A Warning Visit.

Chapter Four: A Warning Visit

Zhedya had known about Zack’s… hobbies for a while now. Two years, to be exact. It had been during a routine consultation with the FBI…another body, another set of ligature marks around the victim’s neck.

It was all so sloppy. Amateurish, really. Predators like Zack were so consumed by the thrill of the hunt, the intoxicating power of squeezing the life from someone, that they grew arrogant. They always left a trail.

For Zack, it was his scent. A distinct, limited-edition cologne clinging to the fabric of the victim’s clothes…a subtle, spicy signature Zhedya’s keen senses picked up immediately.

It hadn't taken much more to confirm his suspicion. A few calls, leveraging his dual status as a forensic pathologist and a hospital CEO, and he had access to Zack’s psychiatric records.

His former therapist, nervous and ethically conflicted, had confessed over a pressured phone call that Zack had fantasized aloud about strangulation, about the “rush” of holding a life in his hands.

Zhedya had never planned to expose him. Not then. It was far more interesting to watch, to study the chaos from a distance.

He’d simply paid Zack a quiet, private visit…a warning delivered not with shouts, but with a calm, chilling certainty that left the younger man pale and shaking. I see you. Be careful.

But now, Zack was becoming a problem. A direct threat.

“You’ve had your fun long enough, Zack,” Zhedya whispered from the driver's seat of his car, his grey eyes fixed on the man exiting a rundown bar across the street. The game was changing.

*****

Back at the penthouse, Ian crept through the dark hallway, his heart still thumping from his failed trip to the police station.

He’d barely made it past the front desk before his courage failed, the words dying in his throat. What would he even say?

He jumped a foot in the air as a voice cut through the darkness.

“Where have you been?”

Ian fumbled for the light switch, his hand trembling.

The lamps flickered on, illuminating Zhedya sitting calmly in an armchair, the python, Blue, coiled contentedly in his lap.

“Oh my god! Stop creeping around like that!” Ian gasped, pressing a hand to his racing heart.

Zhedya didn’t smile. His gaze was unnervingly direct. “I got bored. Just went out for some fresh air. That’s all,” Ian lied, his voice cracking slightly.

“I see.” Zhedya’s fingers stroked the snake’s sleek scales. “Want to play with Blue a bit?”

“Of course not,” Ian refused immediately, taking a step back.

“Pity.” Zhedya brought the snake’s head close to his own, pressing a kiss to its brow.

“Just like a snake, you know. A predator coils around its prey so quietly, so gently… until it can’t breathe anymore.”

He stood, placing Blue back in his enclosure, and walked toward the door.

He paused as he passed Ian, his shoulder brushing against Ian’s, a seemingly casual contact that felt intensely deliberate.

“You’re terrible at lying, Ian,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “That’s why I like you. Next time you want fresh air, I can recommend places that aren’t the police station.”

He didn’t wait for a response, disappearing down the hall and leaving Ian frozen in place, his cheeks burning with a mixture of fear and embarrassment.

A cold dread settled in Ian’s stomach. How did he know?

*****

The next morning, Ian was summoned to Zhedya’s home office. It was a stark, modern space, all sharp lines and dark wood.

Ian felt like a student called to the principal’s office as he stood before the large desk.

Zhedya sat behind it, an intimidating aura of calm control surrounding him.

“You broke your promise to me,” he stated, his tone flat. “You left the house. You went to the police. What were you thinking, Ian?”

The humiliation of being caught, of being so transparent, made Ian’s skin heat. “I just wanted to help!” he burst out, defiance sparking. “I can’t stay locked in here forever while that damn killer is still out there!”

“Oh, is that what you think you’re doing? Helping?”

Zhedya’s lip curled. He picked up a manila folder and tossed it onto the desk. Photographs spilled out. “You were being followed.”

Ian’s blood ran cold. He picked up the pictures. In every one, a figure in dark clothing lingered in the background.

On a street corner. Outside the police station. In one, the camera had managed to catch his face—and the unmistakable, chilling grey eyes of the man from the alley.

Ian’s breath hitched, his hands beginning to shake. “He was there…”

“I had you watched. I needed to prove a point.” Zhedya leaned forward, his gaze pinning Ian in place.

“If you want to live, you will listen to me.” He slid another file across the desk. “His name is Zack Perez. Unstable. Wealthy parents. His own therapist confirmed he has a… thing for strangling. I have evidence of his previous murders. And you, my dear journalist, are going to help me leak it.”

