Chapter 2
SERA
The bass slams into my chest with each beat, thudding through my ribs until I swear my heart’s trying to match it.
Or maybe it’s the vodka. Either way, I’m warm and loose, just like I wanted.
A fizzy, reckless current zips down my spine as I lift my arms over my head and let my hips roll with the rhythm.
This was a good idea. I don’t know what I was so scared of.
I’ve got this.
The lights have become colorful streaks, and the crowd blurs a little around me, but I’m still in control.
I repeat it silently. Firmer this time. I’m still in control.
I turn to face the guy I’ve been dancing with for the last few songs. He’s about my height, and though I can’t see his features clearly under the lights of the club, he has broad shoulders and floppy hair. Young fuck-boy energy. Perfect for what I’m looking for.
You’re young, a voice in my head reminds me.
Twenty-four might be young for some people, but I haven’t felt young in years.
I shake my head to banish the thought, and the loose weight of my hair swishes across my face.
His hands slide over my waist and then lower. I wait for the panic to start. For the ghost-memories of his fingers tugging at me. Holding me down.
Nothing.
I grin up at Floppy-Hair brightly, and his fingers flex on my swiveling hips as he tugs me closer.
My body is ambivalent about the motion. I’m not turned on, but I’m not repulsed either.
It’s a win.
I’m not broken.
Smugness warms my chest. My plan is working perfectly.
Pick someone, have a couple of drinks, get an uncomplicated orgasm—or at least attempt to have one—and have sex.
It’s just physical therapy. No different than the PT I did for a year that stretched and loosened the scar tissue in my shoulder. Painful but necessary.
At least sex won’t hurt.
My buzz thins.
What’s wrong with you? Why did you even think that? It’s not going to be painful. Not everyone’s like him.
But what if…
No, I’m not the same girl. I know how to defend myself better now.
Something in my face must shift because Floppy-Hair—hang on, I think his name is Colby—leans in. I have to read his lips since the music’s too loud for anything else.
“You good?”
His brown eyes look soft. Hands loose at his sides.
I exhale. People can lie with words, but with most, their body language gives them away. Aaron had been the exception.
I nod and stretch my mouth into something that passes for a smile. I don’t stop him when he turns me away from him and pulls me backward. His chest grazes my back, his breath hitting the shell of my ear.
The club’s packed shoulder-to-shoulder, air thick with perfume, cologne, and sweat—an entire ecosystem of bodies grinding and breathing in unison.
Warm fingers sweep my hair aside, and then lips touch the back of my neck. My breath stutters, but not from desire. His mouth trails to the edge of the fabric over my shoulder, as one of his hands lifts to my stomach and presses me against the bulge growing against my back.
I’d dressed intentionally for tonight. The elbow-length sleeves and high boat neck of the black mini dress hide my scars—but the back of the dress plunges all the way to my tailbone.
The dress is deliberately seductive and seems to have served its purpose as I let him grind himself into me.
However, I’m completely unaffected, and that’s the problem.
Colby leans in, lips on my neck again. The crowd sways with the music, and his body presses fully against me, with one arm curving under my breasts and the other around my stomach.
My body’s supposed to respond to this.
That was the deal.
Numb the brain with alcohol. Let the animal instincts of my body take over.
But I feel… nothing.
Not the slightest iota of arousal.
Familiar frustration fills my throat.
I’m broken.
The thought cracks something in me, and pressure builds in my chest.
No, this is fine. I’ll get another drink. I’ve just let too much time pass since the last round. A couple more shots and this will work.
Lifting my arm, I point toward the bar and look over my shoulder at him. Even under the strobe lights, I can see the flush of his cheeks, the hooded hunger in his eyes.
Finally, I feel something.
Not arousal.
Fear.
I shove away from him, into the crush of bodies, the urgency behind my sternum clutching painfully. The bar is packed three bodies deep when Colby appears at my side, breath hot on my ear. “Might take a while. Want to get out of here?”
This is it. The moment.
My throat burns. My eyes sting.
Fuck.
I can’t do it.
I widen my eyes dramatically and slap a hand over my mouth—the universal sign for I’m about to puke. Colby jerks back like I’ve sprouted fangs. I fake-stumble toward the hallway with the bathrooms, weaving like a woman seconds from disaster.
The hallway is dim, lit by flickering red bulbs that make the air look thick, liquid. The distance to the dance floor making the bass drop to a dull thud against my skull.
