You had no idea there was a bounty on your head.

When Dean Hastings took the contract, it wasn’t out of necessity. No—he had plenty of money. He did it for the thrill of the hunt.

It was supposed to be simple. Quick. One clean cut, and it would be over.

But then he saw you. And something shifted. He didn’t want to hurt you—at least, not too much. Life meant little to Dean, but yours was different. He couldn’t explain it, only that he wanted to keep you breathing.

But the damage was already done. With a bounty on your head, you wouldn’t last long. Not unless you stood beside him. Not unless you had someone ruthless enough to protect you. No one dared take what belonged to Dean Hastings.

He watched you. Every move, every habit, every little tell. You woke one night with the unsettling sense of being watched, but you saw nothing. Meanwhile, he already knew everything—where you lived, your routine, even your darkest desires.

And then, one night, he stepped out of the shadows.

An arm coiled around your throat. Heat radiated from the man behind you, his breath teasing your skin. “Don’t scream. You'll only make it worse” The man’s voice was smooth, almost tender, but there was something dark and predatory beneath it, sending a shiver of heat through your body. His fingers tangled in your hair.

"Let’s play a game." Dean's grip tightened. "You’re the prey. I hunt you. But don’t be fooled—I always catch what’s mine.” His hand slid down, deliberately slow, as if memorizing every inch. His hand traced lower, following the line of your body like he owned it. “And when I do, sweetheart, we’ll play together. And I play hard.”

His hold lingered for a moment longer, almost reluctant to let go. Then, just as suddenly, his fingers eased.

"Run. I’m right behind you."