Page 45 of Theirs to Hunt

And then it hits. That feeling. Being watched.

Damn it. My head swivels, searching for my two menaces. But it’s not that pull low in my abdomen. Just a presence. Watching.

I slow my scan to the upper level, and there he is.

As only a 6'7" man can be.

Tucked into the shadows at the upstairs railing, clad in all black. Not flashy. Not drunk. Watching like he owns the place. The crowd doesn’t touch him.

He’s not looking at me. He’s watching Bobbie.

I don’t nudge her. Not yet. She hasn’t seen him. But something in the way he watches her, focused, intense, almost reverent, makes me slow.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. And for all the noise around us, there’s a strange quiet between them, even with half the club in the way.

Bobbie turns, laughing at something I didn’t catch, and the man shifts. Barely. A subtle tilt of the head. A mutual acknowledgment: I’ve got her back. The look that follows? Wary trust. Interesting.

Leaning close to her ear so I can be heard, I shout, “Get another drink?”

She nods, and we weave toward the bar, my eyes still locked on him, my hand gripping hers. I finally turn forward after running into her back, knowing he’s still watching.

I smirk.Anonymous, huh? Let’s see if you’re as bold when she finally sees you.

Chapter thirty-eight

Bobbie, Friday 11:30 p.m.

Rae thinks she’s subtle, but her tells are obvious. The toss of her hair. The way she orders tequila when she usually sips wine. The outfit that darescome closer and risk it.

Tonight isn’t about fun. It’s about fury. And I’m all in.

The club is humid, sweat and lights and too many bodies crushed together. But I thrive in chaos. I throw myself into the crowd with Rae hot on my heels, dancing like it’s my job, burning off questions I’m not ready to ask.

About Rae.

Or the man I can feel watching me, making it harder not to think about him.

He’s here.

I feel him before I see him. A thread of heat pulls tight along the back of my neck, drawing my attention to the upper level. And sure enough, there he is. Standing like he carved himself from the dark. Eyes locked on me.

Anonymous.

He hasn’t given me his real name. He showed up about a month ago and inserted himself into my life. No idea what he does, only that he appears when least expected. Always when needed.

Supplies for Rae. A ride for the guy I stitched up behind my building. I could have lost my license for that. But I couldn’t look at someone bleeding out and not help, even if he had made all the wrong choices.

And him? The way he looks at me, like I am a mystery he intends to solve, it short-circuits every defense I have. He always knows what I need before I even say it.

I try not to think too hard about how. Or why.

He just shows up. And for now, maybe that’s enough.

He doesn’t hide. Doesn’t flinch when I finally meet his gaze. Only watches. Unreadable. Almost respectful. Almost.

I break eye contact first. Because if I don’t, I’ll go to him.

And I can’t. Not yet.