Chapter Two
~ The Fearful Orphan ~
Kit
I lie perfectly still in the dark, the heavy sheets still wrapped tightly around me like a shield, my heart beating so loudly I’m convinced the whole house can hear it.
The silence feels heavier now that Soren has gone, pressing down on my chest until every breath feels like effort.
I don’t dare move for a long time, afraid that even the slightest shift will somehow summon him back or bring one of his men to the door.
My body still hums with the aftershocks of what we were doing, my skin sensitive, my muscles aching in that deep, intimate way only he can cause…
but the fear quickly overrides everything else.
Eventually I risk a glance at the bedside clock; the glowing red numbers read one in the morning.
Soren’s already been gone for forty minutes.
I let out a shaky breath and tell myself he’s going to be gone for a while longer.
No one would dare disturb him in his bedroom unless it was truly important, and whatever Ray needed sounded serious enough that Soren’s entire demeanour had shifted from that intense, possessive heat to cold, lethal focus in an instant.
Important business, then; the kind he never lets me anywhere near.
Slowly, I sit up, pushing the covers down just enough to free my arms. The cool air kisses my bare skin and I freeze, every nerve prickling with fresh anxiety as I stare at the thin strip of light under the door.
I hold my breath, listening hard for any footsteps in the hallway, but the house remains quiet.
No one should be up here in this private wing at this hour anyway.
I force myself to take one slow, steadying breath, then another, until my pulse stops racing quite so violently.
Only then do I slide out of the massive bed and pad barefoot across the thick carpet toward the pile of clothes Soren had flung to the floor earlier.
I’d already been wearing my pyjamas when he suddenly decided he wanted me; he’d stripped me out of them with that single-minded hunger he gets sometimes.
Lately, I’ve noticed I seem to be his favourite way to unwind after long nights dealing with whatever dangerous world he rules.
I know it’s probably just a phase. Two years ago, when they first brought me here, he still slept with other people.
Then one evening, after some celebration I wasn’t allowed to know anything about, he came straight to me instead.
That was the night he basically turned my world upside down and made me realise I could feel things I’d never felt before.
I’m twenty-two now, but I’ve always been the nerdy type…
quiet, bookish, never had a relationship, never even sure I wanted one.
Relationships always seemed too complicated and exposing. And now… well, now I’m here.
With shaky hands I pull on the long pyjama bottoms, then the matching long-sleeved top, the soft fabric a small comfort against my still-flushed skin.
My feet are cold on the floor, but I don’t dare touch any of Soren’s socks.
I’ve seen how meticulously organised he keeps everything…
every drawer and every shelf in his wardrobe lined up with military precision.
Taking something of his without permission feels like asking for trouble.
I smooth the sheets back over the bed as best I can, patting them down until the surface looks mostly untouched.
I take one last brave breath, run my fingers through my messy curls in a useless attempt to tame them, and whisper to myself that it’ll be okay.
I can’t be told off for going back to my own room, can I?
Heart hammering, I ease the bedroom door open as slowly as possible; thankfully it doesn’t creak.
I slip out into the dimly lit hallway, the wall sconces turned down low, the way they always are at night.
Soren’s office is on the first floor, and most of the night staff will be on the ground level or outside patrolling the grounds.
That means the back staircase… the quieter, colder route no one uses much, should be safe enough to reach the staff quarters.
I pad silently down the hall, past the closed doors of Soren’s private rooms, my bare feet making almost no sound on the polished wood.
The air grows noticeably cooler as I reach the rear staircase.
I descend carefully, one hand trailing along the banister for balance, until I reach the long corridor that leads to the staff wing at the back of the estate.
All the doors are shut, the silence thick and reassuring.
My own room is at the very end. I open it slowly, step inside, and close it behind me with a soft click that feels like the safest sound in the world.
I flick on my little night light, the small, warm bulb casting a gentle glow over the space.
It’s barely bigger than a shoebox, but I like it that way.
