Reed Luxe stood off to the side, arms crossed amidst the flurry of activity, loud voices and sea of bodies. Chewing on his lip, he tapped his foot, brows furrowing as his eyes raked over the models. Something wasn’t quite right.

Come on, come on, Reed. Fix it.

Releasing a deep breath, he blinked rapidly, clapping his hands and rushing forward.

“Stop! You can’t send them out like that.”

The stage manager, Marie, turned to him with a look of surprise.

“What’s the matter, Reed?” She pulled impatiently at her sleeve, glancing at her watch. “We’ve got less than fifteen minutes.”

“Change their lip. The red is too much and it’s detracting from the outfits.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Are you serious right now? I thought you approved hair and makeup a week ago?”

Reed blew out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t like it, Marie. I want it fixed. You know this is my most important and risqué collection to date—I need it to be perfect. Put the models in nude.”

She shot him a look of exasperation but shouted over his head to the three makeup artists, who were listening to the conversation. “Stop whatever you’re doing. We need fresh lips. Now.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Reed stepped back as the girls got to work with lightning speed. Fifteen models immediately lined up, resuming their seats at the counter. Reed stood and observed, holding his breath while he oversaw the transformation. Minutes later, he knew he made the correct decision. His collection this fall was inspired by machina married with couture. A combination of high-end fashion, mixed with wearable technology. It was a daring risk; however, he hoped it would pay off and cement his name as one of the world’s leading and most exciting designers. Each season, he brought a fresh twist to the theme but he knew that this was his best work ever. And he was about to showcase it, right here at Tokyo’s Fashion Week. His collection had already received critical acclaim in New York, but each market was different and he could only fully relax once the shows were over.

Marie came and stood by him, clipboard in hand. “Good call, Mr. Luxe. I can see the makeup complements the outfits a lot better now.”

He shot her a wink. “Thanks. Yeah, I nearly freaked out, but you got to go with your gut, right?”

She smiled and held up a finger, indicating that someone was speaking through her earpiece. Nodding her head, she held up her fingers and mouthed five minutes.

Once the models were lined up again, Reed’s heart started to hammer in anticipation. It was his moment of truth. Either the collection would be a hit or, if he judged wrong, it would be shredded.

He crossed his fingers and said a silent prayer as the first model strutted out onto the catwalk.

It always amazed Reed how fast the time sped by at the shows. As the models rushed to change into their new outfits backstage, he was ever present to oversee the final look before they walked back out again. It meant last second adjustments, perhaps a safety pin discreetly added here or sometimes selecting a different shoe. He couldn’t plan for anything during that time and it was incredibly stressful, but Reed savored every minute. This is what he lived for—months of work and planning, all of which came down to a crucial twenty minutes on stage.

As his final model stepped out in his showcase piece, he followed her, ten seconds behind. As soon as he came into view, the crowd went crazy, jumping to their feet with a standing ovation, cheering him on. Reed felt like he was floating on top of the world. The collection was a hit. He gave them a theatrical bow as camera flashes went off in every direction, capturing his wide grin and effervescence. Raising his hand to give his customary salute, he blew kisses to the crowd and then disappeared backstage once again.

“Reed, you did it again. They’re crazy for you.” Marie held out her arms, grinning. “Congratulations.” He stepped forward and they embraced in a hug.

“Thank you, hon. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He kissed her cheeks and pulled away, spying the reporters pushing through their way towards him. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time, superstar.” She smiled, stepping away. “Wait till we call home later to give the guys the news. Damn the time difference.”

Not only was Marie his stage manager, she was also one of Reed’s oldest friends. Along with the three others in his group, who were back home in San Francisco, they formed the thickest of friends. Reed was sad that the others weren’t here to celebrate with them, but he knew they’d be partying his success together as soon as they were back in a couple of days’ time.

