SLOANE
The city never paused for anyone—not even for a bodyguard about to meet the man who thought he owned half of it.
I left the rooftop with the coordinates burning in my mind, every instinct screaming that this job wasn't going to be simple. The wet streets reflected neon like liquid fire under my boots, and I moved through the shadows like I belonged there, even though I didn't. Not yet.
The café Agent Lane picked was tucked between a closed hardware store and a shuttered boutique. Dim lighting, the smell of coffee mixed with grease and rain. Perfect. Safe enough, though not without risk. I didn't take chances. I never did.
Lane was already inside, sharp eyes scanning the room even as she waved me over. She didn't smile. "Sloane Cole. Sit. Quickly."
I slid into the chair across from her, eyes scanning the café like I always did. Every exit, every reflection, every person within a twenty-foot radius logged in my mind. Lane noticed but didn't comment.
"The client," she began without preamble, "wants a bodyguard. Female. And he has… conditions."
I raised an eyebrow. "Conditions?"
Lane exhaled slowly. "Rules. Boundaries. Expectations. You work for him, you follow them, or you don't get paid. And trust me—walking away isn't usually the option once you're in the room."
I leaned back slightly, neutral. "Define 'rules'."
"No social contact. No unauthorized communication. No mistakes." Her eyes sharpened. "And do not let his ego—or arrogance—entice you into breaking protocol. He has a way of making people bend without realizing it."
I smirked slightly. "Sounds charming."
Lane didn't. "It's a trap if you let it be. That man doesn't respect weakness. He doesn't negotiate. He doesn't care who you were or what you've done. You protect him, period. And he'll test every boundary, every assumption, every instinct you have. That's part of the package."
I considered her words carefully. Every assignment had its tests, but I sensed before even meeting him, that this one would be different. Higher stakes. Sharper edges. A man who didn't just wield power but radiated it like a weapon.
"Understood," I said finally. Neutral. Precise. My tone left nothing for interpretation.
Lane slid a folder across the table. "Schedule, protocols, emergency codes, all of it. Study it. Memorize it. Tomorrow, you enter his residence for preliminary observation. You'll meet him… eventually. But first, you observe, you adapt, you report. Don't let your guard down. Not once."
I flipped through the folder, scanning layouts, guard rotations, camera positions, escape routes. Every detail mattered, every angle a potential threat—or advantage.
"I work alone," I said, eyes lifting to hers. "If anyone tries to interfere, I handle it. That includes him."
Lane gave a small nod. "Good. That attitude might save your life. Most… falter at the first arrogant smile."
I pocketed the folder, standing. "Then I won't falter."
She slid a card across the table. "For emergencies. Only use it if… well, you know."
I didn't respond, simply pocketed it, and left. Outside, the rain had begun to fall lightly, slicking the streets. My gloves were damp before I could realize it. I didn't care. Focus mattered more than comfort. Focus always mattered.
---
The streets were unusually quiet as I walked toward my car, puddles reflecting the neon chaos of the city in jagged fragments. The folder was secure, my senses alert. Every shadow had a story, every passerby a potential threat. And instinct whispered that someone was watching.
I caught the first hint of it near the corner of my eye—a figure lingering, too calculated to be coincidence. Black coat, hands tucked in pockets, posture deliberate. Someone who knew how to move quietly.
I slowed my pace, letting my breath settle, letting the figure make a mistake. One false step, one glance in the wrong direction and I would have my answer.
The figure mirrored me. Not exactly, but enough to confirm suspicion. A tail.
I ducked into a narrow alley, boots splashing lightly through water. The figure followed. Predictable.
"Looking for me?" I said without turning, voice low, controlled. My Glock rested lightly against my hip—easy to draw, easier to aim.
A pause. Then a soft, familiar laugh.
"Not looking, just… keeping an eye," came the voice. Familiar. Dangerous in its own way.
I spun, weapon raised, eyes locking on the man in front of me. Recognition struck fast.
"You," I breathed.
"Surprised?" he said, hands raised in mock surrender. His smirk was infuriatingly confident, like he owned this entire moment. Like he owned me. "I didn't think I'd run into you again."
My heart didn't skip. I didn't smile. I didn't give him anything. "I should've known. You always appear when trouble's brewing."
He shrugged. "Maybe I like trouble." His eyes gleamed with mischief and challenge. He had always been the kind to test boundaries, push limits. And now, here he was, in the middle of a city soaked in rain, trying his usual tricks.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, tone sharp, precise. Every word a warning. "Back off."
He laughed softly. "Back off? From you? I don't think so, Sloane. I've seen the way you move, the way you think. I was curious."
I leveled my Glock with careful precision. "Curiosity will get you hurt."
The smirk faltered—just a fraction. "And yet you never pull the trigger. Not on me. Not ever."
"Not yet," I said. "One wrong move, and I won't hesitate."
For a heartbeat, we simply stared. The alley seemed smaller than it had a second ago. Rain ran in thin sheets down the brick walls, dripping into puddles at our feet. The city outside buzzed obliviously, unaware of the silent confrontation between two predators.
Finally, he raised his hands again. "All right, all right. No harm. Just… wanted to see if you were still as sharp as I remember."
I didn't lower my weapon. "I always am."
He tilted his head, evaluating. Then, as casually as he had appeared, he slipped away into the shadows of the alley, leaving me standing alone in the rain, pulse steady, mind racing.
I exhaled quietly. Familiar faces in this city were dangerous—they came with history, complications, questions. And this one… this one meant trouble.
I pocketed my Glock, melted back into the streets, and moved toward my car. One thought lingered as I drove off: tomorrow, everything changed. The real game—the one that mattered—was about to begin.
And now, someone from my past was part of it.