him that I can see the exhaustion in her shoulders even from across the street. Don’t tell him that she sits on her balcony some nights, alone, staring at nothing. Don’t tell him that watching her makes me feel as though I’m seeing something I shouldn’t be allowed to see.

I’m being professional.

It’s Thursday evening when it all goes to shit.

I’m parked across the street from her apartment building, pretending to check my phone, when the front door swings open and she walks out. Nothing unusual. She does this most evenings — walks to the corner store, grabs something for dinner, comes back.

But tonight she doesn’t head for the corner store.

Tonight she stops on the sidewalk. Looks left. Looks right. And then her eyes land on me, and I know — I fucking know — that I’m done for.

She walks straight toward me.

Not in my general direction. Not past me. At me. Eyes locked on mine, jaw set, moving like a woman who’s about to ruin someone’s day.

I think about starting the bike. Getting out of here before she reaches me. But that would be admitting I was doing exactly what I was doing, and some stupid part of me still thinks I can play this off.

She stops three feet away. Crosses her arms. Looks at me like I’m the dumbest person she’s ever met.

“You’re really bad at this, you know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughs — short, sharp, not really amused. “The tailing thing. I spotted you day one. Day. One. You’re on a Harley. You’re wearing a prospect cut. You park in the same three spots in rotation, like that somehow makes you subtle. And you’ve been outside my apartment building for about six hours total over the last three days. What exactly was your plan here?”

I don’t have an answer for that. At least not one that won’t make me sound like an idiot.

“King asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She doesn’t look surprised. Just tired. And annoyed. Mostly annoyed. “That’s very on-brand for my brother. Can’t let me have five minutes of independence without sending someone to make sure I don’t burn down the city.”

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” She uncrosses her arms and sighs, some of the fight going out of her. “Look, I get it. You’re a prospect. King says jump, you ask how high. That’s how it works. I know that — I grew up watching it. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at him. But since you’re here, anyway...”

She trails off. I wait. My heart is doing something stupid in my chest, and I’m suddenly aware of how close she’s standing. Close enough that I can see the flecks of amber in her dark eyes. Close enough that I can smell her perfume — something floral that doesn’t match her sharp edges at all.

“You may as well come in,” she says. “If you’re going to babysit, you might as well do it somewhere with coffee.”

She turns and walks toward her building without waiting for a response.

I should stay on the bike. I should text King and tell him she saw me. I should be professional about this, report in, let someone else take over the surveillance.

Instead, I’m swinging off my bike and following her.

Every step feels like a mistake. The kind of mistake I’m going to regret. The kind that ends with me losing everything I’ve worked for — the patch, King’s trust, my place in the only family I’ve ever had.

She holds the door open for me, and doesn’t say a thing. Just gives me a look that’s half challenge, half something else I can’t read. Something that makes my blood run a little hotter than it should.

I follow her up the stairs.

Her apartment is on the second floor. Third door on the left. The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close she is and the way she moves.

I notice other things too, the kind of details King would want to know about. The stairwell needs better lighting. The lock on the main entrance is flimsy — wouldn’t take much to force it. There’s a fire escape at the end of the hall, rusted but functional. Her door has a deadbolt, at least. Though it doesn’t look robust exactly.