The next half hour was taken up with interviews and photographs. Reed loved posing with his models and in turn the photographers had fun with the shots, enjoying the celebratory vibe in the room. Reed spotted a young reporter at the back who was struggling—each time he tried to get close, he was shoved out of the way by another reporter. He was growing increasingly frustrated at not having his chance. As the next reporter stepped forward, pen poised, Reed held up his hand and motioned for the younger guy to step forward. He gave a slight nod, smiling, when the reporter’s eyes widened in surprise.

Reed knew all about being the underdog. Growing up, it felt like all of his life was a battle to be his true self. Even now as an up-and-coming designer, it felt like he always had to watch his back—the fashion industry wasn’t easy.

Clasping his hands, Reed waited patiently as the guy made his way to the front. A quick glance at the badge on his shirt, revealed his name and press company.

“Mr. Luxe—”

“Please, Daichi, call me Reed. Otherwise I’d feel like you’re talking to my father.”

The reporter, Daichi, laughed and adjusted his pen. “Arigatou gozaimasu, thank you very much, Reed. Congratulations. I think it’s fair to say that your collection is a runaway success.”

Reed nodded. “Thank you. It’s always nerve wrecking but I have a wonderful team behind me, so it’s a joint effort and win.”

“That’s very humble of you. May I ask what inspires you? What makes you get up in the morning and dream up your new creations?”

Reed thought for a moment about his very honest and poignant question. “I had a lot to prove when I first started out, but my journey to get to where I am today, pushes me forward each and every day to do better.” He smiled. “It sounds cliché, but each day is a new beginning, a chance to wipe the slate clean. I embrace this and grab the bull by the horns, always looking for new experiences.”

Reed looked over his shoulder to see Marie pointing to her watch with a raised eyebrow. He realized he was almost out of time and needed to wrap up the interview. He gave her a slight nod and refocused on his interview. “I’m inspired by art, by the trinkets I may find in a street market, by the people surrounding me as I sip coffee on a sidewalk. We’re all unique. No one fits one mold. And my job as a designer is to portray beauty and individuality through my creations. If you look at every piece, there is a common thread that binds the collection together, yet they each stand out on their own.”

The other reporters were furiously scribbling down his message, but Daichi just stared at Reed with open admiration, his eyes glistening. “You don’t know how much that means to me,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Reed had a feeling he knew why. From Daichi’s demeanor, he would almost bet that the young reporter was a closeted gay man. Same as his best friend, Kellen. “My pleasure.”

Reed spent the new few minutes answering more questions until one by one, the reporters were ushered off backstage, and the next show began its preparations.

“What do you say we head back to the hotel, get changed and then hit the spa?” Reed shoved his fingers in front of Marie’s face, his lips curling in disgust.

Marie leant backwards, her brow wrinkled. “Ummmm…why are your fingers up in my face?”

“Can’t you see?” He wriggled his fingers. “Look at the state of my poor cuticles. Ugh. They’re in desperate need of some serious TLC.” He lowered his hand. “And, while we’re there, I think we could do with some deep tissue massages as well.”

Marie closed her eyes, groaning in pleasure. “A massage sounds heavenly.”

They stepped into the waiting car and chatted easily on the way back to their hotel. Reed was still buzzing with pride from the show and the incoming calls were already starting to light up their phones.

Not long afterwards, they arrived at the Mandarin Oriental and made their way to their separate suites. Once inside his room, Reed sat on the sofa and pulled out his phone to check his social media. He fired off responses and replies to messages on various accounts. And, of course, he got caught up on reading his glowing reviews, one of his favorite parts about launching a new line. Half an hour later, satisfied, he finally lowered his phone and flopped back against the sofa, a huge smile on his face.

I really am living the dream.

He was sure Marie would be ready any minute now and figured he better get moving. Turning to his left, his attention was drawn to a parcel, which was left on the side table. Caught up with his phone, he hadn’t noticed it before, but now he moved across the room and picked up the package. It was surprisingly light as he shook it around, with only a slight movement coming from inside.

