Prologue

Bosley

A whole month of watching, waiting, preparing. This had taken too damn long, but today was the day. Like clockwork, a rideshare pulled up. A gray Kia Sportage stopped at the curb, and the sweet-faced redhead I'd followed on his errands the last couple of weeks ran out the door. I didn't need to follow them. I knew exactly where they were going. Easing my car out onto the road, I passed the latest Uber or Lyft or whatever the hell he used as he drove the other way. I went to the end of the road and hooked a right, heading for Trader Joe's . It was time for the weekly trip to the grocery store.

Parking, I strode quickly inside and easily found the young man in the produce section. Slipping up beside him at the cantaloupes, I put my hand on one and sighed forlornly. "I can never remember how to tell if they're ripe."

The kid jumped, startled, and gave a nervous laugh. "Right? You can smell it." He demonstrated. This guy really was too cute. An easy mark. "This one's good." He handed it to me.

"Really?" I gave him my most charming smile. His own lips twitched, like he wanted to grin, but instead, they'd formed a straight line as he looked away.

"Ouch," I said.

His gaze moved back to me, alarmed. I set the cantaloupe down and rubbed my shoulder.

"You, okay?"

"Yeah, old injury. I should've stopped at the chiropractor." He visibly tensed. "You ever been? I go to Dr. Harry. Harry Henderson, and he's the best."

Fear flashed through the redhead's green eyes. Maybe your average person wouldn't see it, but I did. I knew fear. I knew how it looked. How it smelled.

"No, I don't, but I gotta go. Have a nice day." He scurried off to the other side of produce, near the lettuce and other leafy vegetables. I'd noticed he bought a lot of those. His boyfriend probably put them in his shake.

I let him go. The store wasn't that busy on a Tuesday morning, but there were enough women and senior citizens shopping in this area, and I needed a quieter space. Leaving the cantaloupe, which I didn't need since I wouldn't be staying in town past tonight, I headed toward the bread aisle to wait. This was my third trip to the grocery store with this kid, so I knew his routine.

Like clockwork, he pushed his cart midway down and stopped in front of the bagels. A quick glance, and I knew we'd be alone for a second.

I sidled up beside him again. "Hello again."

"Um, hi," he said nervously, checking over my shoulder. Probably hoping someone would come so he could get away from me. Good. He had some survival instincts.

"Sorry, Jamie Baker. Am I freaking you out?"

He startled. "H-how do you know my name?"

"I've been watching you for a while. That's how I knew you'd be here today." All the color drained from his face.

He was ready to dart, which, fair enough. Under normal circumstances, he should. But these weren't normal times, and I wasn't here for him. I placed a staying hand on his shoulder. "Don't be nervous, Jamie. I'm here to help you."

His tongue flicked out quickly between his lips, moistening them. "Help me. How? I don't need anything. How do you know my name?"

I chuckled. "I know a lot more than your name. Jamie Baker, twenty-four years old, shady parents. Good on you for cutting them off." Underneath my palm, he started trembling. Leaning in, I lowered my voice. "But do you know what else I know?"

He glanced at my hand, then shook his head.

"I know that you have a sister out in Kansas who loves you very much."

His gaze jumped to my face. "Jessica?"

So much for his self-preservation skills. If I was trying to lure him away for nefarious purposes, he'd just given me enough information to help him along. Lucky for him, I'd talked to his sweet, much more suspicious sister already, and she was expecting him. "That would be her. She'd be happy to see you. In fact, in that big old house of hers, she and her husband have a guest room all made up and waiting for you."

"Jessica's looking for me? That's why you're here?"

Hook, line, and sinker. It was better this way. He'd trust me. They'd figure out later that I'd played them both. But by then, they'd be together, so who cared. "Don't you miss your sister, Jamie?"

His big green eyes brimmed with tears. "I do. But…" That fear clouded his eyes again.

