Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

8. Kanyan

8

KANYAN

T he murmurs in the ballroom are hard to miss, growing louder with every failed step of tonight’s tightrope dancer. It’s not just disappointment—it’s frustration, irritation. I stand near the edge of the room, arms crossed, and watch as the girl limps offstage, clutching her ankle. She almost trips on her way down, and I shake my head, already calling a security guard over.

“Move her before she trips over her own shadow again,” I say when the guard appears. “And get a doctor to check that ankle. I don’t want her dragging the hotel’s reputation further into the mud.”

The Magnolia Hotel is better than this. Our performers are supposed to enhance the experience, not embarrass it. Still, I know the girl isn’t the problem. She’s just in the wrong place, filling in shoes she can’t ever hope to fill. Everyone’s here for someone else—for Lula.

All our performers are afforded rooms for the duration of their stay. It’s standard practice. Most come and go without a second thought from me. But Lula? She’s different. She’s been in my head since the moment I saw her up on that thin wire, defying gravity like it had no claim on her. But it’s not just her skill that keeps me coming back.

It’s her fear.

I’ve seen fear like that before. It’s written in the way she glances over her shoulder, the tension in her body every time someone gets too close. She’s running; wearing her fear like a second skin.

I can’t help but compare her to my mother. Lula is running, trying to escape whatever threat is chasing her. My mother? She never ran. She stayed. She stayed and let her demons destroy her piece by piece. She stayed until there was nothing left to save.

And I failed her.

I should have fought harder. Forced her to leave. Locked her away if I had to. But I didn’t, and now she’s gone. That failure sits heavy in my chest every time I think about it. I can’t change what happened to her, but maybe I can make it right this time. Maybe I can do for Lula what I couldn’t do for my own mother.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts. Earlier tonight, I programmed my number into Lula’s phone, making sure she could reach me if she needed to. What she doesn’t know is that I also added a tracker.

It’s not just paranoia. She’s already tried to leave once, and I have no doubt she’ll try again. People like her always think they can outrun the storm chasing them. They don’t realize that monsters like Derin don’t just give up. They keep coming, relentless, until they take what they want—or someone stops them.

The tracker pings, showing me exactly where she is.

I weave through the hotel, keeping to the shadows. Sure enough, I find her at the front desk, quietly checking out. Her suitcase is small, and the way she clutches the handle gives her away. She’s ready to bolt.

I lean against the wall, half-hidden in the dim light, and watch her. She doesn’t even glance over her shoulder to see if she’s being followed. No plan, no strategy. She’s scared, but she doesn’t know how to survive. Who checks out of a hotel when they’re trying to stay hidden? She might as well put a neon sign over her head that says, “Come and get me.”

I take a deep breath, my jaw tightening as I watch her step away from the desk. She’s walking right into danger, and she doesn’t even know it.

But I do.

And I’m not letting her go. Not when I know what’s out there waiting for her.

The cool night air bites against my skin as I step outside the hotel and spot her, suitcase in hand, hailing a cab. She looks over her shoulder every few seconds, like she’s expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. She doesn’t even notice me until I’m right next to her.

“Going somewhere?”

My hand wraps around the handle of her suitcase, and she flinches, letting go like she’s been burned. Her wide blue eyes snap to mine, fear flickering in their depths before recognition softens her features. Her shoulders sag, and her lips part as if to explain.

She doesn’t owe me anything. Not an explanation, not her trust, not even her time. But for reasons I can’t fully articulate, I can’t let her go.

“I need to go,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

I tilt my head, studying her. “I told you to call me. Did something happen?”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she shakes her head. But the sadness in her eyes betrays her words. “I can’t stay here,” she says, her voice cracking. “I can’t just wait for worse to happen.”

My jaw tightens as her words sink in. Even with all the security at the hotel, she doesn’t feel safe. Derin got to her once. He found her here, hurt her, and could’ve done so much worse if I hadn’t been there to stop him. She knows he’ll come back. Men like him always do. And she’s right—I can’t watch her every second.

“You don’t feel safe at the hotel,” I say, more a statement than a question.

She nods, her gaze dropping to the pavement. “I’m not safe anywhere.”

Those four words hit me like a punch to the gut. The hopelessness in her voice, the way her shoulders curl inward like she’s trying to make herself smaller—it tears at something deep inside me.

“How long have you been running, Lula?” I ask quietly.

She hesitates, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “Three years,” she whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear her.

Three years. She can’t be more than twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. That means she’s been running since she was barely out of her teens, trying to escape whatever hell Derin has been dragging behind him.

“I can offer you somewhere to stay,” I say, my voice steady and firm. “Somewhere safe, where no one can get to you.”

Her head snaps up, and she stares at me like I’ve just suggested something impossible. “Nowhere is safe,” she says, shaking her head. I don’t understand how she can feel like her situation is so helpless when someone is offering her a lifeline.

“There is,” I insist. “It’s private, well-guarded. No one gets in unless I say so.”

She steps back, shaking her head more fiercely now. “You shouldn’t. You’re leading him straight to you. He’ll hurt you too.”

I take a step forward, closing the distance she’s trying to create. “Let me worry about that. I’ve dealt with men like him before. I know how they operate.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she holds my gaze, searching for... what? A lie? A trap? Some sign that I’m just another danger she needs to escape?

But I’m not backing down.

“You can’t keep running like this, Lula. You deserve better than a life spent looking over your shoulder.”

Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t respond. For the first time, I see the cracks in her armor, the exhaustion weighing her down. She’s so tired. So damn tired.

“Let me just put you up somewhere safe for a few nights,” I say softly, my voice gentler. “Take your time to think about it. See if it works for you.”

She doesn’t answer, just nods slightly, her gaze flicking to the street as a cab pulls up. She takes a step toward it, then stops, her hand lingering on the door handle.

“Lula,” I say, my voice firm as she wars between getting into the cab and taking a step back toward me. “Trust me.”