Chapter 1 - Lily
It’s late by the time I get out of class.
Traces of color linger in the sky overhead while I pull the strap of my bag over my shoulder and leave the school building behind without another glance.
The smell of wet concrete and oil from the food truck just down the block fills the air, reminding me of how hungry I am after a long day. I’m tempted to stop and get something for the way home, but more than anything, I just want to get back.
Between lectures and practical labs, I had my work cut out for me, and I needed nothing more than to pass out on my lumpy couch before crawling my way into bed.
My apartment is only a few blocks away, but every step feels harder to manage than the last. Paired with a dull ache behind my eyes, I just need to pretend like I’m not drowning in textbooks and diagrams for a little while.
I cut through an alleyway I’m familiar with, hoping to take some time off my walk home. There’s usually a guy selling bootleg electronics at the end, but tonight, he’s nowhere to be seen.
However, a black SUV idles on the side of the street, almost blocking the alleyway with its headlights off. Exhaust fills the space between those brick buildings, surrounding a few men standing there.
I pause immediately, catching their low, urgent voices.
I should keep walking—I know I should turn around and go back the way I came.
But I don’t. Instead, my feet stay firmly planted, and I can’t move a muscle.
Pausing at the corner of the alleyway, my skin prickles, instinctively aware that something isn’t right. My breath catches when I’m still long enough to see them properly.
Three men stand over another while he’s on his knees, visibly panting with his face bloodied. Their clothes are all dark, seemingly trying to blend in with the shadows and doing so well.
One of them is holding something metallic resembling a pipe or a crowbar. Something dangerous enough to make him cower.
The ones standing seem to sneer at him, but they aren’t in any kind of rush. They almost look like animals playing with their meal before performing a mercy kill.
It doesn’t seem like a mugging. It’s too organized and too precise. Far too prolonged.
For whatever reason, it reads more like a warning or a message.
I catch a name from one of them as it’s said with a hint of triumph.
Lukov.
My brows furrow, and a cold front moves through my system. I’ve heard that name before.
I heard it whispered after my brother was killed, and the police were trying to piece together who did it, only for it to never come up again.
My blood freezes over, and I feel myself locking up completely.
Then, it happens. The final blow.
It’s swift, nearly silent, and seems to come from practiced hands straight to the man’s temple.
Like a poor sheep caught by a pack of wolves, the man collapses to the ground and immediately goes motionless. He doesn’t even twitch.
My eyes widen and my breath catches, and I go just as still.
I don’t know if he’s dead, and I can’t wait to find out.
Stumbling back, I reach for my phone in my pocket, fumbling with it in my hand while my heart is in my throat.
My pulse races, and too many familiar memories flood into my mind, burning while they try to override my focus.
The blood, the violence, the police informing me of what happened to my brother Wyatt…
My hands shake while I press on the call feature, trying my hardest to click those three little numbers.
911—that’s all I need to dial. All I need to do.
But a gloved hand clamps down on my wrist just as I punch in the first one, and I never get the chance.
Another turns me around by the hip and pushes me against the brick wall with terrifying strength.
I go to scream, but the sound catches in my throat, and my voice is suddenly useless. My phone hits the concrete, and leather-clad fingers hold my jaw in place. I want to cry immediately.
“Don’t make a sound,” he says, voice deep yet unbothered. His dark eyes scan my face, looking cold and detached. Almost like he’s bored, or maybe tired of dealing with noise.
Quite literally caught in his clutches, I freeze, and my eyes widen. I’m trembling, and I can’t slow my heart rate down.
Every trace of logic in my mind drains, and my brain short-circuits. I should scream for help. I should kick and punch my way out, but I can’t even breathe.
The man is far taller than me, and he’s built like a carved statue. His grip isn’t painful, but it’s firm enough as if he already knows I don’t stand a chance. Like he’s aware of just how capable of crushing me he is.
I try to glance over at the end of the alleyway, but he corrects me. “Don’t look at them. We can’t have you remembering any faces.”
Even if he hasn’t done anything to hurt me yet, I’m shaking so hard I know he can feel it. My knees feel pathetic, like they’re on the verge of giving out.
I want to ask who he is, and I want to demand that he let me go and give me my phone back, but I don’t have that kind of bravery in me. I wish I did.
“I’m not involved with them,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know you’re not,” he returns as if it’s obvious.
“I don’t know the Lukovs, I’ve only heard the name—”
But I trail off as his expression hardens, and so does his grip.
“What did you say?”
