Chapter 11
KATIE
I shouldn’t have gone to meet Leni.
The thought hammers relentlessly against my skull as I scrub blood from the trunk liner, my pulse roaring in my ears, my muscles protesting the nightmare of hauling dead weight and disposing of a corpse.
I keep glancing over my shoulder as I work, scanning the darkness obsessively, checking every shadow that moves. No one’s there. No headlights, no footsteps—nothing but the cold, empty silence pressing in from all sides.
Still, my stomach churns with the distinct, nauseating possibility that I might have been followed.
Impossible. I was careful.
Was I, though? Because as I finish cleaning and make my way back towards the sewer line, I realize something unsettling: for the first time since I left this very manhole earlier tonight, that persistent itchy feeling at the nape of my neck is gone.
Did someone see what I did? If so, who?
Fuck, I don’t have time to worry about that right now. If someone did follow me and witness me dumping a body, they’ll make themselves known soon enough. Until then, I have more urgent problems to handle.
I slip into the sewer line, muscles burning as I drag the cover back into place above me. The moment it seals, my mind starts running again.
I shouldn’t have approached Leni—but what choice did I have? The Nightshades’ constant search for me would have put everything at risk. Not just my mission, but my life. Kayla’s life.
Hell, it already has. I had to kill someone tonight.
This isn’t the first time I’ve taken a life.
Not even the third. In my line of work, there have been shootouts and violent confrontations with criminals who refused to go down without bloodshed.
Yet this feels different somehow. My limbs feel like they’re vibrating at the wrong frequency, the metallic tang of his blood mixed with the harsh chemical burn of bleach seeming to cling to me, my fingers still sticky no matter how many times I’ve wiped them.
And that sound. God, that soft splash when his body hit the river, the way the water swallowed him whole…
It loops. And loops. And loops.
Stop it.
I did the right thing. I know I did.
That bastard wouldn’t have just let me walk away.
I know his type—have dealt with them countless times before.
The type who think they can overpower any woman, that it’s their right to terrorize us.
His slimy smile flashes behind my lids, those greasy fingers wrapping around my arm like he owned me, and some of my guilt fades.
I clench my jaw. It was either him or me. No—it was him or Kayla and me. Because if he had succeeded in overpowering me and delivered me to Rafael, that would have been it. My sister would have no one left protecting her against the people holding her captive.
The thought steadies my hands.
I make it back to the estate without incident, locking the well cover before ghosting through the shadows towards the maids’ quarters.
Dim lights buzz overhead as I navigate the common room and hallway, my steps whisper-soft, my breathing controlled, until I’m finally behind the closed door of my bedroom.
No one saw me. No one tried to stop me.
I’m safe.
I strip off my clothes and stuff them into a black bin bag, then slip out to shower, scrubbing my skin thoroughly until it’s raw, until I’m sure there’s no trace of tonight left on me. Only then do I return to my room and dress in slacks and a top.
Bin bag in hand, I sneak to the shared kitchen to grab the lighter from the drawer and spot a bottle of whiskey tucked behind the breadbox—stolen, no doubt. One of the maids thinks her little habit goes unnoticed.
I grab it too, then carry my burden into the woods and burn it, watching the flames eat through the fabric until nothing remains but charred ash and smoke.
There. Now there’s really no evidence tying me to tonight’s incident.
Limbs heavy with exhaustion and emotional toll, I trudge back to the maids’ quarters, return the half-empty whiskey bottle to its hiding spot, drop the lighter into the drawer, and drag myself to my room.
I collapse onto the narrow bed, my pulse still racing despite my exhaustion, a vise clamped around my chest. I don’t bother changing out of my clothes this time. I just close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
In. Out. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
I repeat the mantra over and over, breathing slowly and deliberately, until sleep finally drags me under—where everything is definitely not fine.
I’m walking through that alley again, my footsteps quick and purposeful, when iron fingers lock around my arm.
“Katie Pierce? It’s you.” The man’s face materializes from shadow, his lips stretching into an ugly smile. “You’re going to make me a rich man.”
My heart pounds erratically, my mouth working but I can’t speak, can’t move any part of my body, can’t defend myself.
Move, damn it. Move!