For once the universe smiles on me, and there isn’t a line as I shove the door open and duck into a stall. Bracing both palms on the cool tile, my head drops forward.
Pathetic.
“You said you loved me.”
“No one will ever want you now.”
“Your own father didn’t want you.”
My eyes slam shut, but it doesn’t mute the memories.
When I wash my hands, I refuse to look in the mirror. I can’t stand the idea of seeing myself like this.
What am I even doing here?
This isn’t me.
When I step out, I see Colby waiting at the end of the hallway. Thankfully, his gaze is on the dance floor, and he hasn’t noticed me yet. Of course, he had to be a nice guy, checking on me. I’m doing him a favor by bailing. He doesn’t need the hot mess I’ve become, ruining his night.
A fresh hit of self-loathing burns hot under my skin. Turning in the opposite direction, I slip through the door illuminated dully under the red EXIT sign.
Cold winter air slaps my face, the shock of it cutting straight through the vodka fog.
The alley’s dimmer than I expect. Only one weak bulb overhead and the glow of streetlights at the far end illuminate the steep, grated metal stairs.
Just as I get to the pavement, one heel catches in a hole in the step.
The cheap heel bends, and I scowl at the visible crack where the heel has partially separated from the insole.
Fabulous.
I hike my skirt, planning to pull my phone from a strap wrapped tightly around my thigh. The first time I saw the tactical strap, intended to hold knives and various other necessities, all I thought was, “Finally! A place to put my phone when I don’t have pockets.”
It’s proven remarkably convenient.
Before I can loosen the clasp, voices echo into the alley. I squint at the two men at the far end, closer to the road.
It’s obvious they’re having an argument—well, one of them is arguing, his hands gesticulate frantically in the air as he follows the older man deeper into the alley.
Closer to me.
The hair on my arms lifts, instinct warning me I’m not safe. Glancing around, I realize I’m boxed in on three sides by the surrounding buildings. The two men are standing between me and the only exit.
In the seconds I’ve weighed my options, the confrontation thirty feet from me escalates… violently.
I drop to a crouch behind the stairs, hoping they will obscure me in the low light. A foreign language spills from the first man, fast and pleading—Eastern European, maybe?
I don’t need to understand the words.
Terror sounds the same in all languages.
He’s clearly pleading, but the older man has no expression on his face. They’ve stopped just under the bulb, and I’m able to make out the older man’s blank stare, more frightening than if he were shouting as well.
I peek over the top of a step. The two men are only a foot apart, the first’s hands are up in supplication. I don’t understand the words coming from the older man, but even under the murky light I recognize the flat smile of a predator.
Fuck.
A blade flashes, and the other man cries out. My vision narrows so that all I see is the hand striking again and again, the gleam of the blade duller now as the man howls, his body crumpling to the ground.
Over the ringing in my ears, I hear my brother’s voice in my head.
Run.
I’m already scrambling back up the stairs, yanking at the door handle. It doesn’t budge. I risk a glance back, just in time to see the killer wiping his blade clean on the fallen man’s shirt. A head of silver hair swings my way, and our eyes lock. His expression is unconcerned.
Every drop of alcohol burns away as adrenaline courses through my veins.
I grab for my phone as he advances, but the clasp is too tight. When it finally pops, the phone slips, bounces, and skitters down the steps into the shadows below.
“What do we have here?” His slick voice sends a chill sensation sliding down my spine. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer. I wrench the handle one more time. Nothing. Panic scratches up my throat.
I may not be one of Elite’s trained operatives, but I’m not helpless either.
No exit behind me, none to my left, none to my right. Only forward—past him—toward the street.
But I’ve got the high ground.
Think, Sera.
He climbs the first step, head cocked like a hawk sighting prey.
My shoulders square on instinct.
I’m not a fucking mouse.
And I’m no one’s fucking prey.
Never again.
My scars pulse, tightening faintly like they’re remembering, too. Vincent’s voice from my self-defense training sounds loud and clear as if he were standing here with me.
“If someone comes at you, they are a threat. Don’t hold back. Fight.”
The man stops two steps below me. I try to assess him, but adrenaline fuzzes the edges of my vision. He’s older than I’d originally thought, with a definite thick paunch… But he’s bigger than me. A lot bigger.
And he just murdered a man.
