Filed to story: Maya Thompson and Damien Blackwood Book PDF Free
That wasn’t curiosity.
That was something sharper.
More dangerous.
And maybe she should’ve been afraid –
But all she could feel was heat. Low. Lingering. Still burning beneath her skin.
She pulled the next order, set it down, and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Only six more hours to go.
Blocks away, on the quieter side of the city where engines purred and suits replaced aprons, a very different kind of morning was underway.
The interior of the Bentley was silent, save for the soft hum of tires along the asphalt and the occasional rustle of paper from the seat beside him.
James adjusted his tie as they neared the gates of the countryside club. The place was already bustling – golf carts, valets, men in blazers shaking hands with the precision of ritual.
Damien didn’t even glance out the window.
He didn’t want to be here.
A round of golf, followed by overpriced lunch and shallow business talk – it was part of the game, sure. But not one he cared for.
Still, appearances mattered. Especially in his world.
“Updates?” he asked quietly.
James cleared his throat. “Beckett’s transfer is finalized. All documentation processed. Airline confirmed he boarded at 4:47 a.m.-destination: Burundi, East Africa. Medical rotation in a remote, underserved region. The nation struggles with political instability, inadequate infrastructure, and widespread poverty. Civil conflict and ethnic tensions have troubled the area for decades. He won’t have access to much-no tech, no escape routes. He won’t be back anytime soon.”
Damien’s jaw flexed. “Good.”
A slow exhale. Then a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.
Not satisfaction. Not relief.
Just cold, measured certainty.
Beckett wouldn’t crawl back from this.
“He was… resistant,” James continued. “But the paperwork trail is clean. No trace of interference.”
“Perfect.”
James handed over a small folder. “There’s more. From the internal probe you asked for. His history.”
Damien flipped it open, eyes scanning quickly.
Prescriptions handed out without logging. Private ‘consultations’ after hours. Sex-for-drugs trades.
take care of itself.
It wasn’t hard. People desperate for money disappeared every day in that part of the world. If anyone looked into it, it would seem like he’d left willingly. Humanitarian mission. Career rebirth.
Bullshit.
He wasn’t setting foot in some mosquito-infested wasteland just to hand out gauze and sympathy. No AC, no real hospitals, no one worth impressing. Just mud, flies, and people too poor to matter.
He told himself he was better than that.
A specialist. Educated. Deserving of prestige, not pity.
Let someone else play saint in a place that smelled like rot and failure. He had other plans. He was destined for more.
Beckett moved through the alley behind his apartment, phone off, hat pulled low. His real phone – the untraceable one – buzzed once.
Done, the message read. He boarded. Took the seat. No issues.
Beckett grinned.
The alibi was airtight.
Let them watch flight manifests. Let them track credit card charges. As far as the world was concerned, he was gone.
But in the shadows of the city, he remained.
Waiting. Plotting. And this time, no one would see him coming.
He hadn’t slept all night. It gnawed at him – still did.
Who could it be?
Maya. It had to be her.
She was the only thing different.
The only one who refused him. Repeatedly.
He licked his lips, heart pounding with rage- and something darker.
He’d spent months laying the groundwork. Playing the long game.
Watching her boundaries tighten every time he pushed. Her careful no’s. Her soft rejections.
Her eyes when she looked through him – like he wasn’t even worth a second of her fear.
She should’ve been begging me.
Instead, she looked at me like I was a nobody. Like I didn’t deserve her attention.
And still, he couldn’t forget her voice.
Thank you, Doctor. That soft, polite tone.
That single moment – her brushing her hair behind her ear, lips parting slightly in gratitude – had burned itself into his memory.
He’d twisted it. Warped it. Until it meant something else entirely.
She had no idea what she’d started.
But soon, she would.
Because he wasn’t gone. Not yet.
The bell above the café door had long stopped chiming by the time Maya finally untied her apron.
Sunday shifts were always brutal, but today had been relentless. A coworker had called in sick, and with the extra six hours she’d picked up, Maya had been on her feet for nearly fourteen straight. Her legs ached, her shoulders burned, and even her breath felt heavy in her chest as she stepped into the cool night air.
The sidewalks were quiet now. The streetlamps flickered overhead, casting long shadows on the pavement as Maya adjusted her worn backpack and began the long walk home. The city had its own rhythm at midnight – softer, but not silent. A few cars passed. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. The breeze carried the faint scent of oil and old asphalt.
She walked fast.
Her sneakers barely made a sound, but every few steps, she felt… something. A flicker of unease. Like eyes on her back.
She slowed once, turned subtly to glance behind her.
Nothing.
Just dark windows and empty sidewalks.
Still, her heartbeat quickened. The kind of quiet that felt too still. Her hands curled around the strap of her bag tighter.