"What if I could help you get to her? Wouldn't you like that?" Again, I turned on the charm.

"But I don't have any money or my—" He cut himself off, eyes widening. He remembered what I'd said in produce. He thought Dr. Harry was my chiropractor, my doctor. The kid was probably shit-scared to talk smack about him.

"Look, kid. I don't know what's going on with you. All I know is that your sister misses you. She wants you to come live with her. My job is to get you there."

His tongue snaked out and licked at his lips again. Hope was starting to replace the fear. But he was wary, as he should be. "I-I don't know you. I'm not going anywhere with you. Why should I even trust you?"

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a driver's license, a copy of his driver's license, to be exact. I handed it to him with the keys to the car I'd rolled up in. I pushed both into his hands. "There's a silver Nissan Sentra parked out in the fourth row. First car next to all those spaces for grocery pick-up only."

He glared at the license like he'd never seen his own face before. "Where did you get this? Why would you help me? Who are you? Did my sister hire you?"

Ignoring his questions, I continued, "In the glove box, you'll find some money and a plane ticket. Go straight to JFK airport. When you get there, park in long-term parking and leave the keys under the seat. Do you understand me?"

"Why should I believe you?"

"You'll also find a phone in the glove box. Call your sister. She'll tell you."

"How do I know you're not trying to kidnap me or something?"

My gaze hardened. My patience was wearing thin. "And would that be any worse than where you are now?"

He stumbled back, bumping into his cart. "But you said that?—"

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. Yeah, yeah, I said his chiropractor boyfriend was my doctor. "Don't worry about what I said. I lied. Take what I gave you and go. Don't look back, Jamie. Do you hear me?"

He nodded. "Yes. Yes. I hear you." He turned, abandoning the cart.

"Wait." Might as well make my life easier. "I'm going to need the keys to Harry's."

"Why?"

"Does it matter? Call your sister. She'll know you're coming."

The first tear spilled and slipped down his cheek. "I want to believe you. So bad. But…but the last time I believed someone…" He trailed off.

"The last time you believed someone, he hurt you, right?" I asked gently, going for more reassuring than get-the-fuck-out-of-here-while-you-have-a-chance.

He nodded.

"Harry?"

He nodded again.

The rage burned through me, but outwardly, I remained calm, placid. "Give me his keys, Jamie."

He shoved his hand into his pocket and handed them over. "But you'll need the code."

I didn't. I already had it. Harry, the chiropractor, was an easy man to figure out. Pretentious, predictable, as good as dead. "Don't you worry about me. And, Jamie, he's been using your phone to track your every move. Do yourself a favor and call your sister, then check for the ticket and the cash. Once you know I'm telling the truth, toss the phone in the parking lot, get in the car and go."

He stared at me until I gave him a little shooing motion with my hands. This time he turned, and he ran.

I waited a few moments and then went out, happy to see the car I'd left for him was gone. Strolling over, I found his cell phone, screen cracked, lying next to where the car had been. Good for him. I pocketed the electronic device and took it with me. Nothing to see here, Harry. Jamie's doing exactly what he's supposed to be.

Now it was a matter of waiting on Harry. Since I sent the redhead off with the car I'd arrived in, it was time for a walk. That was fine. I had plenty of time to kill until Dr. Harry got home. By the time I made it to the monstrosity he called a house, I'd settled inside. Calmed. The rage had simmered down to a low, gentle roll. This was a job like any other.

After sliding on gloves, I let myself into the house. I put in the alarm code—because of course he used his birthday—and began my search. The inside of the house was as ostentatious as the outside. Seriously, it was a good thing this guy went after the young and vulnerable. No one with a shred of self-worth would buy what this guy was selling. It was all such a sham, a fa?ade to make him feel important, ridiculousness.

A quick search of the downstairs yielded nothing useful or interesting. Even his office was for show. A huge cherry wood desk. A diploma on the wall. Pictures of him at a golf competition. Him at some kind of gala. Nothing personal, though. No pictures of parents or siblings or nieces and nephews. All of which he had across the state. Just him posing.