The small size wraps around me like a safety blanket; a large, open room would make me feel far too exposed.
Here I have my single bed pushed against the wall, a tiny desk at the foot of it, and the old laptop Soren’s people gave me months ago.
I taped over the microphone and camera the very first day, paranoia winning out.
I climb into the narrow bed, pull the thick covers all the way up to my chin, and curl into a tight ball, knees drawn to my chest. The familiar scent of my own pillows helps a little.
I close my eyes and send up a silent hope that whatever work pulled Soren away tonight will keep him busy until morning.
Maybe then he won’t notice I slipped back to my own room.
Maybe tonight I can actually sleep without being pulled back into his bed and reminded exactly how much power he has over me.
◆◆◆
The dream crashes over me without warning, dragging me back two years, to the night everything shattered. I’m twenty years old again, sitting cross-legged on my bed in the small house I grew up in, textbooks spread around me, laptop glowing with half-finished code.
It’s a quiet Tuesday evening, nothing special, just another night of cramming for midterms. Then my bedroom door flies open so hard it bangs against the wall.
My dad bursts in, face white with terror, eyes wild. “Hide, Christopher… now! Don’t make a sound!”
Panic explodes in my chest. I’m just a college kid; I don’t understand. My hands fumble with the books as I scramble off the bed, heart slamming against my ribs. “Dad, what…”
“Closet! Go!” He’s already shoving me across the room, his grip bruising on my arm.
I stumble into the narrow closet, tripping over shoes and hanging clothes.
He yanks garments off their hangers and piles them in front of me, pushing me deeper into the corner until I’m completely hidden behind a wall of fabric.
“Stay quiet. Whatever you hear… stay quiet.”
I nod frantically even though he can’t see me, curling into the smallest ball possible, knees to my chest, arms wrapped around my legs.
My heart is racing so fast it hurts. Then I hear heavy boots thumping and the front door crashing open downstairs with a splintering crack that makes me flinch violently.
Dad’s voice cracks with panic. “Please… listen, just…”
Two sharp, deafening gunshots cut him off; the sound punches through me. I whimper deep in my throat before I can stop it, a tiny, broken sound I barely recognize as my own. Deep down I already know; someone has just killed my parents.
Footsteps thud up the stairs, before my bedroom door is flung open so hard it slams against the wall. A rough male voice shouts back toward the stairs, “Boss! I think Vincent had a kid!”
My breathing spirals out of control. Fuck. I clamp both hands over my mouth, forcing myself to take tiny, silent sips of air through my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that white spots dance behind my eyelids.
The closet doors are suddenly wrenched open.
I can’t help it… a scared, helpless whimper slips out, giving me away.
Strong hands seize me instantly, yanking me to my feet with terrifying ease.
I’m hauled out of the closet by a muscled, intimidating man dressed entirely in black combat gear.
He doesn’t look like any robber I’ve ever imagined; he looks like a soldier, cold and professional.
In that moment none of it matters. A large gun is pressed hard against my ribs and I gasp, the cold metal biting through my thin t-shirt.
“Let’s go, kid,” he mutters, nudging me forward.
My legs move on autopilot, reluctant and shaking. I nearly stumble down the stairs, knees buckling, but his iron grip on my arm keeps me upright. He marches me into the living room. Several other men are already there, all of them turning to look at me the second I enter.
I fight back the sobs clawing up my throat, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
My parents are on the floor. Two neat bullet holes, one in each forehead, dark and final.
Their eyes are open, staring at nothing.
I flick my gaze up to the ceiling, waiting for the shot that will end me too.
I don’t understand why they’re dragging it out. Just do it, just get it over with.
Then I look down again and notice him… the man who’s clearly in charge.
He’s dressed far too smart for the blood and chaos around him: tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, an expensive watch glinting on his wrist under the living-room light.
He rises slowly from where he’d been kneeling beside my parents, unfolding to his full height.
Oh my god, he’s so tall. Everything about him radiates power and control.