He laughs, twisting my arm until pain shoots up to my shoulder. “Gotcha.” He starts pushing me and suddenly I’m gliding like I’m on wheels. I glance down—there are wheels. Why am I wearing wheels? When did—
The scene shifts violently.
Now I’m in an office drowning in masculinity. Framed pictures line the walls: Lily of the valley, Azaleas, Iris, Tulips. Each one perfectly placed, perfectly poisonous.
Behind a massive chair—no, a throne—hangs an enormous portrait. Rafael, crowned like a king, staring down at me with dead eyes.
Rafael’s office. I’m in Rafael’s office.
I blink and I’m sitting in a chair, ropes biting into my wrists and ankles, duct tape plastered across my mouth. Emily stands in front of me, and her eyes are cold—so cold I can feel frost forming on my skin.
“I hate you for what you did, Katie. You betrayed me.” She raises a gun, barrel pointed at my chest. “You don’t deserve to live.”
I shake my head desperately, making muffled sounds that mean nothing, mean everything, mean please—
She pulls the trigger.
Fire explodes in my chest, ripping away my breath, my vision—life itself. Then darkness swallows me whole, but Emily’s laughter follows me down into the void, echoing forever…
I jerk awake with a gasp tearing out of my throat. My skin is drenched, the sheets twisted around my legs like they’re trying to restrain me. I’m breathing too fast, the darkness pressing in too thick, too heavy.
But it was just a dream. Just a nightmare.
I force myself to sit up, kicking free of the tangled sheets. My whole body aches—from moving that fucker’s corpse, from leftover adrenaline, from a nightmare that felt way too real. I rub my hands down my face, dragging in another deep breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs.
Get it together, Katie.
I can’t afford to break. Not now. Not when everything is this catastrophically messed up. Not when Kayla is still in danger and I’m stuck in enemy territory with so many lies to keep straight.
The pale early morning light creeps in through the window, piercing the oppressive darkness, and I get to my feet. No point trying to sleep again.
I strip off my sweat-soaked clothes, tossing them into the small hamper, then shuffle to the shared bathroom for a quick shower—cold, biting, just enough to shock me the rest of the way awake and settle my disquiet.
Back in my room, I pull on fresh clothes, tie on the obligatory apron, and brush out my hair, catching sight of the dark shadows under my eyes. Two nights of bad sleep, and it shows. I wish I had some makeup to hide it. I don’t want Roan to see me like this.
I scowl, immediately squashing that thought. I don’t care how he sees me.
I don’t. His opinion means nothing.
I’m still frowning when I open the door, but I paste on something resembling a smile as I step out into the hall.
Though that smile—fake as it is—doesn't last. It fades during the five-minute walk to the main house, slipping completely when one of the men intercepts me and says the shefi wants to see me. My stomach drops, but I nod and head to Afrim’s office, expecting another invitation to play chess or make small talk.
What I get instead rewrites my entire world.
“I’ve decided to move you to another section of the estate. There are already more than enough maids in rotation to clean here.”
At first, I’m elated. A new location means new opportunities to snoop and eavesdrop. The corners of my mouth even twitch back up as I reply, “That’s fine. Where have I been assigned to?”
Afrim’s brows pull together and he hesitates—something that should have clued me in. “We’ve decided to assign you to Roan’s house.”
“What?!” I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, whatever trace of a smile I had vanishing as my mind whirls.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who the other part of that we includes.
But why? Why the hell would Roan want me in his house?
His personal space. The place no other maid has ever been allowed? .
Afrim waves me back down, and I comply automatically, though every muscle in my body remains tense.
“You’ll move into the building instead of going back and forth from your current room, continuing the same duties you perform here—but in his house—and occasionally making his meals. ” He pauses. “Can you cook?”
I can cook, but—what? Why am I being moved into his house?
“It may sound like a lot, but really, I doubt you’ll have much to clean. The place is already spotless. And of course, your pay will be increased.”
I barely register the part about the pay. My mind is stuck in a loop.
Roan’s house? Living with him? Being alone with him day after day, night after night?
I’ve been trying so hard to maintain distance, to ignore the pull I feel whenever he’s near. To lock down whatever twisted attraction keeps surfacing. But this—this is too much.
“But… what if I want to remain here?” I force the words out, hoping my voice sounds steady even as my heart hammers with dismay and something else. Something I absolutely refuse to think about. They can’t just move me without my consent, can they?