Chapter 4
Ayla
Three years of fucking training.
I’m not losing now, that’s for sure.
Not today.
“Again,” Gabriel’s voice booms through the warehouse.
This makeshift boxing ring he’s set up.
My torture chamber.
Emir, his right hand, looks at him wearily before facing me.
“It’s okay Emir,” I say knuckles taped, I gesture him in. “Come at me, I can take it.”
Gabriel chuckles dark. “You heard her. Full force Emir, don’t pussy foot because she’s a bitch.”
Bitch.
Fucking Gabriel.
He uses that word because he knows I hate it. It throws me off my game.
Not today.
Emir lunges for me.
I sidestep.
His fist grazes my shoulder instead of connecting with my face.
Close. Too close.
He recovers fast, pivots, comes at me again with a backhand.
This one lands.
My head snaps to the side. Stars explode behind my eyes.
The copper taste floods my mouth instantly.
I spit blood onto the concrete floor.
Gabriel laughs from his perch on the crates. “Getting slow, Tavsan.”
Bunny.
The nickname Baba used to call me with love.
Gabriel uses it like a blade.
I wipe the blood from my nose with the back of my hand.
Focus.
Emir’s already moving again, thinking I’m dazed.
Big mistake.
I drop low, sweep my leg out hard.
His feet fly out from under him.
The impact when he hits the ground echoes through the warehouse.
I’m on him before he can recover.
My hand shoots to my boot, fingers wrapping around the knife handle.
One smooth motion—I pull it free and press the blade against his throat.
His pulse hammers against the steel.
“Good,” Gabriel says, standing now. He walks closer, boots heavy on concrete. “Now finish it.”
My hand steadies.
The knife presses harder.
Emir’s eyes widen. His breath comes fast, hot against my wrist.
“Do it, Ayla,” Gabriel orders. His voice is cold. Expectant.
This is the test.
This is what he’s been building to for three years. Making me strong enough to hurt.
Broken enough to kill.
My fingers tighten on the handle.
I could do it.
I’ve learned how. Where to cut. How deep.
Gabriel taught me that.
Forced me to watch his kills.
But Baba taught me something else. Something Gabriel tried to beat out of me in that closet room.
My humanity.
“No,” I say.
The word comes out steady. Strong.
Gabriel’s face darkens. “What did you say?”
I pull the knife away from Emir’s throat and stand. I face Gabriel.
“I said no.”
His jaw clenches. That vein in his temple throbs.
“You’re refusing me?”
“Emir didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “This is training. Not an execution.”
Gabriel moves fast.
One second he’s five feet away. The next his hand is around my throat. He lifts me onto my toes. My knife clatters to the floor.
“You don’t get to decide what this is,” he hisses. “You don’t get to say no to me.”
I claw at his hand.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t—
“You’re my responsibility,” he says. “Your life. Your choices. Everything. Mine.”
Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
Emir scrambles to his feet behind us.
“Boss—”
“Shut up,” Gabriel snaps.
His grip tightens. My lungs scream.
This is it.
He’s going to kill me because I wouldn’t kill for him.
But then, he drops me.
I collapse, gasping, hands on my throat.
“Get the expendable men,” he tells Emir.
Emir hesitates. “Boss I don’t—”
“Get. Them.”
Emir’s footsteps fade fast.
I’m still on my knees when Gabriel crouches in front of me.
He grabs my chin. Forces me to look at him.
“You will learn,” he says quietly. Dangerously. “Tonight you kill or be killed.”
He stands.
“Pick up your knife, you’re going to need it.”
Emir comes back. He doesn’t look at me.
Two men follow him—a little older than me, taller, eyes already measuring me like I’m meat.
Gabriel’s smile is wide now.
Satisfied.
“No limits,” he tells them casually. “Anything goes.”
My stomach drops.
I shake my head.
“Gabriel—”
He cuts me off with a raised hand. “Let’s see what you’re worth.”
The men move at the same time. I barely have time to breathe. One grabs my arm. The other goes for my ribs. Pain explodes—sharp, white, blinding.
Something cracks.
I scream, but I don’t stop moving. I twist.
Bite.
Kick.
Instinct takes over.
The training. The nights on the concrete. The lessons I never wanted. One of them goes down hard. His head hits the floor wrong. The second comes at me again.
I don’t think.
I react.
My knife finds him.
Once.
Then again.
When it’s over, the warehouse is quiet except for my breathing—ragged, wet, wrong.
I look down.
There’s blood on my hands. On my arms. On my clothes.
Too much of it.
My legs give out. I hit the ground on my knees, dizzy, ribs screaming every time I inhale. Face bleeding. Definitely bruised.
Gabriel laughs.
Actually laughs.
He claps once, slow. “Good girl.”
I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
He steps closer and crouches, holding out a bottle of water.
“You’re shaking,” he says. “Drink.”
For the first time in hours, I feel a flicker of gratitude. My hands tremble as I take it. I’m so thirsty. My mouth tastes like copper and dust and fear.
I drink.
Two gulps.
Three.
The world tilts. My vision blurs at the edges.
“What—” My tongue feels thick. Heavy.
Gabriel’s face swims closer.
“I told you,” he says softly, almost kindly. “Trust no one.”
The bottle slips from my fingers. The floor rushes up.
Darkness takes me whole.
***
Cold.
That’s the first thing I register. The ground beneath me is like ice, biting through my bones, stealing the little warmth I have left.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs.
My fingers twitch, searching, desperate—and relief floods me when I feel fabric against my body. I’m still clothed.
I drag in a shallow breath. My ribs scream. My muscles pull, every ache worse than the last.
I push up, wobbling to my feet. My balance is shaky, my body raw, but I force myself to stand. Shuffle.
Move.
My toes scrape against stone. Bare. No shoes. Of course. He must have taken them. Another lesson, another test.
I slide my feet forward, cautious, until pain spikes sharp through my sole. I hiss, jerking, but it’s too late—glass, maybe.
Or a rock jagged enough to cut. I press my lips together, step lighter, shuffle slower. I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking here.
Finally, my fingertips brush something solid.
A wall. Rough, cold, real. I lean into it, breathe through the pounding in my skull, and follow it, searching.
My eyes strain, the dark thick around me, but eventually, shapes emerge—cracks in stone, the faint outline of a door.
I push it open, and the night air slams into me like a blade. Snowflakes drift against my skin. My breath fogs white in front of me.
“Damn it,” I whisper.
The world is still, dark, endless. He’s left me in the middle of nowhere.
Another test.
Always another test.
My throat tightens, the ache behind my eyes threatening tears, but I swallow it down. Crying won’t get me home.
I scan the dark, force my focus, and then I see it; a lake, frozen over, familiar enough to stir something in my chest.
Relief, faint but real. I follow the lake’s curve, each step sharper, colder. My feet sting, the snow biting deeper until my teeth chatter uncontrollably.
But then, pavement. A street. Civilization.
A dry, humorless chuckle slips past my lips. About a mile from home.
Not too bad. Not easy, either.
Not like this, without a coat or shoes.
The snow swallowing me whole.
I tip my head back, pull in a lungful of frozen air, and let it burn, let my ribs ache.
I’m not giving up.
I’m getting home.