I swallow hard and release a shaky breath, feeling prickles of more panic down my spine. I can’t help but feel like I said the wrong thing. “They mentioned the name Lukov, but I didn’t see anything.”
“You’re lying.”
I am, and he’s right. He knows it.
We pause, and for a moment, he hesitates, then scoops up my phone with ease and grabs my arm.
“Wrong place, wrong time, girl.”
My stomach clenches to the point of aching, and before I know it, I’m being hauled down the other end of the alleyway.
When he takes a left down another side street, a different vehicle is waiting. It’s sleek and ominous with those tinted windows, looking like the last thing I should be approaching.
Despite how hard my heart pounds against my ribcage, my legs continue to move, and the rest of the fight in me seems to ebb away. Then he pops the door open and gestures for me to head inside.
Everything in me screams not to go. To wriggle away and fight.
But I obey.
Moving through fear alone, my body goes as if it isn’t my own.
The SUV is cold, and the leather interior smells new, but it’s no comfort.
Unable to see through the divider, I can’t see the driver or beg for his help if he even cares. Instead, the man slides in beside me, shutting the door firmly. All the doors lock.
Flustered and far too anxious to stand it, I press myself against the far side, barely able to hear over the pounding in my ears.
The man settles in while the vehicle starts to move, and he takes his gloves off before pulling out his phone, scrolling casually as if he hasn’t just abducted me. Then, he glances over and looks at me completely.
The way his hazel eyes take me in sends a chill through me, and despite how intimidating he is, he looks almost familiar, but I can’t place it.
His expression is flat, and while I assumed it was due to boredom, I realize it’s subdued confidence. He’s not concerned in the slightest, well aware that I can’t do a thing about any of it.
“You’re shaking.”
I can barely keep my gaze on him. “You don’t say.”
It’s snippy, and I know I’m pushing my luck, but I can’t help it.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You say that after kidnapping me?”
Just barely, the corner of his lip pulls. “I’m not a kidnapper, and you’re not my target. Just a complication.”
I don’t like the way that word stings in my chest.
A complication. Something to be handled and eliminated, just like that man back in the alley.
After a moment of silence, I blink at him. “What do you want with me?”
“Nothing,” he murmurs, still far too casually for my liking. “You weren’t supposed to see any of that, and I’m not supposed to leave any witnesses.”
Another wave of fear coursed through me, threatening to close around my throat. Clenching my hands in my lap, I feel the bite of my nails against my skin.
My stomach twists, and I feel prepared to vomit.
“But,” the man continues, absently scrolling through his phone before texting someone. “You’re lucky I don’t harm women.”
It should be a relief, but those words are still just as unnerving.
Despite my senses being sharp from the adrenaline, I can’t find any more words. I can’t sling anything at him with the fog in my head.
Hesitantly glancing at him, I watch the way his thumbs move precisely across the screen. How he sits as relaxed as anything, as if unfazed by what he has done or what he plans to do.
Tattoos crawl up the side of his neck from beneath his black shirt, and his clothes are clean, but I have the feeling he’s more than capable of getting them dirty.
He looks like a man who has done unspeakable things, and yet, he looks so familiar.
Then, he tucks his phone away and pulls mine out. He scrolls as easily as if it were his own.
My brows furrow. “What are you doing?”
“Checking,” he mumbles, dark eyes reflecting everything he does on my phone. Then he locks the screen and tucks it away again. “Can’t be too careful…but it’s clean enough.”
I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but the way he does everything so nonchalantly, especially claiming ownership over my phone, grinds my gears.
“Now what? You’re going to erase me?”
His lips pull again, faintly amused. “If that’s what I wanted to do, you wouldn’t be sitting here, now would you?”
A shiver moves down my spine, and I swallow hard.
The car slows as it turns down another street, bringing my attention back to the fact that he’s taking me somewhere.
He busies himself on his phone once again.
“Where are we going?”
But of course, he doesn’t answer.
Instead, the rest of the drive is silence, leaving too many opportunities for me to get lost in my head.
Even if he hasn’t done anything to hurt me yet, I can’t let it disarm me. If I were to do something stupid, I have no doubt he’d hit back even harder.
All the while, I watch the city moving by, my hands still faintly tremble, and every breath feels hard to come by.
A difficult thought lingers in the back of my mind, cutting in like a barb.
As much as I don’t want to believe it, I can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of retaliation for what my brother had done. If somehow, some way, I’m paying for whatever crimes Wyatt committed when he was alive.
And if the man sitting beside me happens to know the Lukovs.