Chương 1 - THE COLD ALLEY DISCOVERY
The freezing autumn rain pelted the narrow brick alleyway behind L’Étoile Royale, an upscale French restaurant situated in the heart of the city's financial district.
Water poured from rust-streaked copper gutters, slamming into the cracked pavement in heavy, rhythmic surges. The narrow corridor was choked with industrial grease traps, stacked wooden wine crates, and towering metal dumpsters that reflected the harsh, yellow glare of security lights mounted high on the brick walls.
Through the pouring rain stepped Naen Walker.
At twenty-six, Naen carried the quiet, bone-deep exhaustion of a young single mother working double shifts to survive. Her brown hair was tied up into a hasty, messy bun, dark circles lingering beneath her tired eyes. She wore a thin, worn dark coat over a cheap white server's blouse and a faded black knee-length skirt. Tied around her waist was a white cotton work apron. She clutched her battered leather purse tightly against her ribs, her sneakers squeaking over the flooded asphalt as she hurried toward the restaurant’s service entrance.
Her four-year-old son, Toby, was at home with a fever, and his specialty asthma medication was due for a refill by Friday. She couldn't afford to lose a single hour of pay.
As she passed a row of overflowing industrial dumpsters, a heavy metallic thump cut through the sound of falling rain.
Naen stopped dead in her tracks. She ducked her head against the icy wind, her dark brown eyes scanning the shadows wedged between two brick alcoves.
Lying on the freezing asphalt, slumped heavily against a soot-stained brick wall, was a man.
He was broad-shouldered and tall, wearing a bespoke charcoal wool overcoat and a tailored charcoal suit that was ruined by dark, spreading moisture. His dark hair was swept back, plastered to his forehead by the rain. His face was carved with razor-sharp, masculine features—a heavy jawline covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones, and dark eyes that burned with a fierce, dangerous intensity even in his weakened state.
Beneath the collar of his expensive, wet white shirt, dark black ink tattoos snaked up his muscular neck, extending across the backs of his broad hands. One hand was pressed hard against his left side, blood oozing through his thick fingers and dripping into the rainwater flowing past his knees.
Despite his horrific condition, he carried an aura of absolute, terrifying authority.
Naen dropped her purse into the wet gravel and fell to her knees beside him, her skirt soaking up the dirty rainwater immediately.
"Sir!" Naen gasped, reaching out with trembling hands. "Sir, can you hear me? You're badly hurt!"
May you like
The man’s eyes snapped toward her, dark and sharp as shattered obsidian. His voice came out as a low, raspy growl, laced with command even as he struggled to breathe.
"Walk away," Roman rasped, his teeth grinding together as pain shot through his ribcage. "Now."
