The big guy, Garrett, steps into the room, but doesn’t seem to want to come near me. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck you,” I shout, as I sit up and press my non-injured hand to my bloody one to try and stop the bleeding. It’s not the worst I’ve had, but shit, it hurt…yeah, hurt. I cross my legs to stop myself from thinking about that other confusing…no, fuck that.
Dropping my eyes to my hands to avoid his too bright, all-seeing gaze, I prod at the cut. The crazy bastard opened it up again. It’s not too deep, it doesn’t need stitches—I got good at realising what does and doesn’t need sutures after getting hurt every day. This one will heal, probably leaving another scar to add to my collection.
I jerk back when I raise my eyes and realise the big guy is crouched before me, his dark gaze locked on me, his black hair falling across his forehead in an oddly endearing way as he reaches for my hand. “May I?” he murmurs, but I keep it clutched to my chest, and he sighs. “I won’t hurt you. I’m used to fixing cuts, bruises, and breaks.”
“I bet you are,” I snap, and his eyebrow rises.
“Not in that way, you should really avoid D though. He isn’t like…us. He’ll hurt you for fun,” he warns softly, his tattooed knuckles clenching. He’s so big, his hands must be bigger than my head. He could snap me in two and hurt me so easily. Yet he doesn’t…why?
“Oh, avoid him? That didn’t fucking occur to me, and how would you like me to avoid him when I’m in a locked room, and the crazy bastard breaks in and stares at me while I sleep?” I huff.
His lips twitch, and he nods at my cut again. “Let me at least clean it and wrap it. How’s your lip?” he questions, his big thumb coming up and prodding at my sore lip. I freeze as he strokes his thumb across it, his eyes scrutinising and clinical. Cold. Like he isn’t affected, like his touch isn’t doing strange fucking things to me.
Things I have no business feeling when I’m his prisoner.
He nods. “It’s not busted too badly, it will heal.” He releases my lips and takes my hand gently, turning it to regard the cut before standing so quickly I jolt back—a habit, a habit I thought I’d broken. He sees it, of course he does, but doesn’t comment. “Let me get a kit.”
He leaves the room for a moment, and I scramble to my feet to run after him and escape, but he shuts the door and locks it. The bastard. Pacing, snarling, and swearing under my breath, I wait for him to return. There is no way I can take this big guy. I’m good, but I’m not that good. Plus, I’ve seen his scarred knuckles and crooked nose, which has been broken too many times, so I know he’s a fighter. By the fluid way he moves for such a big guy, I would guess a boxer.
The door unlocks, and he comes back in with a first aid kit. He gestures for me to sit on the bed, so I do, hoping if I’m good, I can lull them into a false sense of security. He kneels down and cleans the cut, ignoring me completely.
“What will happen to my bar?” I demand. I love that place. It’s my home, the only place I ever belonged, and I worked my ass off to keep it alive after…
“We locked it up, it will stay closed for now,” he offers, uncaring about my questions or anger as he wraps my hand back up and stands. “You should get some sleep.”
He turns then and starts to leave, so I leap into his path. “Why? Why are you doing this?” I whisper, tears finally filling my eyes. “I’m a person, a person! Not an object, please just let me go.”
He sighs, scrubbing at his face. “No. Get some sleep.”
Then he leaves, the click of the door signalling it’s locked again. I wipe my tears away, angry with myself for letting him see that weakness. All of a sudden, everything closes in on me. I’m theirs, they are never letting me go.
I know that, I can feel it. I know too much, have seen too much…this is my life now. The question is, how long will I survive? Between the crazy bastard and the mean one…I’m betting not long.
My father gave me a death sentence at the hands of these Vipers, and I’m betting he doesn’t even care. All my life, he’s been taking it out on me. I always thought he would kill me. Turns out I was right, but not in the way I thought.
I don’t sleep, not really. I lie on the floor, watching the city come to life as the sun rises. All the while, thinking of a plan. I refuse to lie here and let these bastards do whatever they want to me and possibly kill me.
I have a life.
