Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Damien

I slip out of bed, the cool hardwood floor beneath my feet sending a delicious shiver up my spine. The cold sensation invigorates me, a stark contrast to the heat of anticipation burning in my veins. I down a quick cup of coffee before pulling on my running gear.

I stayed at my penthouse in downtown L.A. for this very run, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—my Francesca.

I step out into the crisp morning air, taking a deep breath. The scent of last night's rain lingers, mixing with the usual city smells. A hint of exhaust, a whiff of ocean. A smile tugs at my lips as I start my run. Today is going to be a day to remember.

I take off at a brisk pace, my feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. My heart rate climbs, blood pumping hard through my veins. I embrace the rush, letting it feed my excitement. It's moments like these when I feel truly alive, in control of my fate.

I can almost pretend to be one of them . Just another face in the crowd, out for a morning jog. They don't know who or what I truly am. They don't see the monster lurking beneath the handsome facade. But if they look closely enough and peer behind the mask, they'll see a face that will make their blood run cold.

A face that should fucking terrify them.

The city blurs past me in a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. I weave through the alleys and side streets as the sun glints off the steel and glass towers that loom above me.

I check my smartwatch. An hour has passed since I left my apartment. Almost showtime.

I round the corner onto Maple Street, and slow to a jog as I approach St. Jude Park, keeping my breathing even despite the excitement in my gut. Can't look too eager or give the game away too soon.

I time it perfectly, reaching the park as a familiar dark sedan glides up to the curb. Francesca DeMarco steps out, all long legs and determined grace. Frankie to her friends on the force, Detective DeMarco to the fools who think they matter. But to me? She's so much more. My adversary, my muse, my obsession. My revenge.

I can't take my eyes off her as she stands before the fountain, her keen gaze sweeping the area, no doubt searching for more traces of Ryder Beaumont. The memory of his butchered corpse, pale and destroyed, sends a thrill down my spine. That body and the others I've left in my wake link us together, Francesca and me.

An unbreakable bond forged in blood and darkness. She doesn't realize it yet, but she belongs to me. And I to her, in a way.

But I force myself to be patient, to savor the slow burn of our deadly dance. The game is far from over, and I still have a symphony of horrors yet to orchestrate for my beloved Frankie.

She believes she's the hunter, but little does she know I'm the one holding the puppet strings. I'm the maestro, and she's the unwitting star of my demented play.

Francesca and her partner linger by the fountain, no doubt searching for Beaumont's severed cock. I sliced it off with surgical precision, a mocking tribute left behind. But they won't find it. Not unless I want them to.

And watching them search, seeing the determined set of Francesca's jaw, the fire in her eyes, puts a smile on my face. Her determination is admirable but futile. A fool's errand. She wants to catch me so badly she can taste it.

I've seen it in the tick of her jaw when the press confronts her, the frustration simmering in her captivating brown eyes when she has no answers to give.

Keep trying, my pet. Keep chasing me. You'll catch up to me eventually, but only when I'm ready.

Until then, I'll be watching. Waiting. Savoring every moment of our twisted existence. Just thinking about my plan has my cock swelling in my joggers.

I can't wait to make Francesca mine. Make her submit to me. I crave her. Aside from my other plans, she's all I can think about lately. Seducing her. Fucking her. Making her mine so that I can destroy her.

Frankie and her colleague disappear as I sprint along the park's perimeter, but I still sense her presence. She's completely fixated on me, the murderer, trying to decode my mind and why I killed that guy.

A grin spreads across my face as I recall the pathetic whimpers and pleas that went with my blade slicing through his shrinking cock. The wide, disbelieving eyes that saw me taking away what he cherished most—it was a rush. Now, watching Francesca trying to piece it together, I get to relive it all over again.

I increase my pace, pumping my arms and legs harder to round the park and make it to the other side of the fountain. Jogging in place for a few minutes, I come to an abrupt stop at the park's north entrance as I watch her.

I blend in perfectly with the crowd of joggers and parkgoers, all of us taking advantage of the post-rain sunshine. I stand and stare while I stretch my hamstrings and then my quads and arms, soaking up the conversation between Frankie and her partner. I can hear her slightly husky voice as she tries to unravel the mystery. Of me. Trying to find the thread that connects those assholes, but I've made sure she'll never find it. I'm meticulous, leaving nothing to chance, and it's a damn good thing because a detective like Francesca, with her razor-sharp intellect and relentless determination, is a worthy opponent.

For once.