Upstairs, I found the room. The one my friend Omar had told me about. I didn't have many friends; it didn't do in my line of work. I had Tracker, my cyber-hero, but that was a mutually beneficial relationship built on trust and money. We didn't meet up, we didn't hang out, we didn't do niceties. But, Omar, he was my friend.

Or rather, he was Bosley the businessman's friend. The only indulgences I had were attending Daddy-boy weekends that were hosted in various locations around the world. They were perfect for a guy like me. I slipped into my businessman persona and let myself pamper some sweet boy for a weekend. Let myself be something other than a monster. And then it was over. They didn't have expectations, and I never made promises. These boys knew it was for one weekend only. I didn't leave with numbers, and I forgot their names as I exited the hotel.

But several years ago, in New York, there'd been one who stood out. One shy, quirky boy who'd pinged every protective instinct I'd ever had. Instincts I hadn't even known I possessed before him. Because of that, I'd kept in contact with one man, a Daddy, I'd gotten friendly with over the course of the weekend. He'd hooked up with one of Chip's friends, and since they'd end up staying together, they kept me up-to-date with Chip and his life.

Little good that did me. And it had done absolutely nothing for Chip. Based on the story Omar had told me, he'd had to rescue sweet Chip from this house. Harry had pretended to be a Daddy, pretended that he cared about Chip and moved him into this house. Then he'd manipulated, isolated, and abused him. I didn't like shitty people. I despised abusive men. But throw in a helping of pretending to be someone that should've been nurturing, lying about being a Daddy, and Harry had sealed his fate.

In the small room, I saw that Harry's manipulations of Jamie were only half complete. There were still some furnishings, unlike the barren room they'd found when they'd rescued Chip. I wondered how Dr. Harry's patients would feel knowing that they let the hands of an abuser touch them. Most of them probably went monthly or even weekly, letting that piece of shit manipulate their spines the same way he manipulated these young men who he promised to love and cherish.

Inspecting the room, I found a small surveillance camera in the vent. Bingo. I'd known I needed to come and take care of this myself. Omar and his friends wouldn't have looked, wouldn't have thought about it. They were good men, stable, upstanding. They'd come to rescue a shy, sweet boy without questioning anything further. But I knew better. I knew the darkness that lived inside men like Harry.

Yanking off the vent cover, I grabbed the small camera and crushed it in my hand, then dropped it on the ground and crushed it under my foot. That took care of problem number one. I'd have to thoroughly check the other vents in the house more carefully before I left.

Leaving the depressing room behind, I opened every door until I found Harry's bedroom. Where would this guy keep something he shouldn't have? My eyes traveled the room. Most people hid things in their closets, under the bathroom sink maybe, or if they were really smart, in a safe. But that wasn't doctor—what did Omar call him, douche canoe's—style. He thought he was more. He thought he was special. He lorded over these young men like a God. I smirked. He'd want his treasures close. Under the bed.

One nightstand had an alarm clock, and the drawer was only half-closed, caught on a bottle of lube, so I headed there and dropped to my knees. Sure enough, there was a black plastic bin with a lid. I pulled it out and set it on the bed. Opening it, my blood went cold. What an absolute piece of shit. The top picture was the sweet young man I'd just sent to the airport. I hadn't even known he existed that first week I trailed Harry, and this was why. It was time-stamped six weeks ago. He cowered on his bed, tucked into the corner, resting his chin on his knees. There were tear tracks down his cheeks and one eye was swollen shut.

"Oh, what a big man you are, Dr. Harry," I muttered.