They picked the wrong fucking girl. I’ve been fighting longer than I’ve been walking. They want an easy slave? Tough fucking luck, ’cause I’m going to make them regret the day they took me. I need to gain their trust, make them think they’re breaking my spirit. Then I’ll escape.
If they try to kill me, I’ll kill them. It’s that simple.
This isn’t a normal day anymore, this is a dog-eat-dog world…or more accurately, a Viper world. And right now, I’m the prey…
It should horrify me that I’m even contemplating killing them, but I’ve seen shit most people would never even be able to dream of, and if I have to kill four, corrupt mafia assholes to get my freedom, I will.
I’ll never stop fighting them.
I’ll be free again, and then my dad is going to pay for this.
Feeling calmer with a plan in place, I get to my feet as I hear booted feet heading my way. Kenzo opens the door and peeks in, smiling at me. He always seems to do that, but it can’t mask the calculation in his eyes, or the way he watches me and everyone. Waiting, observing.
His hair is shaved at the sides and slicked back today as he steps into the room. He’s got on a white shirt, with two buttons undone at the top to show his chiselled chest and glimpses of chest hair. It’s tucked into black trousers and shoes shinier than my life.
He’s so put together, so perfect, and screams money and power. It flows from him. He’s used to being the center of attention, the most powerful man in the room. What they don’t realise? When you hit bottom, you only have one way to go, and that’s up.
They took everything, including me.
I have nothing left to lose.
They have everything.
“You must be hungry. Come on, we’re having breakfast and thought you might like to join us,” he offers, his hands tucking into his pockets as he tries to make himself seem friendly. It might work on others, but not on me. I see behind that mask to the monster hiding beneath.
“Will I be chained like a dog?” I snarl, and he smirks.
“Do you want to be? It can be arranged, I’m sure,” he retorts smugly, and I narrow my eyes. “Come, eat.”
“And if I say no?”
He loses his smirk, his face going cold. “You better realise now that you have no power here, love. It will make it easier for you. If I wanted you chained like a dog, you would be. I’m being polite, so do not throw it in my face, or we might not be so polite in the future.”
Then, he goes back to grinning. “Come.” He nods his head and leaves the room.
I struggle for a moment before following after him. He’s waiting right outside, giving me no time to try and escape. Like he can hear my thoughts, he chuckles, his hand going to the base of my spine, warming the skin there. He leans down, murmuring in my ear, “I wouldn’t. D is looking for an excuse to rough you up. Don’t tempt him to chase you, because when he gets you…well, you will have wished he was as nice as us.”
“Do you always threaten people with death and torture over breakfast?” I snap, moving away from his hand.
He laughs behind me. “Of course, it isn’t a good morning without at least one death threat or fight.”
I stomp down the hallway, noting the other doors for later. It cuts off, opening up into the rest of the apartment, and I stop, gawking. “You’re all crazy,” I mutter distractedly.
He presses against my back, his heat and hard body making me freeze. I feel his lips at my ear, his breath wafting through my hair. “You have no idea.”
I ignore him, too busy staring at the grandeur around me. If I thought that bedroom looked like something out of a showroom, I had no idea…fuck, I didn’t even know places could look like this.
To the right are floor-to-ceiling windows, which cover two stories, and there are doors leading out onto what looks like a terrace with a pool and a bar. To the left is the front door with a scanner next to it, and behind that is a floating glass staircase leading up to another level.
Stepping into the room, I stare around further. The whole place is done in gold, white, and black. Marble floor with black accents squeak under my feet, leading to a living area. Sunk into the floor is a huge sofa, and when I say huge, I mean large enough to hold a full rugby team. It’s in a square and looks like expensive leather, and, I shit you not, a fucking open fire is in front of it. There’s a TV, which covers the whole wall next to me. Behind the sofa is a glass table that runs the length of an entire wall, with flowers and decorations across it and a grand piano.
Next to it is an open kitchen, with a white and grey marble island and black stools with gold legs in front of it. The kitchen is bigger than my whole apartment, equipped with every gadget and gizmo you could imagine. Large, chandelier pendant lights hang down from the ceiling, and the fridge and oven are a shiny black. Gold flowers sit perfectly in a vase. Ryder is moving around it. “Bin open,” he orders, and the bin opens, letting him drop something inside.
