Page 21 of Savage Rule

His wife was murdered, he sought revenge. He worried about his little dog. Now I’m worried about him too, and I never worry!

Fucking Gunn. I’m certain my encounter with him has me like this.

“Get a grip,” I mumble to myself.

But it’s not just him. Oh no. These strange thoughts that have been like a wrench in my very focused brain can be traced back to a single event. A single person.

I twist slightly to get a better look at another scar, this one on my side where the skin is more sensitive.

This scar is thicker, made so because it’s not just one line, but many. And yet there can never be enough.

With the scalpel still in hand, I make another mark over that one, a new reminder of what I did. This time, looking in the mirror again becomes impossible. All I’ll see is a monster, anyway.

My phone buzzes, thankfully distracting me from the dark path my thoughts were about to take a trip on.

Gideon: 839 Status.

The text comes in with a code we use to prove it is us. He sends a random number, and I reply with the same in reverse.

Me: 938 Job complete.

Gideon: All of it?

My neck tenses.

Me: It will be done.

It can’t be a coincidence that Gunn was on Bourbon Street at the same time I was. He was searching for me.

But if he’d known where I’m staying, he wouldn’t have followed me. He would have killed me in my room. That means, he must have been stalking the streets, waiting for me to make an appearance. It’s a small enough town that the odds were in his favor.

Smart man.

Smart me too, because I’m about to take a page from his playbook.

If he foundme, I can find him too.

With a newly formulated plan, I shower and redress in a blue, short sleeve turtle neck and black leggings. Then I’m out the door heading for the place on Bourbon Street where I first saw him. If he found me there once, there’s a possibility he’ll return.

There’s a gated alley on the side of one of the buildings. I push the iron door and shut it behind me after I step into the dark space. From here, I’m well concealed but still have a good view of everyone passing.

And I wait.

Just as predicted, not one hour later, I see him. It’s easy to spot him as he has several inches over everyone around him. He’s walking down the sidewalk, fully alert, his gaze darting from side to side. Probably on the hunt for me.

I sink deeper into the shadows as he nears. When he passes and is a safe distance away, I jut out into the crowd and trail him.

He goes all the way down Bourbon Street, pausing a few times to look around, forcing me to hide behind strangers.

We move like that all the way down to Bienville Street, just one block from where I’m staying. Shit. It’s a miracle he didn’t get to me sooner.

Just like the place I’m staying, he goes in the door of an old mansion turned guesthouse.

And I smile. “Gotcha!”

After a quick search where I spot only a few random cameras located at the front door, I move around the inn as I scan all the windows for evidence of movement. It gets tricky when I have to climb an iron fence covered in thorny vines, but it’s the only way to get a good view of all the rooms without having to go through the reception and I can’t risk them having their own version of Miss Sherry.

The back of the building has a nice courtyard with an oversized fountain that must be original to the property, and a small in-ground hot tub that is definitely not.

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