Screaming crowds and flashing lights were nothing new to Barnaby. Chicago’s busy streets practically belonged to him, or at least that was what his five million online followers believed. Barnaby, my three-year-old Capuchin monkey, strutted down Michigan Avenue like he owned the pavement. Clad in a custom miniature leather backpack and holding a tiny, state-of-the-art camera on a stabilized gimbal, he was a viral sensation on a mission. Adjusting his red backpack, he paused to tilt his head at a towering skyscraper. He let out an excited chatter, pointing his lens up toward the glass giant. Laughter bubbled up from a group of tourists nearby. Several teenagers pulled out their phones, instantly recognizing the internet's favorite travel vlogger. "Keep the camera steady, buddy!" I called out, keeping a close but careful distance behind him. My little partner turned back to me, offering a sassy, toothy grin that always drove the comment section wild. He adjusted his grip on the camera, walking backward with the practiced ease of a professional influencer. People parted like the Red Sea to let him pass, charmed by the sight of a tiny monkey filming his own urban adventure. Vibrant city lights reflected in his wide, expressive eyes as he scanned the bustling avenue. Suddenly, a loud, metallic clink echoed from a narrow alleyway just ahead. Barnaby’s ears perked up instantly. Before I could grab his leash, he bolted toward the sound. He was always chasing the next big scoop for his vlog, completely oblivious to the dangers of the concrete jungle. "Wait, Barnaby, stop!" I yelled, my sneakers squeaking against the damp pavement as I lunged forward. Slipping past a rusted metal barricade, Barnaby disappeared into the shadows of the alley. My heart leaped into my throat. Darkness swallowed the bright city sounds as I stepped into the narrow passage. Cool, damp air clung to my skin, smelling of old rain and exhaust fumes. A sleek, midnight-black sports car was parked crookedly near the back of the alley, its engine idling with a low, predatory growl. Two men stood near the brick wall. One of them had a tight grip on a businessman's expensive collar, pinning him firmly against the concrete. Jaxson Cole stood there, looking every bit like the local legend the tabloids warned everyone about. Rumors about Jaxson ran wild in this city—leader of the Asphalt Kings, a ruthless underground street crew with ties to things far darker than drag racing. His black leather jacket gleamed under the solitary, flickering streetlamp. A sharp, jagged scar sliced through his left eyebrow, adding a dangerous edge to his impossibly handsome features. "Tell me where the money is," Jaxson growled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver straight down my spine. Barnaby, completely oblivious to the threat, crept closer to the scene. Click. Whir. The tiny camera's autofocus light blinked a steady, accusing red directly at Jaxson's face. Jaxson froze. His sharp, icy-blue gaze snapped toward the sound, instantly locking onto the little monkey holding the lens. "Get out of here," Jaxson muttered to the trembling businessman, releasing his collar with a careless shove. The man didn't need to be told twice; he scrambled past me and vanished onto the main street. Panic seized my chest as Jaxson turned his full, terrifying attention to us. Heavy boots clicked against the wet asphalt as he walked toward where Barnaby stood. "Please, don't hurt him," I gasped, rushing forward and scooping Barnaby into my arms. The little monkey clung to my neck, still holding the camera tight. "You're trespassing, sweetheart," Jaxson said, stopping just inches away from me. Up close, he was towering. The scent of expensive cologne, gasoline, and raw danger rolled off him in waves. A sharp vein throbbed in his jaw, which was clenched so tight his muscle leaped beneath the skin. He looked down at the camera, then back at my face. "Give me the camera," he demanded, his voice dropping to a quiet, lethal register. "I can't do that," I replied, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "This camera has our entire day's footage on it. It's how I pay my bills." No one ever said no to Jaxson Cole. I could see the sudden spark of amusement and danger in his eyes as he took another step, trapping me against the cold brick wall. A dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remained ice-cold. He leaned down, his face so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Warm breath brushed against my ear. "You think I care about your little internet show? That camera just recorded a private transaction. Delete it, or I take it by force." "Let us go," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You have a lot of attitude for someone cornered in a dark alley," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. Reaching out, his calloused fingers brushed against my hand, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He gently but firmly pried the camera from Barnaby’s tiny grip. This was a disaster. If he destroyed that memory card, I wouldn't be able to pay the lease on my family's animal sanctuary next week. My mind raced as I watched him inspect the high-tech device. We had to get out of here, but my legs felt like lead under his heavy, suffocating gaze. Jaxson's thumb hovered over the power button. "Cute monkey. Shame his owner doesn't know how to mind her own business." "Don't touch that button," I snapped, finding a sudden burst of courage. "If you delete that, I'll call the police. I have your face on a live cloud backup." Dark eyes narrowed instantly. The amusement vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity that made me want to shrink into the brickwork. I was bluffing, of course. The cloud backup took hours to sync, but he didn't need to know that. Leaning in even closer, he trapped me with his arms on either side of my shoulders, pinning me in place. "You're lying, sweetheart. Your hands are shaking." "Try me," I challenged, staring right back into his icy eyes, refusing to let him see how terrified I truly was. Just then, Barnaby let out a loud screech, reaching out to pull at Jaxson's dark, messy hair. Slowly, his fingers wrapped around the strap of the camera, tugging it out of my reach entirely. A shiver ran down my spine as his knuckles grazed my collarbone. "If I find out this footage is anywhere online," Jaxson whispered, his voice dangerously soft against my neck, "I will personally come find you. And trust me, you won't like what happens when I get angry." Snatching the memory card out of the camera's side slot with a swift, practiced motion, he tossed the empty device back into my hands. "Hey!" I cried out, clutching the useless camera to my chest. Tossing the tiny black card into the air and catching it, he gave me a slow, predatory smirk. "Consider this a warning, vlogger girl. Keep your pet on a leash, and keep your eyes on the road." "You're a monster," I spat, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline. But my words didn't seem to bother him at all. A dark chuckle escaped his throat as he walked back toward his idling car. What was I supposed to do now? The sanctuary was ruined without this week's video revenue, and I had just made an enemy of the most dangerous man in the city. Leaning so close to his car door, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "See you around, Cleo." My jaw dropped. I had never told him my name. Without looking back again, he slid into the driver's seat of the roaring sports car. The engine screamed as he threw it into reverse, peeling out of the alleyway in a cloud of burning rubber. Looking down at Barnaby, I saw his tiny hands pointing at his backpack. Right there, tucked into a hidden side pocket of his little red backpack, was a second, blinking red light. My heart stopped. Barnaby had been streaming the entire confrontation live from a backup button camera.

Chapter 1: Lenses and Leather