Of course they have fucking talking appliances.
There are crystal chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling and art covering the white walls. It’s all so clean, spotless, and perfect—and screams money. Every gilded edge, every vase and feature meant to impress.
Fuck, they even have stepping stones into what looks like a pond in a corner. How the other half lives. I shake my head as Kenzo pushes me forward, and I stumble before whipping my head around to glare at him. He’s grinning, flashing straight white teeth at me. “Asshole,” I sneer, and turn back to see all of them looking at me now.
I’m so out of place, I feel tiny and insignificant. My clothes are cheap, but fuck it. They stole me, they knew who I was. I tip my head back and give them a haughty look as I stroll over to the table where Garrett is nursing a mug of what smells like coffee. Diesel is there too, his booted feet propped up on the glass table as he flips a lighter around in his hand.
Ryder heads over, placing a platter on the table and sitting down in the head chair, setting a napkin delicately in his lap. He’s in another suit today—a grey, pinstriped one with a fucking waistcoat, the material tightening around his impressive thighs as he leans back, sipping from a goddamn teacup.
He makes the thing look tiny, yet it seems to fit him somehow. His eyes watch me, analysing my every move as I stand there awkwardly before deciding to pick a chair and plop into it, very ungracefully. Slamming my own bare feet on the table, I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him. “I want my boots back.”
Those boots cost me a small fortune and are one of the only things I’ve ever splurged on and bought for myself.
He sips from the cup and places it on a saucer on the table. It’s weirdly fascinating and kind of arousing, watching the man wrap his lips around such a dainty cup. Not that I’ll ever tell him that, asshole.
Diesel leans forward, his dark eyes watching me as he pushes his long, blond hair behind his ears. Like usual, Garrett ignores me.
Diesel is a fucking mad dog, Ryder is an arrogant asshole, and Kenzo is a charming psychopath…I can’t figure Garrett out. He seems to want to ignore my presence altogether. He doesn’t even look up at me. Kenzo sits next to me and grabs two mugs. “Coffee?”
“Dark,” I reply, and he pours it for me. I wrap my hands around the mug, wincing as my injured one aches.
Ryder notices, of course. I don’t think there is anything this man doesn’t notice. He has eyes like a hawk. “That serves you right for acting like a child and destroying your room.”
Did he just reprimand me…like a fucking kid? I have the urge to throw my coffee in his face, and he narrows his cold eyes like he knows my thoughts. “Do not test me. Because of your outburst, I have some people coming to fix the room today. You can’t be left alone, so you will stay with Kenzo.”
“A prison guard?” I laugh bitterly as I sip the coffee, which, annoyingly, is very fucking good.
“For your protection, and yes, to stop you from hurting yourself or trying to leave,” Ryder replies matter-of-factly, as he picks up his cutlery and starts to slice into his food. “Eat, you must be hungry.”
Then he ignores me like I’m nothing more than an annoyance. If that’s true, then why did he grab me? Is it because it was business to cover a debt? A warning to others? I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t care.
Kenzo places food on my plate, a full English, but I feel too sick to eat. What do they think, that a fancy apartment and good food will make me stop trying to escape? Do they really just expect me to accept it?
Yes, I can tell they do. They are used to being obeyed, to people doing as they’re told.
“Is your hand still bleeding, pretty bird?” Diesel inquires, propping his chin on his hand as he watches me. It doesn’t escape me that Kenzo is between him and me.
They did it on purpose, but why? Why do they care what Diesel does to me? After all, they said I’m theirs to do with as they please. Ignoring him, I turn to Ryder, knowing he’s the one who has answers.
“My bar—” I start.
He lifts those cold eyes, freezing me in place. Most people watch you, but they don’t give you their full attention. Not Ryder, he locks you in place, analysing everything until I’m sure he knows there’s a bead of sweat dripping down my spine and my hands are shaking slightly in fear despite my bravado. He notes it all, watching me, using it against me. This is a man who likes complete control.
