“Call my cock pretty again, and you’ll regret it.”

“But you’re the best client I’ve had in years,” she says. “Hard to come when some fatass is pounding me, but you, baby, you’re nice to look at and you fuck good.”

I’m silently thankful for blindly ripping off the condom before getting within feet of Cataline with my dick. I catch the whore’s wrist mid-stroke and squeeze until she stops chewing and inhales.

“Out.”

She draws her hand to her chest and leaves without another look back. I listen until she’s in the cab I paid to wait downstairs. It’s not long before I regret sending her away, though. My small taste of Cataline leaves me with a dangerous craving for more. That’s a fuck-up that can’t happen.

Pink satin remains on my skin, the ghost of her still on the tip of my dick. When my balls constrict painfully, I grab myself. Within moments, I could be downstairs and fucking her silly. She’d come apart at the seams if I let myself have her.

Meanwhile, Cataline is sniveling in her room. I’ve worked hard to block out the things I don’t want to hear, but a crying woman is something I’m trained to pick up on. Her fear is reassuring. She’s here for her safety, but if I let myself too close, there will be nothing to protect her from the monster that lives in me.

It’s not her usual sobbing, but soft, stuttering gasps. Everything else falls away as those gasps morph into sexy moans. I realize she isn’t crying at all. My entire body tenses. I’ve seen her almost every way imaginable, but until she got here, never in the heat of the moment, never so close to me. I can feel her every movement in my bones, her scent strong in my nostrils. She’s always been jasmine-scented; I know because my survival depends on the cultivation of my senses. Norman doesn’t understand my overbearing involvement in choosing her toiletries, but it’s because I’m addicted to that goddamn jasmine.

To prevent myself from breaking down her door, I get out of bed and punch my code into the control panel across the room. The hidden elevator delivers me to the basement—or my lair, as Norman boldly jokes—and the furthest spot I can get from her. Control is the one thing I must always maintain, and at the moment, it’s a tenuous string inside me, easily snapped.

“I’ve told you,” I say when I hear Norman enter behind me, “you don’t need to get up at this hour. Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

“I’m aware.”

I glance over my shoulder at him across the dimly lit space. “Since you’re here, any news on the Cartel?”

“Not since we last spoke about it.”

“Right,” I say, removing my armor from the closet. “I just have to watch them even more closely.”

“Or you could back off a bit,” he says. “It’s a big undertaking.”

“You know I can’t.”

“You’re only one man, Master Parish.”

“That’s not true.” I lean over to the security desk and fling the “Opinions” section on the floor near his feet. “I’m both ‘venerated savior’ and ‘single-minded killer,’ depending on who meets my mask.” I shake my head. “I can’t let the Cartel remain in New Rhone. Ignacio was a smart man. Carlos isn’t, but he could still become as powerful as his father. They’ll continue to grow unless I take out their key players—making Carlos my next target.”

“Maybe now that Ignacio is dead, Carlos will rethink their presence in the States and return full-time to Mexico.”

“Maybe.” I glance at the wall clock. “Go back to bed, Norman. I’ll wake you if I need your help.”

“Actually, sir, I didn’t come down here to help.”

I turn all the way around and arch an eyebrow at him. My arms cross. “Go ahead.”

“About the scuffle earlier. Pardon me for speaking out of place, but I feel compelled. Might I recommend a little gentler handling with the girl. She’s still adjusting to her . . . situation.”

“Despite your silence on the matter, your disapproval hasn’t gone unnoticed. But as always, you’ll have to trust in my decisions.”

“As always,” he echoes, “your decisions are thorough and precise. In this case, however, I’m concerned you’re too close to see what you’re capable of.”

“Too close?”

“While you care for the girl, you can’t—”

“I don’t care for her,” I state. “You know what she is.”

“It’s normal to feel confused, Master Parish. She has no idea who you are, yet she’s an integral part of your life.”

“Get to the point.”

“After all this time, surely her feelings mean something to you.”

“They don’t. She’s a duty, an obligation. Another citizen, except that I owe her my protection. Just like New Rhone needs to be looked after, she does as well.”

“That’s not to say you can’t care for her too. Don’t you care at all for this city though you consider it an obligation as well?”

“No. My purpose is simply to keep watch over New Rhone to the best of my ability. Frankly, having Cataline Ford under this roof is a relief. For once, I don’t have to concern myself with her childish affairs.”

He shakes his head at the ground and sighs. “Then let her be. You have no shortage of women to meet your needs. If you’re bored, I’ll find you something new.”

“It’s not that,” I say to myself. When Cataline was a small girl, she was quiet. As a teenager—observant and somewhat skittish. Her fight, this inexorable disobedience, is unexpected. It gets under my skin in a way things just don’t.

“Master,” Norman interrupts my thoughts, “I must insist you leave her alone. Or at least permit me to answer some of her questions. She’s still quite confused.”

Norman knows arguing with me will get him nowhere. And as it is, time itself is never time enough. I cannot even justify his request with a response. Instead I turn my back and go to change, his dismissal made clear by my silence.

It’s only hours before sunrise, but tonight, release is essential. The aggression Cataline has stirred in me can lead to mistakes, and mistakes can change everything.

My bulletproof rubber one-piece is thin but dense, specially developed by engineers, scientists, and ballistics specialists with speed, accuracy, and resilience in mind. It’s one step ahead of the armed forces and costs me a fortune. Especially considering I don’t actually need it.

The people of this city—they call me Hero. Their nocturnal vigilante needed a label, and that’s what they gave me years ago. The suit of armor is extra padding, but more than that, it’s for the public. They believe that underneath it, I’m a man like any of them. It’s a lie, but it’s the only truth they can ever know.

Because I’m not like them at all.

I am stronger, faster, and more powerful. K-36, a formula developed for over a decade and a half, fortifies my skin, hones my intuition, and sharpens my senses like the most predatory of Mother Nature’s night prowlers. When injected into my bloodstream, it makes me superhuman. I have the instincts of a killer, but the intentions of a hero. And a hero’s what I’d be if not for my human impulses and urges—like the ones that threw Cataline onto that mattress.

I pull on my gloves. My metal-grey eye mask latches behind my head, secure but conforming instantly to my face. My blacked-out Lamborghini is the car of choice for patrolling, and my agitation settles once the engine revs to life. I enter the limits of New Rhone with my mind buzzing and my muscles warming. This is what I do. This is what feeds me. I hunt.

New Rhone’s silver skyscrapers are even colder against a black sky—soothingly monochrome like it’s always been. My parents would bring me to the city as a boy, and the weekend would go by too fast. Until it was childish, my parents would hold each of my hands, and we’d get lost between the buildings. They’d tell me about growing up two blocks apart but never meeting until their twenties. I’ve long forgotten the names of the plays we attended or the high-end restaurants where we dined, but whatever’s mixed into the concrete of this city is inescapable.