Pain. That was the first thing I registered—sharp, persistent pain throbbing at the base of my skull. My limbs felt heavy, my body stiff like I'd been lying in one position for too long.
I sucked in a breath.
The air smelled different. Not the damp, rotting scent of the alley. Not the stifling, overcrowded odor of the shelter. This was clean, expensive—leather, wood, and something faintly metallic.
I opened my eyes, blinking against the dim lighting. My surroundings came into focus, and my stomach dropped.
The room was massive. A grand fireplace crackled in the corner, casting flickering golden light against deep mahogany walls. Dark furniture filled the space—towering bookshelves, a sleek leather couch, a wooden desk that looked older than me. Thick curtains were drawn over the windows, keeping the outside world out.
Panic tightened my chest.
Where the hell am I?
I sat up too fast, and a sharp ache flared in my skull. I winced, gripping my head as the memories came rushing back.
The alley. The gunshot. The man.
My breath hitched.
I had seen them kill someone.
And now I was here.
Fear crawled up my spine. Why am I still alive?
The question sent a fresh wave of terror through me. There was no logical reason to keep me breathing. If they were killers, leaving loose ends wasn't something they'd tolerate.
I was the loose end.
I needed to get out.
I forced myself to move, my body protesting as I slid off the bed. My bare feet touched cold hardwood, and I hesitated. There was no way this was a normal house. Everything about it screamed power and wealth, the kind that could make people disappear without a trace.
A quiet creak made my heart lurch.
The door opened.
I froze.
The man from the alley stepped inside.
The sight of him in the dim light stole the breath from my lungs. He moved with an effortless grace, his broad frame clad in dark slacks and a crisp, unbuttoned shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing tattoos that wrapped around his forearms.
He looked at me.
Not with anger. Not with amusement. Just observation.
Something about the way he carried himself made my skin prickle. He wasn't just dangerous. He was control itself.
He took a step forward, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.
"You're awake."
His voice was deep, smooth, disturbingly calm. Like he had all the time in the world.
I clenched my fists to stop them from trembling. "Where am I?"
"My home."
Home. The word should've meant safety. It didn't.
My throat went dry as I forced out the real question. "Why am I here?"
His pale blue eyes pinned me in place. "You saw something you shouldn't have."
A lump formed in my throat. I was going to die.
I'd heard the stories—the whispers on the streets about people who stumbled into the wrong situations. They never got second chances.
My breathing quickened. My instincts screamed at me to run, but where? I was trapped in a stranger's house, alone, with no idea how many men lurked beyond that door.
He took another step forward.
I backed up until my legs hit the bed.
"Do you know what happens to people who see things they shouldn't?" he asked.
My stomach twisted violently. I knew.
I forced my shaking hands to still. I couldn't beg. I couldn't plead. That would get me nowhere.
But I wasn't going to die.
Not like this.
I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling for a way out. "I—I can be useful."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Useful?"
"I'll do anything." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Just... don't kill me."
Silence.
Then, he chuckled. Low. Dark.
"You'd rather serve than die?"
The word serve sent a chill through me, but I nodded. Anything was better than a bullet to the head.
He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "And what exactly do you think you can do for me?"
I clenched my fists. "I can clean, cook—whatever you need. I won't be a problem."
His gaze remained unreadable.
Then, suddenly, he stepped closer.
Too close.
I sucked in a sharp breath, but I didn't move.
His fingers tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're terrified."
I couldn't deny it.
"And yet, you're bargaining."
His touch was deceptively light, but there was something unspoken beneath it. He could snap my neck if he wanted to. But he hadn't.
"Fine," he murmured, dropping his hand. "You want to live? You'll work for me."
A breath of relief escaped me before I could stop it.
The moment was shattered when another man stepped inside.
I recognized him instantly—the second man from the alley.
Taller than me but shorter than the first man, his presence was different. Sharper. He looked between us before settling his gaze on the one who had just agreed to keep me alive.
"This is a mistake," he muttered.
The man beside me didn't look away. "I don't make mistakes."
The other man scoffed. "She's weak. Useless. What are you going to do? Make her fold your shirts?"
Heat rose to my face, but I stayed silent.
The man beside me smirked slightly. "I'll decide what I do with her."
A tense silence stretched between them. It was clear they weren't equals.
Then the other man clicked his tongue in irritation. "Don't let her out of your sight. If she runs, we kill her."
A sharp chill spread through my body.
My captor turned his attention back to me, the smirk fading. "Starting tomorrow, you'll work. Don't make me regret keeping you alive."
And just like that, he left the room, his footsteps unhurried.
The other man lingered, his stare sharp, before following.
The door clicked shut behind them.
And I exhaled.
I wasn't dead.
But I wasn't free, either.
I had just sold myself to a man whose name I didn't even know.
And I had no idea if I had just made the worst mistake of my life.