Underneath that, I found a picture of the sweet boy who I hadn't seen in over four years. Chip. There were several pictures of him, all in various stages of abuse. There were more. More boys. Photos that went back years based on the time-stamp on the pictures. This piece of crap had pulled still shots from the video and printed them up, sliding them in the box under his bed where he could admire his handiwork. Thank God I had gloves on. Who the fuck knew how many bodily fluids he'd left on them jerking off?

Disgusted, I grabbed the whole box and strode down to the living room. Good thing he had a fireplace. It was a truly nice day for a fire.

By the time night fell, I'd methodically gone through every piece of Harry's house, wanting to make sure I found every picture and scrap of anyone's existence who he'd taken advantage of and burned it. They didn't need this connection to him. They never needed to be seen the way he'd displayed them again. Not by Harry. Not by strangers.

I waited silently in the dark for him to arrive home. It would be any moment. When the garage door rumbled open, I slipped back into the dining room, into the shadows. He made noise coming in, then he called, "Jamie? Where are you? Why does it smell like smoke in here? Why isn't dinner ready?"

He stomped into his living room, and I slipped up behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist, as I pressed my thumb and index finger up into his neck, holding him steady. "Jamie's not here," I whispered. Letting my breath ghost over his ear.

"Who the fuck are you? Let me go!" He bucked, thrashing. He was a fit man, trim from his running and light workouts at the gym. All he wanted was to look good, be esteemed. I worked out hard in the gym for this. For my life's work. I liked to be up close and personal. To smell their fear, their terror. To feel how much fight they actually had inside.

As I suspected, as he struggled, kicking out behind him, trying to get me off him, he didn't have shit inside of him. He wasn't competition. He wasn't a fighter. Bullies rarely were. Those who picked on the innocent and vulnerable didn't have the ability to handle someone like me. This man was weak.

"Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry. You've been a very bad boy. Or should I say, a bad Daddy. Did you pretend to be Jamie's Daddy, too? Or did you reserve that for Chip?" I sneered into his ear.

His whole body tensed. "Oh yeah, I know all about what you did to sweet Chip. I also know you went to Takoda trying to hunt him down, drag him back, like he was a possession. Nothing more than a piece of furniture. I saw the pictures, too. Of the others. You're a sick man, Harry."

He tried to speak, and I pushed my fingers harder into his throat. I didn't need his words, his begging, or his tears. There was no coming back from this. His life had been forfeited the minute he set his sights on Chip.

"This isn't the Harry show. I'm talking. I bet you thought that punch to the face Omar gave you when you tried grabbing Chip was it. You thought all you lost was your prize. Did that bruise your ego? Did it hurt? Did you have to lick your wounds when you came home? I'd have gotten here sooner, but I had a job to complete. I hate that it gave you time to entrap Jamie, but hopefully, he'll be more cautious in the future. I'm sure his sister will watch out for him."

"What the hell, man? Get out of my house. I'm calling the police," he said, wheezing.

I chuckled darkly. "Oh, Harry. You won't be doing any of those things ever again." Stumbling him forward to the table, I let him see my sweet baby. My beautiful karambit. My knife was so good to me. "I hope you enjoyed the misery you inflicted, Harry. I hope it was enough. That it was worth your life. Because that's all you'll ever have."

I didn't give him enough time to scream. Hell, he didn't have enough time to blink before my sweet girl was in my hand and sliced up under his chin, severing his carotid artery and jugular vein. That was it. Dead . Done with him, I dropped his lifeless body where I stood.

He ceased to exist to me as I went to the kitchen and cleaned my girl. Such a beautiful instrument of death had to be treated with the utmost respect. Tossing the towel I used into a garbage bag, I picked it up and walked out into the garage where I'd already loaded Jamie's stuff into Harry's extra vehicle. I'd gotten lucky he'd taken his sports car today and left his SUV. I'd mail Jamie his things and leave Harry's car in the long-term parking at the airport like I'd told Jamie to do with the Nissan .

With a sigh of satisfaction, I backed out of the driveway. This job was done. Not a bad day's work, if I did say so myself.