Ian looked up, confused and terrified.

“Here is how we do this,” Zhedya continued, his voice becoming soothing, almost hypnotic.

“You will write the article. Your experience as the ‘almost-victim’ of the ‘Swift Strangler.’ You will publish it on your blog tonight. By morning, the police will be at his door.”

Numbly, Ian nodded. What other choice did he have?

Zhedya stood and walked around the desk, pulling Ian into a firm hug.

Ian stiffened before melting into the embrace, desperate for the comfort. “It’s okay,” Zhedya whispered, stroking his hair.

“You just do as I say. I promise you, everything will be fine. I’ll make you some tea so you can sleep well after you’re done writing.”

*****

On a deserted dirt road outside the city, Zhedya leaned against his car, arms crossed, his black gloves stark in the moonlight.

“Stalking Ian when we had a deal is very bad form, Zack.”

Zack stepped out of the shadows, pulling off his beanie. “You let that journalist walk into the station. The deal is off. I’m going to do what I should have done all along. Feel his throat crush under my hands.”

He let out a harsh, grating laugh. “You’ll have bigger issues to deal with than me.”

“I doubt that,” Zhedya replied, his voice like ice.

“Haven’t you seen the news?” Zack sneered, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

Zhedya allowed a slow, cold smile. “I’m guessing you haven’t. I never expected my boy to be that smart.”

Frowning, Zack yanked his phone from his pocket. His face went slack with horror. His name was everywhere. His picture.

The evidence, meticulously laid out in a damning article on the ‘Feral Minds’ blog.

“There are many people like us, Zack,” Zhedya said softly, taking a step forward. “But there is a hierarchy. And that places you far, far below me.”

With a roar of pure rage, Zack launched himself forward. Zhedya moved with blinding speed.

A sharp kick to the knee, a sidestep, and then Zack felt a sharp prick in his neck. He collapsed to the ground, his body going rigid, his mind screaming in a prison of paralyzed flesh.

Zhedya looked down at him, his expression one of mild distaste. “I did it all, you know. Leaked the evidence. I can’t let you go, knowing you’re a threat to what’s mine.”

He bent down, hoisting Zack’s limp body over his shoulder with surprising ease. “Now, let’s hurry up and get you home.”

*****

Ian woke slowly, his mind foggy. He turned to the clock on the nightstand.

Past nine? He never slept that late. The tea Zhedya had given him must have been stronger than he thought.

He made his way downstairs to find Zhedya seated in front of the large television, his glasses on, focused on the screen.

For a fleeting moment, Ian was struck by how attractive he was…the sharp jawline, the intense focus. He shook the thought away, feeling a flush of guilt.

“Good morning,” Ian whispered.

Zhedya turned, a warm smile instantly gracing his features. “Ian. Good morning. Come, look at this.” He patted the space on the sofa beside him.

Ian sat down, his eyes drawn to the news broadcast. The screen showed a photo of Zack.

“...The FBI has publicly announced that the serial killer known as the ‘Swift Strangler,’ hunted for years, has been identified as Zack Perez,” the newscaster stated.

“Upon arriving at his apartment this morning, police discovered Perez deceased from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. A trove of evidence found at the scene has confirmed his involvement in the murders…”

A wave of overwhelming relief washed over Ian. “Oh my god,” he breathed, a genuine smile spreading across his face. It was over. He was safe.

Zhedya watched him, a deep satisfaction blooming in his chest.

Not just because he was the real executioner, the puppet master who controlled life and death, but because Ian was now securely his. Safe, grateful, and utterly dependent.

Suddenly, Ian turned and threw his arms around Zhedya in a tight, heartfelt hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for everything. I can’t thank you enough for keeping me safe.”

Zhedya held him for a moment before gently pulling back, cupping Ian’s face in his hands. His touch was possessive.

“From now on,” he vowed, his grey eyes locked on Ian’s, “I will always watch out for you. I will always keep you safe.”

They stared at each other, the air crackling with a new, dangerous tension. Ian’s gaze flickered down to Zhedya’s lips.

His heart hammered, a mix of fear, gratitude, and a desperate, confusing attraction compelling him forward. He leaned in slowly.

The kiss started soft, tentative. But then Zhedya’s hand slid into Ian’s hair, tilting his head, and it deepened into something needy and passionate, a claiming.

As he kissed Ian back, Zhedya smiled against his lips. It was done. Ian would be his, no matter what.