Page 16 of Fractured Loyalties
I step back into the shadows, feeling the adrenaline pulse heavily through my veins. My hand remains poised on the weapon concealed beneath my jacket, muscles tense, prepared yet restrained.
The police cruiser glides by at a measured pace, the spotlight sweeping methodically across the empty street, completely oblivious to my presence tucked into the shadows.
Chapter 5 – Elias - Dangerous Games
I press my back deeper against the cold brick wall, letting darkness swallow the faint silhouette of my body. Caleb's taillights fade into obscurity, their red glow devoured by the mist until only silence and shadows remain.
My chest rises and falls in measured breaths, an attempt at controlling the fury simmering beneath my calm façade. Each heartbeat thuds hard, slow, counting down from chaos toward the precision of thought.
Caleb slipping through my fingers wasn't planned. I rarely make mistakes—never mistakes like this. But as the street falls quiet, with only the distant hum of traffic lingering as a reminder of humanity, I recognize the shift. Something primal awakens inside me, a decision made in the stark clarity of near-confrontation.
Tonight, I stop hiding in the shadows. Tonight, I move closer.
Sliding silently down the alley, I approach my waiting vehicle. The sleek black sedan waits patiently, nestled discreetly beneath the skeletal limbs of street trees. I open the door, settle behind the wheel, the car interior cool against my overheated skin. The scent of leather grounds me, sharp, pure. I grip the wheel for a moment, knuckles whitening as the path ahead crystallizes in my mind.
I can't let Mara discover Caleb's presence on her own. That kind of fear is uncontrollable, unpredictable. It splinters a person, fragments their trust. I want Mara whole—intact. I want her to seek my protection willingly, without hesitation.
I start the engine. The low purr reverberates through me as I glide onto the empty streets, retracing familiar routes backtoward my apartment. The city sleeps around me, oblivious to the battle lines being drawn beneath its peaceful surface.
Inside the penthouse, everything remains pristine. The chrome and marble fixtures catch fragments of moonlight through the expansive windows, gleaming coldly, impersonal in their elegance. I pour a glass of scotch, its warmth sliding down my throat, sharpening my clarity.
Tonight, every move matters. I won't simply protect Mara from Caleb—I will position myself directly between them. She must see me clearly, recognize the difference between the threat Caleb embodies and the strength I represent.
Settling behind my surveillance monitors, I watch Mara's apartment through multiple angles. She's moving again now, her movements are subtle, ghost-like, a quiet pacing from bedroom to living area and back again. I sense her restlessness, even from this distant vantage point. Her body language speaks louder than words ever could.
My fingers drift across the keyboard, pulling up Mara's files once more—her history, her habits. Every detail is memorized, etched into my consciousness. Her routine is precise, predictable, a safety net she relies upon. Disrupting it carefully will drive her into my arms, willingly or otherwise.
I scroll through the night footage. Mara checks her door locks repeatedly, her small silhouette lingering near windows longer than necessary. It's obvious she's frightened. I imagine her heart racing, anxiety tightening around her throat. A fierce protectiveness surges within me, the kind that makes a man capable of anything. Tonight is about redirection—Mara's fear must point her toward me, not inward, and certainly not toward Caleb.
Hours have gone by, I glance at the clock, it’s past four a.m., and still, I watch. The faint glow from her bedroom finally disappears, windows darkening entirely. Even without direct sight, I sense her exhaustion, feel her surrender to rest. Only then do I rise, a plan firm and unwavering within me.
After a quick shower, I dress deliberately, choosing garments that speak of casual power. Charcoal pants and a black cashmere sweater, understated yet authoritative. In my closet, I pause, selecting a watch that glimmers subtly in the muted dawn light, an unspoken declaration of control.
Outside, the morning air is crisp, stinging my lungs in a satisfying way as I drive toward the seaside clinic. Mara will arrive soon; she always does, early enough to pretend she's ahead of danger. But today, I'll be there first.
I park discreetly, close enough to observe but far enough not to alarm. Settling into a vantage point, I watch the front entrance, waiting patiently. Minutes slip by slowly, each heartbeat echoing louder as anticipation coils tighter.
When Mara appears, my pulse quickens. Her delicate features are taut, eyes darting subtly along the sidewalk, assessing threats she's afraid to acknowledge. Her slender fingers grip her purse, knuckles pale against its black leather. A surge of protectiveness blends dangerously with the hunger that simmers perpetually beneath my controlled exterior.
She hesitates slightly near the clinic's entrance, glancing toward a black car parked half a block away—my car. Her breath visibly catches, the faint tremble of her shoulders barely noticeable to an untrained eye. It's perfect—the uncertainty, the fear, the vulnerability. It’s everything I anticipated.
Slowly, deliberately, I open my car door. The sound isn't loud, yet Mara freezes instantly, her posture going rigid, musclestensing beneath her delicate clothes. I take a step forward, allowing my footsteps to echo subtly across the quiet street.
"Miss Thomas," I call softly, keeping my voice calm and unthreatening. She turns sharply toward me, eyes wide, shadowed with suspicion.
Her voice comes hesitant, edged with careful control. "Yes?"
I stop a respectful distance away, allowing space between us to diminish perceived threat. "My name is Elias Voss. I apologize if I startled you. I'm familiar with your clinic through various community outreach programs."
I’ve given her pieces of me already. A glimpse here and there. Familiarity grows like that—in fragments—so when I finally stepped in front of her today, she didn’t flinch the way she might have with a true stranger. She’s already been living with me at the edges of her vision. That was the point. To let her body remember me before her mind had reason to resist.
Her eyes dart over my face, assessing, wary. "How do you know my name?"
"Your reputation precedes you," I reply evenly, maintaining steady eye contact. "Celeste speaks very highly of you."
She visibly relaxes slightly at Celeste's name, shoulders lowering just enough to signal easing tension. But caution still clouds her gaze.
"Forgive me," she murmurs softly, dropping her eyes briefly before lifting them back to mine, searching again. "It's been an unsettling week."
