Chapter 2 - Nobody Touches What's Mine to Protect
Mira's POV
The tall figure walks through the smoke like he owns the place. Each step steady, unhurried. His voice cuts clean through the chaos.
"Wrong family. Wrong girl."
Ten men in black tactical gear appear from the shadows, moving like they've done this a thousand times. They spread out, covering every corner, every exit. Tony's remaining guys freeze, guns half-raised but going nowhere.
Tony swings his weapon toward me, jamming the barrel against my temple. His hand's shaking. "Stay back! I'll blow her fucking brains out!"
The man doesn't even slow down. Just raises one hand. A single gesture.
A shot cracks from somewhere outside. Tony's gun goes flying, skittering across the concrete. He screams, grabbing his mangled hand.
"No! Please! Valentino made us do it! We were just following orders!"
Tony drops to his knees. Actually begging now.
The man reaches him, standing over Tony's pathetic form. The firelight hits his face. Sharp features. A scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Gray-green eyes that look straight through you.
His voice stays low, calm. Somehow that makes it worse. "Nobody touches what's mine to protect."
Bang.
The shot echoes. Tony jerks once. Goes still. Blood pools under him.
My breath catches. The world tilts sideways. One nightmare ends, another begins. Is this how I die? After everything?
The man flicks blood off his gun. Those gray-green eyes scan my face, lingering on the bruises, the split lip. Something shifts in his expression. His jaw tightens.
He walks toward me. The fire backlights him, turns him into pure shadow. Death in a black coat.
My heart's trying to punch through my ribs. Every instinct screaming run, but the ropes are still cutting into my ankles. I'm not going anywhere.
He stops in front of the chair. Reaches into his coat.
A knife. The blade catches firelight.
My pupils shrink. Every muscle locks up.
He crouches down, bringing the knife closer. His voice drops lower. Almost gentle. "This might hurt a bit."
"Please don't kill me!" The words tear out of me. "I'll do anything! Anything you want!"
The blade slices through the rope on my wrists. The pressure releases. Then he moves to my ankles, cutting those free too.
I stare at him. What the hell is happening?
He stands, waves to two of his guys. "Get her out of here. Carefully."
Two men in black move toward me.
Panic explodes in my chest. They're going to take me. Sell me. Just like before. The iron cage. The darkness. No no no.
I lunge forward, stumbling on legs that barely work. My hands grab fistfuls of his coat. The fabric bunches under my grip.
"I can be useful." My voice breaks. "I can cook, clean, whatever you need. Please don't sell me! I haven't lived enough yet!"
Tears blur everything. "There's so much I want to do. I want to see the ocean, I want to..." My voice cracks. "Please."
His body goes rigid. Those gray-green eyes lock onto mine. He stares at me like he's seeing something that shouldn't be there.
My hands clutch tighter. Knuckles white. Blood from my split lip drips onto his coat. Dark spots on black fabric. My lips are probably pale from blood loss. The room won't stop spinning.
His voice comes out rougher. "I'm not going to kill you."
I lift my head. Eyes swollen and red. "Then what do you want? Everyone wants something."
He doesn't answer. Just watches me with those eyes that see too much.
I take a shaking breath. Make the only choice I have left.
"Then use me. Better you than them." I swallow hard. "At least you don't look like you get off on hurting people."
I push up onto my toes. Close my eyes. Press my lips to his.
It's clumsy. Desperate. No technique, just pure survival instinct.
He freezes. For several heartbeats, neither of us moves.
Then his hands grip my shoulders. Firm but not painful. He pushes me back, gentle.
His voice drops lower. Something strained underneath. "You don't know what you're doing."
I wipe tears with the back of my hand. Try to keep my voice steady. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm choosing how I survive."
He stares at me. Something I can't read crosses his face. Then he raises one hand.
The ten men in black retreat like ghosts. Their footsteps fade. The heavy door groans shut.
Silence. Just the fire crackling and our breathing.
He turns back to me. His voice drops to something dangerous. "If you insist on this, I won't stop you. But you need to understand what you're asking for."
I nod. Fear and determination fighting in my chest. "I understand. I'm not a child."
He takes a step closer. "Last chance to change your mind."
I shake my head. Barely get the words out. "I already made my choice."
He removes his black coat, spreading it on the ground in a corner that's mostly clean. The fire throws his shadow across the rusted walls. Tall. Overwhelming.
My heart pounds. Fear. Anticipation. Something else I can't name.
His touch surprises me. Gentle. Careful. One large hand supports the back of my head, keeping it off the concrete. His voice softens. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."
The violence I expected doesn't come. Instead there's this carefulness. A tenderness that makes no sense from a man who just executed four people without blinking.
My trembling gradually stops. Exhaustion crashes over me. The adrenaline finally draining away. His warmth seeps into me, and impossibly, I feel something close to safe.
Before darkness takes me, his voice comes again. Soft. Nothing like the cold killer from before. "You're safe now. I promise."
I let the darkness pull me under. This time, I'm not afraid.
Soft morning light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows. I open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. Panic jolts through me. Where am I?
King-size bed. Silk sheets against my skin. Modern furniture in dark colors. Through the windows, the Manhattan skyline stretches forever.
Everything aches. Bruises throb on my face. The split lip stings. Red marks bloom across my skin, intimate and undeniable. Last night. The warehouse. Him. Oh god, what did I do?
Heat creeps up my face. Shame? Regret? Something else? The emotions tangle together.
I push myself up. The sheets slip down. Someone dressed me in an oversized men's shirt while I slept. I don't remember that part.
The bathroom reveals more. Mirror shows bruises across my cheekbone, my split lip. But the wounds have been cleaned and treated. Someone took care of me.
On the nightstand, clothes sit folded with sharp corners. A note rests on top. Next to it, a brand new smartphone, screen already glowing.
The note is brief. Simple black ink on white paper.
"Wear these. My driver will take you home. - L"
Just one letter. L.
I stare at it. My heartbeat kicks up for reasons I don't understand. Who is he? Why did he save me? Will I ever see him again?