“Wrong place, wrong time, little girl.” His tongue tuts in mock sympathy.
I force my lips into something flirtatious. “You think so?”
His eyes darken, focus shifting from murder to… something else.
I’m not going quietly for either.
His eyes drift down my body before rising to my face again. “I like a woman with some spark in her.” His tongue clicks against his teeth again. “Makes it so much more worthwhile when I break them. But it’s for the best. It’ll be easier for you once you’re in the stables.”
Stables.
My brain refuses to process what I know he’s threatening.
He lifts his leg.
Now.
While he’s off balance, one foot poised for the next step, I kick out my heel, hitting him full in the chest. Surprised by my attack, he loses his balance and goes down hard, air bursting from his lungs when his back hits the pavement below.
I sprint down the stairs, but fingers clamp around my ankle and yank. Pain explodes in my knees as I hit the ground. I kick wildly, connecting with something soft, and scramble up.
A shove slams me sideways into a brick wall. “Fuck—” My heel snaps with a sharp crack. My palms scrape painfully when I catch myself on rough brick.
He’s on me in a heartbeat. My cheek scrapes the wall as he presses the palm of his hand with his full weight against my skull. The scent of copper floods my nostrils.
Blood. His? Mine? The other man’s?
I don’t know and I don’t care.
I buck hard and get one scream out before his hand closes around my throat and he spins me around.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” His breath is hot, and his eyes glow with an unholy light. He mutters something in his language that sounds almost gleeful and yanks my dress up.
“Pretty girl. I’m going to tear you apart. You’ll make me a lot of money.”
The promise makes my blood run ice cold.
My back slams against the wall twice, his fingers flexing against my windpipe. Black dots gather at the edges.
Without conscious thought, my fingers claw upward. Using all my strength, I rake my nails down his face.
His grip loosens just enough, and I suck in a lungful of air.
My coughing and choking seem to excite him. His grin widens, and then, still clutching the knife in his fist, he punches me hard, catching my cheek.
I let my body go limp as if the blow knocked me out, hoping to throw him off, and I land in a heap on the cold pavement.
“That’s better.” He grunts, and I hear the clink of metal as he undoes his belt.
My gaze catches on my broken shoe, with the metal spike exposed. Just inches away. My fingers close around it as he hauls me up. It may not do much, but it’s the only weapon I have.
Time slows.
I feel the cold pavement under my knees, the grit digging into my palm. Keeping my body slack, I wait for him to pull me up, his weight shifting as he compensates for mine.
My skin and the muscles in my shoulder scream as I rotate it past where the scars, internal and external, want to allow and then swing with all my strength, driving the shoe, spike out, toward his face.
He jerks back, making me miss, but I hear a soft thwack as the heel catches him in the side of his neck. With his chin jutted up to avoid the shoe, the spike plunges into the unprotected skin of his throat instead.
For a moment, everything freezes, and we stare at each other with enormous eyes. His expression contorts in confusion. Then, with a wet, gasping sound, he grabs at the wound where dark red is bubbling up and then surges through his fingers.
Animal instincts fully engaged, I don’t wait to watch him fall.
I run.
My bare feet slap against the disgusting alley pavement.
I sprint past the first victim, my legs shaking so hard my knees almost buckle. The alley spins, and an obscene thud behind me tells me my attacker has dropped.
I pivot to look back, and my stomach lurches at the crimson pool spreading under him, vivid despite the murky light.
My teeth chatter as a bone-chilling cold seeps through me.
The alley is strangely silent. Only the faintest sound from the club and the background noise of traffic twenty yards away reach my ears.
I’m alone.
With two dead men at my feet.
My stomach heaves. I swallow it down.
I need to call the police. An ambulance?
Fuck, where’s my phone?
My eyes fly to the staircase just past his body. It landed somewhere near there.
Just go get it.
My legs ignore the command.
I can’t walk back towards him. Even if he’s no longer a threat.
A rough breath tears at my lungs, my brain at war with my body.
Go to the street… to the front of the club.
Get help.
My legs refuse.
Come on, Sera. You can do this. Walk toward the lights. Safety.
Just as my feet lurch forward, the lights at the end of the alley shift. The headlights of the cars are blocked by a large silhouette.
Its long strides are purposeful.
Coming straight for me.
I open my mouth to scream, but a hysterical laugh comes out instead.