Curious, Reed moved back to the sofa and sat down. He carefully opened the origami style gift wrapping which revealed a white box inside. Lifting the lid, he found a small teddy bear nestled amongst the blue tissue paper. Puzzled, he picked up the bear, looking for a note or card, but when he couldn’t find anything, he almost wondered if it was delivered to him in error. Just about to call guest services, Reed’s eye caught a small rolled up paper tucked into the slim collar around the neck of the bear. Gently, tugging it away, he opened it to see a typed written message, which only read:

Open Me, Reed.

Reed felt an odd shiver down his spine. This was giving him a weird feeling. Turning the bear over, he saw the concealed zipper running down its fur back. Curious now as to what was inside, he pulled it down and flattened it apart to inspect the contents. Reed’s heart began to accelerate as the bear appeared to be stuffed with folded Polaroid photos.

A slight tremor ran through his hands as he carefully pulled out the photos, smoothing them out.

As he looked at them, his muscles tensed and he could feel every hair lifting on the back of his neck.

The pictures were taken inside his bedroom, with what looked like this same teddy bear. Sitting in the middle of his bed. The second photo had the bear again, same pose, except red liquid was splashed across the front.

Blood.

Turning the photo around, he saw a typewritten message stuck to the photo:

Reed, if I can’t have you, then no one else will. We’re soulmates, when will you realize that? I’m getting impatient now. Don’t upset me…I want you.

Reed dropped the photo as if it burned him, his hand flying to clutch at his throat. This was the third parcel he’d received in two months, with the same font and typewritten message, though the last was only two weeks ago. He’d ignored it, thinking it was just a stupid and crazed fan, but this was much worse. His stalker was obviously pissed off. What scared Reed the most was that this crazy person was in his house. His skin crawled with fear.

A loud ringing came from his phone and Reed nearly jumped out of his skin. Swiping right, he pulled it to his ear, still in a daze.

“Oh hey, can I borrow your charger again?”

Reed vaguely registered Marie’s voice in the background.

Murder. Suicide.

“Reed, are you there?”

Everything started to spin. The adrenaline of his show, the fear that was coursing through his blood, the thoughts of his stalker spiraling out of control—it suddenly became too much.

“Reed, answer me. Is everything okay?”

Reed was aware of his arm going limp as the phone slipped and fell from his hand.

His eyes began to flicker and he had trouble catching his breath.

More spinning as if he was being pulled down, deeper and deeper.

And then everything went black.

Classic rock music blared through the garage, loud enough to rattle the windows. A sheet of metal dug into Logan’s glove as he pounded the dents out of the rare fender. The skeletal bones of the motorcycle sat in front of him. Outside a strip of sunlight covered the driveway as he hammered the shit out of the scrap.

Pang! Pang!

The noise was deafening, loud enough to hear through the music, but Logan didn't care. It felt therapeutic to watch the bumps even out, to bash something into place. Another blow hit the sheet a little too hard and he flipped it around, brows knitting at his error. He gave the distortion a few taps and after evening it out again, was satisfied with the correction.

He lifted the hammer again—pang! Beating this thing to death wouldn't help clear the thoughts out of his head. The sound ricocheted in his ear painfully. Frustrated, Logan threw the hammer to the ground and used the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat that was gathering on his forehead. Sighing, he stepped over the scattered pieces of the motorcycle and walked across to the fridge in the corner. He selected a beer, unscrewed the cap and wrapped his warm hand around the refreshing, ice-cold bottle. He tipped his head back and took a long sip, knocking back half the bottle.

With his free hand, he wiped away the excess from his mouth and then moved over to his desk in the corner of the garage. Sinking into the seat, he continued to sip his beer but his eyes were magnetically drawn to the stack of bills and paperwork resting on the right-hand side. The latest one had arrived earlier this morning, which further added to his dark mood. Logan had literally skimmed it and then thrown it onto his desk, without giving it too much thought. He wanted to concentrate on Jon Hammond’s bike and didn’t need the added distraction of more doom and gloom.

Now, however, he couldn’t avoid the pull of the paperwork any longer. Exhaling loudly, he grabbed the stack of papers and brought them in front of him. Logan’s heart sank when he reread the morning’s letter. He was late on his mortgage payments for the garage the past few months and the bank was now threatening foreclosure if he didn’t clear his arrears.

