Page 62 of Terror Tuesday

“You got the date and time?” I ask, refocusing her attention.

“You said two Tuesday nights from now, right? Those are his usual dates with me. But I’ll take him to the restaurant at ten after he comes. Fucker is never late with that. Only issue will be if he hits me too hard that night.”

I grimace. Sure, I’d watch the piece of shit abuse women left and right at various functions, but hearing the details straight from his kept woman’s mouth? It makes me want to move the plan forward sooner.

Sheila’s tough as nails. Hopefully, this money will be enough so that she never has to entertain guys like him again. “You got it.”

Everything’s clicking neatly into place. Olivia’s next trial will be ready before she even knows what’s happening.

A cold whisper prickles down my spine just moments before a hooded figure steps out from an inset in the shadowed alley. Cloaked, unmistakably familiar, and dangerously unwelcome. He pauses beneath the nearest streetlamp, tilting his masked face toward me in silent mockery.

My feet are already moving toward him, but before I reach him, he pivots and strides swiftly toward the alley’s mouth. He stops suddenly, spinning around to point directly at me.

“Shit,” I hiss, my breath sharp in the frigid air. He brought company. A society enforcer steps into view behind the cloaked figure, suit impeccable, a gleaming amethyst Seven badge catching the glow of the streetlamp like a threat made of light. Gun raised, his eyes lock firmly onto me.

So much for discretion.

I spin on my heel without hesitation and sprint for my bike, Converse skidding over slick pavement. Swinging onto the motorcycle, I fire up the engine, the roar splitting the quiet night. Gravel sprays from beneath my tires as I accelerate sharply, horns blaring as I narrowly dodge passing traffic. Burned rubber floods my nostrils. The cold air tastes like copper and speed.

One glance over my shoulder shows the enforcer racing toward a black SUV parked beneath the glowing neon of the restaurant’s OPEN sign.

Game fucking on.

Adrenaline surges as I weave expertly through traffic, dodging between slower-moving cars, taillights blurring into crimson streaks against the night. Wind whips violently aroundme, sharp and exhilarating, my heart slamming furiously against my ribs. This wasn’t part of the goddamn plan.

Headlights loom dangerously close in the side mirror as the SUV barrels relentlessly forward. Gritting my teeth, I rev the throttle, leaning hard into a tight turn that sends sparks flying from beneath my shoes. More horns blare, the roar of my bike echoing fiercely in my ears as buildings blur past, mere shadows in my peripheral vision.

A traffic light ahead flashes red, and the intersection floods with cars racing through from either direction. I squeeze the throttle tighter, duck my head lower, and rocket forward, weaving between vehicles in a zigzag pattern that tenses every muscle and leaves my pulse hammering. Behind me, the pursuing SUV tries to barrel through but becomes trapped, snarled in a pile-up of screeching brakes and honking horns.

Within five minutes, I’m on the open road, the city’s neon glare fading behind me. Countryside rolls past, open and dark, but solitude offers no relief—only clarity.

There’s only one reason they’d hunt me down tonight.

My note.

The worst thing a servant can do is disobey.

If an enforcer is already on me, it means the Seven aren’t bothering with warnings anymore. I’m marked. Dead man walking.

I could disappear—go dark—at least until Olivia is safe.

However…she’d be unprotected. Vulnerable. Alone.

With a muttered curse, I swerve around, heading straight back towardDeltahouse. A bitter laugh slips out beneath my breath. I just hope it isn’t Lex Lynx who gets the pleasure of taking me out. Bastard would savor it.

When I arrive atDelta Kappa Alpha, the damaged black SUV sits ominously in the driveway, headlights off and engine ticking quietly.

Slowly easing my Suzuki into my usual spot in the side garage, I stare at the SUV, weighing my options. I could leave. Return home to Gnarled Pine Hollow and hole up in the Von Dovish estate, letting my family’s security detail handle any society muscle stupid enough to approach.

And they’d hurt enough people I care about to get to me. No, I need to face this.

Masked, of course.

Slipping inside through the kitchen entrance, I follow muted conversation drifting from theDeltapresident’s office down the hall. Apollo’s voice, calm but edged with tension, echoes clearly.

“I assure you, he’s out on an errand,” Apollo’s saying firmly. “If you’d just inform the president, I’ll send him straight to you next week. Then we can all get some sleep at a decent hour. I have class early?—”

“Do I look like I give a shit about your schedule, Mr. Griffin?” the enforcer growls, menace wrapping around every syllable. “You realize what happens to those who shield traitors?”