She's frustrated by her lack of progress, and I understand that because it's my job to confound her. It's taken years to plan my revenge, and I won't let anyone stand in my way.

Not even you, kitten.

Detective DeMarco turns and scans the growing crowd, and I swear her gaze collides with mine. The impact for me is like being struck by a Mack truck, but with my sunglasses on she can't tell if I'm watching her or rubbernecking like all the others. But I sense the connection with such intensity and rawness, as if there is a tether binding us, and the tingling sensation on my skin assures me that I'm alive, almost as alive as when I'm hunting. Or killing.

Almost .

With a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, I break the staring contest first and smile at Francesca. Does she see me? I can't tell for sure, but I think that little grin playing on her full, luscious lips is meant just for me. A secret acknowledgment of the twisted game we're playing.

My watch beeps, telling me it's time to put on my daytime mask as Damien Wolfe, the handsome and charming, smart-as-a-whip software developer who rules over the tech industry with an iron fist in a velvet glove.

I jog away from the crime scene and back to my penthouse, where I shed my sweaty clothes and step into a steaming hot shower. The scalding water pours over me, washing away any trace of the dark deeds I've committed.

I dress carefully in a perfectly tailored Armani suit, the fine Italian fabric sliding over my skin like armor. It completes the mask I wear for roughly twelve hours each day, the facade of a successful, respectable businessman. I love the way it feels on my body. It's smart, sophisticated, and powerful.

No one would ever suspect the monster lurking beneath the designer labels and megawatt smile. And that's exactly how I like it.

I stride into my office, my mind buzzing with the thrill of last night's kill. Another name crossed off The List, another asshole permanently removed from this world. It's a thrill, knowing I can dispense justice where the system fails.

Jess, my assistant, jumps to attention as I exit the elevator, her heels clicking rapidly on the marble floor as she rushes to my side.

"Mr. Wolfe," she says, a vision in pink. Jess looks more like a real housewife of wherever than she does the best damn executive assistant I've ever had. I'd be lost without her.

"Good morning," she continues, keeping step with me. Word on the street is that Justin Storm is considering selling, and you're scheduled to meet with him at 11 today.

I freeze, my eyes narrow. "Where did you hear that?"

In my world, information is currency, and I pride myself on always being one step ahead. The thought that something could have slipped past me deeply unsettles me.

Jess shrugs, unfazed by my intensity. "I ran into his assistant last night at On the Rocks. Poor thing is overworked and underappreciated, and I'm a good listener," she explains with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I chuckle. "Am I paying you enough?"

"Can one ever be paid too much?" she says with an easy laugh as she follows me into my sprawling corner office. The view of downtown LA never fails to take my breath away, but my eyes quickly return to the portfolio Jess sets on my desk.

"Anyway, I put together a portfolio of what he has, highlighting what I think would most interest you. The research on reactivating neural pathways, which was scrapped for cost not bad science," she adds. "There's not much time before he arrives," she says, glancing at her watch before setting down the coffee mug and leaving me at peace to look over her research.

I lean back in my leather chair and take a moment to savor the news. Oh, the money I could make with technology like this. The secrets I could uncover, the enemies I could unmake. A slow, wicked smile spreads across my face.

Justin Storm has no idea who he's dealing with. But he will. Soon enough, they all will.

I lift the dossier Jess had left, skimming through it, but my mind stubbornly drifts back to the captivating detective. Seeing her in the flesh is far more enticing than the glimpses on the nightly news. She's slender yet robust, a woman who cultivates strength, ready to defend herself with or without her firearm. She's stunning, but in a city like L.A., attractive faces are a dime a dozen, and Francesca is more than just another pretty face.

She's smart. Shrewd. An exceptional detective.

And I'm ready to bring her down.

My mind floods with visions of pinning her beneath me, driving into her hard and deep as she cries out for more, scratching and clawing at my back, driven wild by my touch.

When she comes all over me, will her eyes be a deep, rich brown or a light amber hue? The fear that flashes in her eyes when I wrap my hand around her throat makes my cock twitch.

Will I end her life then and there, or will I give her the best orgasm of her life?

Maybe both.

Maybe not.

Francesca has no idea what's in store for her, but I can hardly contain myself. It's time to kick it up a notch. My need to have her, to own her, to destroy her is bubbling to the surface, and there's only one way to simmer it.

Get closer.

A quick knock sounds on the door before Jess enters, a smile playing on her lips. "Storm is here, so consider this your five-minute warning."

"Thank you, Jess." The games never cease, but while I enjoy the daylight games, it's the ones at night that fuel my vengeance.