The problem was, Logan knew he didn’t have the foothold in this small town to sustain the upkeep. When he first opened the motorcycle repair shop six months ago, he initially loved the tranquility of the quiet town and threw his efforts into restoring the machines. Growing up, before he joined the military, he spent his teen years around custom bikes and even though his presence was rarely wanted, Logan picked up a lot of the tricks of the trade. He knew that someday he’d start up his own garage and turn his passion into a business.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned. Logan wanted to escape his past, and through a connection, he somehow arrived in Magnolia Falls, which was two hundred clicks from San Francisco. He decided to stay and set up his garage but as the months ticked by, Logan soon realized that even though he loved the town, it was much too small for his kind of specialized business. The bills were piling up and without the customer base, he had fallen behind on his mortgage and utility payments.

Fuck. I need to do something.

Logan hung his head in his hands, racking his mind with how he could save his beloved garage. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment, thinking up different scenarios and wondering if he could ask for another loan from his bank manager, although he knew the odds were stacked against him.

The sound of wheels crunching on his driveway shook Logan out of his thoughts and he raised his head to see an SUV approaching, kicking up dust clouds in its wake. He sat up straight as soon as the vehicle came into view. A black Humvee. He recognized it immediately.

His eyebrows drew down as Logan stood and walked to the entrance, wondering what in the hell Michael Barnes was doing here.

The door opened and his old friend and ex-commander stepped out, a wide smile on his face. Logan grabbed a rag and wiped his hands the best he could before moving out into the drive. The bright sun had Logan squinting his eyes as he approached Michael.

“Michael. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, son.” His grin was warm and Logan couldn’t help but notice the extra wrinkles around his eyes, though apart from that, he still looked the same. Strong. An air of authority. Dependable.

He held out his hand and Michael returned the firm handshake.

“Is there somewhere we can talk, Logan?”

“Sure.” He looked back into the garage. “Is it private enough in here or would you prefer to go someplace else?”

Michael shook his head. “No, this is good. Are you alone?”

“Yeah. Not expecting anyone today.”

Michael gave him a small nod in approval and followed him back inside the garage.

They stepped over the various pieces of metal covering the floor until they reached the area designated for his desk and paperwork. Logan offered Michael his chair, grabbing the stool for himself. “Can I get you a beer?”

Michael pulled at the collar of his polo shirt. “Sure, it’s damn hot out there.”

A few minutes later, they sat side by side, drinking in silence. Soon, Logan couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “So, what brings you out here, Michael?”

Michael glanced at around at his desk and Logan inwardly swore when Michael’s eyes landed on the letter he was reading earlier. However, Michael didn’t comment and merely put his bottle down.

“How you holding up, kid?”

Logan shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“You spoke to anyone in the past six months about the stuff that went down?”

Logan looked away, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “If you’re referring to the shrink, then no. I don’t need to speak to someone about what happened just because they’ve got some fancy letters next to their name.”

Michael sighed, his brows knitting together. “I understand—”

“No one understands. Look, I don’t want to talk about it.” Logan drained the last few drops of his beer and crossed his arms.

“Okay, fine. I get it. I’ll let it rest for now but know that this isn’t the last you’ll hear of it.”

Logan released a deep breath but didn’t reply. He was getting a little tired of the monthly calls, checking up on his mental health and general well-being. Most of all, he just wanted to be left alone in peace. Or rather, with my demons.

“So, let’s cut to the chase.” Michael sat up straight in his chair, clearing this throat and taking on a business tone. “I had a call from Lieutenant Kellen Walker yesterday.”

“How is he?” Logan had met him once before with Michael and thought he was a pleasant-enough guy.

“He’s incredibly busy but also very worried.”

Logan furrowed his brow. “Is he okay?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, he’s fine, but his best friend’s in trouble. Have you heard of a designer called Reed Luxe?”

