Rain streaked down the street in thin rivers, turning the yellow streetlight glow into liquid gold. When I leapt out the back window of the ruined building, that same whiskey scent still clung to the air, cold and familiar enough to chill my spine.
I had to lose him.
My ankle throbbed when I hit the ground, but I kept moving. I’d already made my second mistake tonight—
I underestimated how obsessed he really was.
Saving him three years ago had been the first mistake.
Not blowing his brains out tonight was the second.
And now, the hunt had started.
I cut into a narrow alley and dug a spare suppressant spray from my pocket. Only half a dose left.
“Perfect,” I muttered, shoving the curse between my teeth as I dialed the amount down to minimum.
But before the suppressant could fully cover the white peach scent, another scent slammed down—
Whiskey.
Hot, burning, like liquor set on fire, shoving every softer smell out of its way.
No. He was too fast.
I turned just as headlights sliced open the darkness at the mouth of the alley. A black car skidded to a stop, and the door flew open before it fully parked.
His men.
They poured into the alley in formation, moves sharp like they’d drilled this a thousand times. The man in front tapped his earpiece.
“Target confirmed Omega, white peach scent. Boss says—bring her in alive.”
Alive.
I dragged a breath deep into my lungs, made myself sink into the damp air—
Then ran.
The ground was slick with rain. I practically pushed off the walls to gain speed. Their footsteps thudded behind me, getting closer, but the closer they came, the calmer I got.
Running was something I was better at than killing.
But tonight was different.
Tonight this whole city was drowned in his scent.
Wind whipped down the alley, bringing the smell of rain and whiskey, thick enough to burn my nose. My legs trembled—not from fear, but from my body’s natural reaction to a powerful Alpha pheromone bearing down on me.
The suppressant didn’t stand a chance.
“Shit…” I gritted out, my speed stuttering for half a beat.
Half a beat can get you killed.
“There!” someone shouted behind me.
I vaulted onto a trash can, grabbed the top of a metal fence, and dragged myself up. The wire sliced my fingers, hot blood mixing with rain. I dropped into another yard and looked up—
Shit.
His whiskey was thick here, like this was the source.
I lunged for the back door, but before I could reach it, I heard the soft, final click of a lock sliding open from the inside.
The door eased inward.
The rain quieted in an instant.
Ryan stood in the doorway.
No rushing. No rage.
Just leaning lazily against the doorframe, shirt dusted with glass, collar torn open to expose razor-cut collarbones.
He hadn’t bothered to pull his scent back.
Whiskey roared across the small yard like a heat wave, slamming into my lungs, scraping away my breath.
“Nice run,” he said. His voice was low, calm to the point of cruelty—and somehow that made it even more terrifying. “But you should know by now…”
I backed up, every muscle taut.
“This city is mine.” His lips lifted in a half-smile. “And it’s the last place you’ll ever escape from.”
I yanked a backup knife from my boot, blade aimed at his chest. My hand was shaking.
Not fear.
Biology.
White peach was spilling from me with every uneven breath, and between my scent and his…
We were a magnet.
I bit my tongue to clear my head. “Move.”
Instead of listening, he actually laughed—danger flashing sharp across his face.
“I told you.” He closed his fist slowly in the air between us, like tugging on an invisible thread.
“I’ve got you.”
He hit me like wind.
I barely saw him move.
I raised my knife—he caught my wrist. One twist, one pivot, and my back slammed into the wall. The iron gate on the other side of the yard swung shut with a heavy clang.
Whiskey detonated in the narrow space. My thoughts burned, fraying at the edges.
I fought against his grip, but his hold was unshakable, like manacles welded shut.
“Let me—go—”
The pheromones in the air crashed over my tongue, making my voice shake.
His head dipped, breath brushing my ear as he inhaled again.
Something hit him then. Deep, instinctual.
His breath hitched.
He buried his face closer into the hollow of my neck.
“God… fuck,” he muttered against my skin, making a tremor run straight down my spine. “Three years… I thought I made it up. Thought it was just a dying hallucination.”
My whole body locked.
“But it was really you.”
His fingers slid along my jaw, tipping my face up, forcing my eyes back to his.
“White peach,” he said softly.
That’s when it really sank in—
He wasn’t hunting just a hitman.
He was tracking the scent that had pulled him away from death that night.
He looked at me like a blade, but his gaze burned with something thicker, heavier—
Obsession, distilled like amber in a glass.
“No matter how long you run.” His words brushed my lips, hot enough to make my breathing stutter. “I’ll find you.”
I snapped my knee up, aiming for his ribs. He’d already read the move, turning his body just enough to avoid it.
Then his arm slid around my waist.
And he threw me over his shoulder.
“You—bastard!” I kicked and hit and cursed.
He didn’t dodge, didn’t flinch. His grip just tightened, solid and possessive, like I was something rare he’d finally gotten his hands on—dangerous, priceless, not to be dropped.
His voice was a low rumble by my ear.
“The hunt’s over, little peach.”
The rain hammered down harder.
And I knew—
The real trap was only just beginning.