Page 29 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

“You know the type,” my inner voice snickered.

Yeah, I did. People like me.

The monsters.

The 24-hour gym attracted insomniacs, obsessives, and the downright dangerous. From my hiding spot across the street, I could see why. It was empty, silent except for the hum of the fluorescent lights. The treadmills sat abandoned, and the stationary bikes looked untouched.

There wasn’t a soul in sight… except one.

Third bench in the weight section. Hoodie up. Headphones in. Perfectly unaware.

The thing about predators was this: they always thought they were the most lethal thing out there.

Wrong.

Anyone who’s ever seen Shark Week knows there’s always a bigger fish.

And tonight, that fish was me.

I leaned against the far wall next to the vending machine.

Whoever placed a vending machine full of chocolate opposite a gym was one sick fuck.

I watched through the smudged glass encasing the gym as Trey did three reps, grunted like he actually knew how to lift, and then deposited the barbell on the rack.

I pushed off the wall and headed in his direction. When I entered the gym, the foul aroma of stale sweat and body odor assaulted me, and my lip curled in disgust.

There was a reason I worked out in my private gym.

As I peeled my hoodie over my head, I felt Trey’s eyes on my back. Ignoring him, I grabbed a towel from the rack and made my way over to the weight station as if I were just another guy needing a late-night session to ward off his demons.

Surprise, motherfucker. I am the demon.

“Mind if I rotate in?” I asked, gesturing to the bench.

“Sure, man,” Trey said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Give me a sec.”

I waited.

Patience was everything in my line of work.

The hunt wasn’t about the kill. It was about the chase.

And the reward — that flicker of realization behind someone’s eyes when they realized they weren’t getting out alive.

It was everything.

By the time I slid into position and gripped the bar, I could already feel the subtle shift in the air.

Trey’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Judging by the excitement flickering in his gaze, the message was from the woman I’d been tailing.

The woman he thought no one knew about.

The one he’d marked.

She was about to owe me a gift basket, because I was going to take her stalker out at the knees.

Trey fucking Mathews.

Age: 34.

Occupation: Architect.

No priors. No red flags to speak of.

But patterns?

Yeah, those were bleeding all over his life like a gut wound.

I first noticed Trey about a month ago when I was trailing someone else. Call it a sign from God or like attracting like, but I knew a predator when I saw one.

He hovered just a bit too long when talking to women, despite their obvious discomfort. And he never approached women who seemed outspoken or capable of defending themselves. His tastes were more particular.

He liked the ones who looked nervous.

New.

Isolated.

So, I dug a little deeper.

You could learn a lot about a person if you knew where to look.

Old gym registrations. Deleted social media accounts. Photos people thought were private.

However, the most fruitful bounty came from a handful of anonymous Reddit posts I had cross-referenced against IP logs from forums that should have been shut down years ago.

His screen name? AlphaPred34.

Subtle, Trey.

While he hadn’t hurt anyone yet, he was circling. Testing boundaries. Manipulating. Grooming.

The woman on the other end of the phone: she would be his first.

Amber.

Twenty-six. New to Boston. No local family. And she recently joined the gym on a 30-day free trial.

The most uncanny thing, however, was how closely her physical appearance matched the other victims of The Boston Phantom.

Just like Layla.

That thought had my palms curling into fists. I’d find that motherfucker and end him before he ever had a chance to lay eyes on her.

I didn’t think for a second that Trey was The Boston Phantom. He was too green, too cocky, to evade capture as the Phantom had.

But it did beg the question: did he know him?

Speculation was rife about the Phantom’s identity. Many investigators had surmised that he hadn’t started out killing. As was often the case, these types of criminals started smaller.

Stalking. Harassment. Assault.

Then, when that grew old, their behavior escalated. I was certain that Trey was still in the infant stages of his criminal evolution, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have someone helping him.

Guiding him.

If Trey was who I suspected he was, then I was about to be one step closer to my ultimate prey.

Sweat coated my brow as I continued to lift the barbell, and I watched as Trey’s smirk grew sinister.

I’d been watching Amber since her first interaction with Trey. I saw the flicker of fear when he talked to her. Always too close, too overbearing, to be innocent. Although she smiled politely, Amber shrank away from him whenever he approached.

Fear in disguise is still fear.

Eventually, she stopped coming to the gym altogether. That didn’t deter Trey, though. He charmed one of the personal trainers into looking up her phone number from her registration form, and he’d been texting her ever since.

She’d blocked his number more than once, but Trey didn’t take the hint. He’d bought burner phone after burner phone just so he could enjoy his twisted games.

He wasn’t convinced that she was off-limits.

Tonight was to be his test run. One more little nudge to see how far he could push her.

Unfortunately for him, I’d decided to speed up my timeline. I needed a distraction from my inability to find the fucker who’d broken into Layla’s apartment. He hadn’t left a breadcrumb for me to follow, like I expected. And that pissed me the fuck off.

As I lifted the barbell onto the rack, I sat up, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my towel. The cocky grin on Trey’s face only enhanced my anger. He thought his messages proved he was an alpha.

What they were was a death sentence.

As if sensing my gaze on him, Trey glanced back at me over his shoulder.

“You training for something?” he asked, only half interested.

“Yeah… something.”

I flashed him a maniacal grin, and he peered around the gym, as if only now realizing we were alone.

“Cool. I’m gonna hit the showers.”

He nodded toward the change rooms, and I waved him off, as if I was uninterested.

But beneath my lowered gaze, I tracked his every movement. I watched as he retrieved his bag and tossed his phone inside. When he disappeared from view, I stood from the bench and stretched.

What came next would be my true workout.

Instead of heading for the front exit, I moved toward the back of the building, slipping through the side door reserved for staff.

Well, staff, and one self-important gobshite who thought he was too elite for the common folk up front.

At home among the shadows, I waited.

Trey took his time in the showers, and the cool Boston air seeped beneath my skin. Just as I was ready to go search for him, the door creaked open, drawing my attention.

There he was.

Hoodie half-zipped, earbuds stuffed in his ears, steam rising from his damp skin as it met the cold. His wet hair was slicked back, and water droplets traced their way down the side of his neck.

He looked relaxed. Loose.

Unsuspecting.

He didn’t see me when I stepped out of the shadows.

They never did.

I moved behind him, my steps measured, not making a sound. My fingers gripped the end of the syringe in my pocket as I removed the cap.

“Oh, Treyyyyy,” I sang.

He turned, his brows pulled together in confusion.

“What the —”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. My hand shot out, grabbing him by the nape and yanking him to me as I buried the needle into the side of his neck. He made a garbled sound, somewhere between a protest and a gasp, as he tried to push me off.

His limbs turned to rubber, his body sagging into mine as his knees buckled. I eased him to the ground so he wouldn’t crack his skull on the concrete. That would be too messy, and besides, I hadn’t finished with him yet.

I crouched beside his semi-conscious form and tilted his chin up so I could look him in the eye.

“There it is,” I whispered. “That flicker of realization. It’s my favorite part.”

Trey tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. His eyelids closed as he lost the fight to remain conscious.

“Nighty night, motherfucker.”