Logan thought the name rang a distant bell, but shaking his head, he couldn’t connect any information. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Apparently, he’s one of the most sought-after designers right now. Spends a lot of time in the public eye. Turns out, he’s been receiving threatening notes—the latest was five days ago following the success of his show in Tokyo.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Tokyo?”

“Yeah, Fashion Week. He was out there showcasing his latest collection.”

Logan’s mouth pulled up at the corners. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about that social calendar.”

Michael waved his hand dismissively. “Trust me, my knowledge is as good as yours. Anyway, he pretty much received a death threat, along the lines of ‘If I can’t have you, then no one else will.’”

“Man, that’s rough. Is he okay?”

“According to Kellen, he’s pretty shaken up. The stalker gained access to his house while he was away and sent him photos from inside. Yet there was no obvious break in and entry.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “He’s smart. Security cameras?”

“Scrambled.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, the stalker’s tech savvy too.”

Logan shifted on his stool. “What’s Kellen having you do?”

Michael shook his head. “Not me—I’m swamped this month.” He took a breath. “I want you onboard as his bodyguard until they catch the stalker. I don’t trust anyone else to do the job.”

Logan groaned. “C’mon, Michael. We’ve talked about this before. I’m not a freaking bodyguard. And besides, like I’ve told you, I’m happy here. I happen to like the non-action life.”

“It’s just for a month or two. Now that the threat’s escalated, Kellen’s sure they’ll catch him soon.”

“Micha—”

Michael held up his hand, stopping him mid protest. Logan watched as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. Unfolding it, he placed it on the desk, spinning it around in Logan’s direction. “Paperwork’s at the office; I’ll go through it all with you later.”

“What’s this, then?”

Michael pointed at the figures. “This, Logan, is how much Mr. Luxe is willing to pay for your services.”

Picking up the slip, he stared at the scribbled figure. Logan swallowed. Hard.

Shit, this is more than enough to pay off all my debts and then some.

“Is this for real?” He looked at Michael with disbelief.

“It’s negotiable. If you don’t think it’s enough, we can get back to Mr. Luxe—”

“No, no. Not at all. This is an extremely generous offer.”

Michael’s shoulders dropped, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s what I thought.” His smile faded. “But you can’t put a price on someone’s life. He’s understandably scared about the whole thing.”

“I can imagine.”

Michael sat forward in his seat. “So, you’ll do it?”

Logan threw the slip of paper on the desk and looked straight ahead. “Nope.”

Exasperated, Michael stood and began to pace. “Why the hell not, Logan? With your background as a trained SEAL, he couldn’t be in better hands. It’s an easy gig, you’re the man for the job. You’d be crazy to refuse this.”

Logan’s lips flattened. “I’m not looking after anyone.” Ever again.

Michael stopped pacing, a soft expression forming on his features. “That was different and you know it. You need to move on, Logan. Get back to the real world—do what you’re trained to do. This will get you out there, earning a decent wage and then you can come back here to your peace and quiet—one, two months later, and with your pockets lined.” He paused. “And, you’d be able to get the bank off your back, too.”

Logan’s brows flattened and his eyes snapped to Michael.

“It was staring at me. I couldn’t help scanning it. Things are tough, huh? Why didn’t you reach out to me?”

Logan sighed. “I thought there would be enough clientele here but it’s pretty dry. I’ve been trying to drum up business… but in the meantime, the bills are stacking up…” He trailed off.

Michael returned to his seat. “Take the job, Logan. You’ll be helping me out, too. Kellen’s a good friend and I don’t want to let him down. I’d be confident Reed Luxe will be a hundred percent safe in your hands.”

Logan took a few deep breaths, weighing up the cons. However, in this instance, with his dire financial situation at stake, the pros came out on top.

He inhaled sharply. “Fine, I’ll do it. Two months tops.”

Michael grinned, his eyes bright with victory. “I knew you’d come around. There’s too much talent in that body of yours to be hidden behind this grease and metal.”

“Hey, don’t knock the bikes, old man.”

Smiling, the two men stood and shook hands, sealing their mission.