“What of it?” he challenges, his voice smooth and cultured. There is nothing rough about this man, everything is so perfect, but underneath all that…there is still a viper. A deadly, accurate snake.
“What will happen to it?” I ask.
“We’ll probably sell it or destroy it,” he answers unemotionally. Curling my fingers into my injured palm, I stop myself from lunging at him and trying to choke the bastard. That’s my bar.
Mine.
God, if Rich could see it now—it’s that thought that stops me. I promised to look after the place, to keep it running for him. I have to, even if it kills me.
“Please, please don’t.” I grit my teeth over the words, the only hint of weakness I will allow.
He sits back, his lips tilting up at the corner ever so slightly. “Fine, until we have decided what to do with it, I’ll allow your…associates to carry on business.”
I snort at his use of the word ‘associates.’ He means Cook and Travis. “Do they know what happened to me?”
He raises his eyebrow. “No, they think you had a family emergency and had to leave.”
I laugh, outright laugh, and he watches me. “Something funny?”
I can sense the others glancing between us, all sounds of eating stopping. Oh, Ryder doesn’t like not knowing something, at being the butt of a joke. “I have no family, they know that.” I snort.
“You have a father,” he replies in confusion.
“I disowned him years ago.” I shrug. “Everyone knows that.”
He nods, wiping his mouth with his napkin before folding it perfectly and placing it on the table. “I saw you were emancipated at seventeen.”
I lift my head then, wondering how. “How—”
He smiles then, and it’s so cold and evil, I actually shudder. Fuck. “We have our ways, love. I could find out anything about anyone. Give me a moment, and I’ll know the basics. An hour, I’ll know your life…” He leans close, his minty breath wafting across me, he smells like mint and wood. “Give me a day, and I can destroy you with everything I know.”
Tilting my head away, I keep my eyes locked on his, refusing to back down. “Fine, you know shit about me, who doesn’t? That doesn’t mean you know me.”
“No?” he counters, arching a brow as he sits back. Surprise enters his eyes at my refusal to concede, to be scared or intimidated, and I can imagine it’s a first. “Then let me enlighten you. You have broken nearly every bone in your body since you were three years old. Your father, probably, since he’s a drunk. Your mother was a drug addict who finally killed herself when you were fourteen. You walk like someone who can hold her own, you know how to fight. Most likely took some lessons. You own a gun which shows you have some…unsavoury friends. You aren’t afraid to run a dive bar, which shows you’re brave and slightly stupid. You don’t have a boyfriend, probably because of your glaring daddy issues—in fact, it seems you just have passing lovers. None who even know your full name, just the way you like it, keeping you in charge. How am I doing?”
“All right, apart from one,” I snarl, standing. “My mother didn’t kill herself. My father did that when he stuck the needle in her vein and pushed the plunger.”
I turn away and Diesel blocks my path. “Where are you going, Little Bird?”
“I did not dismiss you,” Ryder snaps behind me. “Sit down.”
Grinding my teeth, I take a deep breath, balling my hands into fists, and spin back around and sit. He nods and carries on eating, ignoring me. “Today, I’m going to be in meetings until after lunch. Tonight, I expect you all here. Tomorrow, Garrett and I are away most of the day,” he informs them.
“Where are you going, bro?” Kenzo inquires as he eats.
“We have some matters to deal with up north, a disagreement on pay.” Ryder rolls his eyes. “It will be sorted quickly. In the meantime, I want your ears to the ground, Kenzo. Keep your eyes open for retribution from the Triad. They won’t give up that easily.”
I sit there soaking it all in, noting as much about them as I can. They are talking freely in front of me. Why?
Because they expect I’ll never tell anyone.
It sends a bolt of fear through me, which burns away to anger. They plan to snuff me out like I’m nothing, just another business deal for them. It infuriates me, fuck fear. I’m angry, livid.
These bastards need to pay. I spend the rest of breakfast silently fuming, refusing to eat. I’m going to make them pay.
